Two up-and-coming heavyweights clash in Memphis, Tennessee this Saturday night as Chris Arreola and Chazz Witherspoon enter the ring with identical 23-0 records, Arreola’s 21 KOs over Witherspoon’s 15 KOs being the only difference.

 

Both men are tall at around 6′4″ or 6′5″ but that’s just about where the similarities end. Arreola is the prototypical Mexican brawler who stands in front of his opponent and beats him down, while Witherspoon, cousin of the talented but underachieving ’80s heavyweight, Tim Witherspoon, is more the craftsman with his polished jab, rights, and hooks, as well as a good grasp of defensive fundamentals.

 

Since he is a 6′4″ Mexican heavyweight, Arreola is inherently more marketable than Chazz, a black man from Philly, and may well have the edge should the scorecards be close. Yes, that’s cynical, but it’s also real.

 

In the gym, Arreola doesn’t always overwhelm you with his work ethic, often leaving observers to wonder why he showed up in the first place. On the other hand, Witherspoon’s discipline, evident in his university degree as well as his advanced boxing skills, reinforces the idea that he takes his work seriously and is mentally, as well as physically, prepared to do his job come fight night.

 

That’s not to say that Arreola isn’t willing to work in the ring, he is, and then some, but it seems he relies a little too heavily on his volume punching style to make the difference in his fights. So far, against mostly soft touches, that strategy has worked out just fine, and it certainly is crowd-pleasing, but sooner or later, possibly this Saturday night, the lack of pugilistic subtlety could become a glaring lack of skills. It’s Witherspoon’s job to make sure that happens.

 

The fight will be featured on HBO Boxing After Dark.

 

August 1982. In the city of Santiago Tianguistenco, Mexico, over 20,000 of its citizens, nearly half of its population, gathered for the funeral of one of their own.

 

Don King had a dilemma. His rising featherweight star, Salvador Sanchez, forced the world to take notice with his detonation of Wilfredo Gomez on August 21, 1981. Gomez was 32-0-1 with all of his victories by knockout when he and Sanchez clashed. Sanchez took Wilfredo’s best shots then separated him from his senses in the eighth round with a straight right hand. But now, with a fight scheduled at Madison Square Garden for July 21, just two weeks away, Sanchez had no opponent.

 

Mario Miranda, the tough Colombian contender who was supposed to fight Sanchez had injured his ear in a fight on June 20. King had approached Juan LaPorte, Ruben Castillo and Rocky Lockridge, but with little time to prepare, all three turned down the offer. King then turned to Azumah Nelson.

 

Nelson was a little spark plug of a fighter from Ghana, Africa about whom little was known. He had a record of 13-0 with 10 KOs, only one fight in the US, and there was just a single, short piece of film that Sanchez could study, But Nelson was willing to fight. Problem solved.

 

Like most boxers, it was 23-year-old Salvador Sanchez’s dream to fight at “the Mecca of boxing,” Madison Square Garden. Joe Louis had fought there. The first two Ali/Frazier fights were there. Roberto Duran’s punches had echoed throughout the famous arena. Now, for the first time, Salvador Sanchez would fight at “The Garden.”

 

Sanchez, the WBC featherweight champion, climbed through the ropes with a record of 43-1-1 (30). He glared across the ring at his inexperienced opponent. All the hopes of Ghana, Africa glared back.

 

Round one: Nelson scores with a leaping left hook. Sanchez bounces on the outside firing jabs. Nelson has his gloves high and tight. Both fighters trade one-twos. Sanchez fires a right, Nelson backs off and does an Ali shuffle. Nelson drives Sanchez to the ropes with a hard combination to the body and head.

 

Round two: Sanchez misses a left-right and Nelson shuffles again. Nelson counters with an angry left-right over Sanchez’s jab. Nelson whips a left hook to Sanchez’s jaw. The fighters exchange vicious shots in the middle of the ring. Nelson wins the exchange. Sanchez starts to box as Nelson continues to stalk.

 

Round three: A wild exchange to open the round backs Sanchez up. The fighters trade hard body shots. Sanchez doubles a left hook to the body and head. Nelson is smiling. The pace slows slightly as Sanchez ties to create distance.

 

Round four: Sanchez shoots several jabs to Nelson’s body. Nelson backs Sanchez to the ropes then cranks a left-right-left to Sanchez’s body. Sanchez presses forward with hard combinations as Nelson bobs and weaves wildly around the ring to avoid punishment. Both fighters cut loose with bombs in the middle of the ring. Nelson closes the round with a thudding left hook to Sanchez’s body.

 

Round five: Nelson’s guard has opened up on top. Nelson rips a combination to the champion’s body. Sanchez jabs, Nelson counters off ropes. The fighters lean on one another, forehead to forehead, trading shot after shot. They exchange uppercuts. Sanchez hurls body shots to Nelson’s ribs.

 

Round six: Nelson is stalking. Sanchez is on his toes, jabbing, shifting directions and throwing long one-two combinations. Nelson follows Sanchez around the ring. Sanchez pops Nelson on the thighs while the referee, Tony Perez, is behind Nelson. Nelson keeps coming.

 

Round seven: Nelson throws a right and Sanchez spins Nelson’s head with a hybrid left hook/uppercut that drops the challenger. Nelson beats the count then continues to stalk Sanchez. Sanchez stays on the outside and boxes patiently even though Nelson is standing straight up with his gloves wide.

 

Wilfredo Gomez walked to the grave, knelt down and grabbed a handful of dirt. Weeping, he massaged the soil that interred his former adversary into the knuckles of each hand. When asked why he did that, he replied, “So that I may have some of his strength.”

 

Round eight: Nelson throws a right and Sanchez counters with a left hook that staggers the challenger once again. Nelson responds by punching his way out of danger. Sanchez uncorks a stinging one-two. Nelson tries to feint Sanchez. The pace slows. Sanchez boxes to end of round. In his corner, a nearly imperceptible smile creases the champion’s lips.

 

Round nine: The fighters exchange furiously in the middle of the ring. Sanchez twists Nelson with a left hook. Nelson somehow stays on his feet. Nelson bangs Sanchez to the ropes and unleashes blow after blow to the champion’s body and head. Sanchez lands hard shots to Nelson’s thighs. Nelson bangs Sanchez to the ropes. The challenger, bleeding from the mouth, walks to Sanchez’s corner after the bell. The champion points Nelson to the correct corner. Sanchez wasn’t smiling anymore.

 

Round ten: Sanchez is circling and jabbing. The champion rips a right to the body then hurls a left hook to Nelson’s head. Nelson is stalking but Sanchez is getting off first.

 

Round eleven: Nelson wings two left hooks. Sanchez connects with a stiff one-two. The fighters are forehead to forehead as Sanchez torques crippling shots to Nelson’s ribs and the challenger answers to Sanchez’s head. Nelson uncoils a left hook to the head. Sanchez sags momentarily then instantly regains his senses. Sanchez bobs and weaves to survive the round.

 

Round twelve: Nelson is more energetic and attacks Sanchez from the bell. Nelson slings wild, hard shots. Sanchez is more frugal and more accurate. Sanchez slips on water in his own corner and Nelson cracks him in the jaw with a straight right as Sanchez is on his way up. Sanchez gets on his toes and boxes to complete the round.

 

Round thirteen: Sanchez comes out boxing. Nelson comes out bombing. Sanchez stops and catches the challenger with an uppercut. Nelson connects with a right. Nelson lands an uppercut. The fighters exchange a whirlwind of punches near the ropes. Nelson staggers Sanchez with a wide right. The fighters trade shots in the middle of the ring. Nelson throws several hard, looping rights to the head. Sanchez staggers Nelson with a hybrid hook/uppercut at the bell. Nelson’s right eye is swelling badly.

 

Round fourteen: Sanchez is jabbing and throwing hard one-twos. Nelson plods ahead, bobbing and weaving to avoid incoming fire. Nelson is missing wildly and staggering around the ring like a newborn deer. The fighters trade fire after the bell. Nelson’s right eye is nearly closed.

 

Azumah Nelson also knelt by the grave. Crying bitterly, he prayed for a while then clutched the earth. After rubbing the freshly overturned soil into his own hands, he quietly stood and walked away.

 

Round fifteen: Nelson drives Sanchez to the ropes with a succession of hard shots. Sanchez doubles Nelson over with a left hook. The challenger’s right cheek immediately swells. There is a wild exchange in the center of the ring. Sanchez cracks Nelson with a left hook. Nelson flaps around like a flag in the wind but miraculously stays on his feet. Sanchez unleashes a vicious left-right-left that sends the challenger staggering then tumbling into his corner. Nelson jumps up to beat the count and staggers toward the champion. Sanchez shoots a right and three left hooks to the defenseless Nelson’s head. The referee jumps in at 1:59 of the round.

 

Sanchez, elated, jumps onto the ropes and raises his arms in victory.

 

Before sunrise on the morning of August 13, 1982, WBC world featherweight champion Salvador Sanchez was driving his new, white Porsche on a lonely stretch of Mexican road when he collided with a heavily laden truck. Sanchez died instantly.

 

Salvador Sanchez

January 26, 1959 - August 13, 1982

Antonio Tarver is answering a question from the media during a conference call. His tone is even and controlled while he deals with the immediate query–Does he (Tarver) see improvement in April 12 opponent, Clinton Woods, over Woods’ last few fights? Suddenly seeming uncomfortable complimenting a future opponent, Tarver’s speech accelerates and his volume rises in keeping with an increasingly self-centered response.

 

 

Boxing promotions are full of such things and usually this writer tunes out these rants and instead relies on his ubiquitous micro/digital recorder to collect these tirades for later dissection, should a useful quote be found in them.

 

 

There are, essentially, two types of pre-fight commentary from professional boxers. The first goes something like this: “I am the greatest fighter in; history, the division, at the moment, pound for pound, etc., and any losses on my record are the result of; managerial distraction, injury, taking the fight on short notice, a bad night, a lack of motivation, etc.”

 

The second is more simple: “I have trained as hard as possible and am confident that I will win.”

 

 

This last one is less quotable, since it lacks chest-thumping flair, but it places the fight where it belongs–in the ring. Also, these quotes are from fighters whom the writer typically respects the most.

 

 

Two of the more physically gifted fighters of the last decade are Tarver and Zab Judah. Both possess speed, power, and reflexes that most pugs can only dream of, and each has largely squandered his talent. Sure they have had world titles and, yes, they have fought the best, but neither has earned what fighters want the most. Respect.

 

 

Because they have gotten by on talent and have lacked the humility to be disciplined, Tarver and Judah find themselves deep into what could have been Hall of Fame careers, still trying to be who they always knew they were capable of being, but now they struggle with the added burden of diminishing physical gifts. One can hear the frustration in their voices.

 

 

The truth is, these aren’t the kind of men (Tarver and Judah) the writer wants his two young sons to emulate. Boxers, after all, are simple human beings with an extraordinary occupation. Their humanity, and its requisite humility, should come first. Tarver and Judah possess a level of talent for boxing that most folks, no matter the sport or vocation, cannot approach, but one cannot draw a direct correlation from a given degree of talent, to its equal degree of success.

 

 

A humility that drives preparation and discipline opens doors of success to all. Therefore, it is the Micky Wards and Israel Vazquez’s of the boxing world that should be set before children as, not simply fighters, but people, that they should emulate.

Simple observation is one of the more valuable facets of training. It requires no sweat, strain, nor physical exertion of any kind, yet it produces results on par with the most rigorous workout. Like all things related to the craft of boxing, it does take practice to perfect. Listed below are a few things to get you started. Make critical observation a habit in the gym and at the fights you watch, both live and on TV.

 

Be Humble

 

Let’s get the lecture out of the way. One cannot talk and observe at the same time. The key to learning is humility–the belief that you lack knowledge and you desire to gain more of it. When you are in observation mode, keep your mouth shut and your eyes and ears open.

 

Eavesdrop

 

Listen to what trainers are telling their fighters in the gym. Do the fighters do as they’re told? How would you apply what you heard?

 

Think Like a Boxing Writer

 

When watching sparring or organized competition, try to come away from it with a clear idea of each fighter’s strengths and weaknesses. One of the keys to being a good boxing writer is the ability to break down a fight–the strengths and weaknesses of both fighters, and the factors that contributed to the outcome–then write the article so that it’s clear to the reader before deadline, which is sometimes a matter of a 20-30 minutes. Try to develop that same skill. How would you describe what you saw, in simple language, to someone who wasn’t there? If you can do that, you know you have learned something.

 

Make Old Boxing Videos New Again

 

Videos of even the most mundane fights are a gold mine if you break the fights down to their most simple elements:

 

Focus on one fighter for head movement. Watch his jab. Watch his defense of the jab. Does he slip it? Parry it? Slip and counter it? Or does the poor fellow just take them on the snoot? Watch for other punches and how they are defended, but focus on a single punch for extended periods, or even an entire fight.

 

Watch the feet. You could observe only the feet of the fighters and have a clear idea of who is winning. You can even tell which punches are being thrown. Is the left foot taking a shorts step straight forward? A jab. Does the left foot and knee turn sharply to the right? Left hook. Right foot pivots to the left? Straight right.

 

Use Your Imagination

 

Use you imagination and learn to pick fights apart. Those old boxing tapes you haven’t looked at in a while will gain new life, and so will your skills as you begin to apply your newfound knowledge.

 

 

 

 

Working the heavy bag is either the most useful time a boxer spends in the gym (other than sparring), or the greatest waste of time. It is meant to simulate one’s opponent in the ring and, like any other tool, is most effective when used properly.

 

Don’t Wear Yourself Out

 

Many beginning boxers make the mistake of wearing themselves out in the first round or two of bag work. This accomplishes nothing. More punching power and stamina will come in time, but it is imperative that the beginner keep proper technique in mind so that when he/she has developed that power and stamina, they can be applied when it counts–in the ring.

 

Emphasize Technique

 

The heavy bag won’t scream, cry, bleed, or beg for mercy when you punch it, so there’s no point trying to kill it. That’s not to say that you should never punch hard, quite the contrary, but technique must take precedence.

 

Respect Your Neighbors

 

Maybe you’ve been impressed by watching other guys/gals make the bag swing around like a drunk on a mechanical bull, but that doesn’t translate to success in the ring. Besides, all that bag swinging usually means that they are pushing their punches through the bag instead of snapping them, and that they aren’t punching when the bag is in its return arc, which is proper. Having your heavy bag swinging wildly into your neighbor’s spot in a crowded gym is irritating to them, not to mention rude.

 

Think of the Heavy Bag as an Opponent

 

As a beginning boxer, one must think of the heavy bag as they would a live body. Imagine that it is your opponent in front of you, an not an inanimate object. This means that you keep punches short, straight (for jabs and straight rights), and snapping. Throw hooks with precise technique (article upcoming). And, most of all, keep your mind on defense.

 

Because there are no punches coming back, it’s easy to forget about defense, but be disciplined. Keep your guard up. Use proper head movement. Make sure there are no lapses in your footwork; remain balanced at all times and use quick feet to step in and out of your “opponents” range.

 

In truth, only 20-40% of the punches thrown in a boxing match actually land; most are blocked by gloves, arms, and shoulders, and many miss altogether. Missing punches causes fatigue faster than landing them. Much faster. Spending round after round landing solid punches on a bag can be misleading, even terrifying the first time you enter a serious sparring session and it seems impossible to land a solid punch, except for the ones your sparring partner is landing on you. Here’s a trick to help get used to that feeling.

 

A (Heavy) Bag of Tricks

 

Take two or three old pairs of gloves and evenly attach the laces (or Velcro closures) to the chain around the top of the bag, so that the gloves hang at chin level. Now, when you hit the bag, the gloves will bounce around quite a bit, forcing you to pinpoint your punches more, and when in close, keep your gloves high to avoid getting smacked in the face. The added benefit is that you will often hit gloves, not the heavy bag. The gloves offer much less resistance to punches, thereby simulating blocked punches. It’s a feeling you might as well get used to.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ask any trainer worth the spit bucket he carries what the most important punch in boxing is, he’ll tell you that it’s the jab. Boxing’s great appeal is that it evens the playing field. Proper technique can nullify physical advantages like height, reach, speed, and punching power. Muhammad Ali, Larry Holmes, and Pernell Whitaker routinely beat fighters that were stronger, or faster, or in some cases, both. The common denominator? Each of these Hall of Fame boxers had an excellent jab, and used it.

 

  FightTube was at Freddie Roach’s famous Wild Card gym a few months back, and Freddie where Roach discussed Rey Bautista’s upcoming bout against Daniel Ponce De Leon (a fight that Bautista ultimately lost). Roach said that Bautista looked strong and sharp, but wished that he would use his jab more. “Isn’t that every trainer’s favorite line,” this writer asked.

 

“Yeah, I guess it is,” Roach replied, laughing. A few days later De Leon knocked Bautista stiff. The laughing stopped.

 

While the jab isn’t glamorous and it doesn’t make highlight reels, it is the perfect punch because it sets up a fighter’s offense and, simultaneously, provides an effective defense. There are numerous approaches to throwing a jab, but the basic punch is most useful.

 

Assuming that a fighter has already learned proper foot placement and a relaxed but effective “on guard” stance, the jab is ready to be thrown from the lead hand. Before going any further, it is critical to keep in mind that wasted motion should be avoided. Developing “triggers” such as cocking one’s hand before throwing, feinting before every jab, lifting the lead shoulder before jabbing, or any other form of “telegraphing” must be avoided. If a fighter allows himself to develop such habits, a more experienced boxer will exploit them, with often devastating results. (See above).

 

For a right-handed boxer, the left jab begins from where it rests in the guard position. It moves in a straight line toward its target, with the lead foot simultaneously stepping forward and the lead shoulder driving the punch. Just before making contact, the boxer’s fist rotates clockwise so that the heel of the hand faces down. This is what’s known as the “snap” at the end of the punch. Once completed, the jab hand returns to the guard position in the same path as it was thrown. Although theories abound as to why the “snap” is necessary, it’s simple physiology, really.

 

Make a fist and hold your arm straight out with the thumb side of the fist pointing straight up. Now concentrate your thoughts on your biceps. Keeping your arm extended, slowly roll your fist clockwise. You should feel the release of tension as your biceps fully extend and all tension is released. That’s the snap.

 

One can practice the jabbing motion most effectively outside the gym. Find a shelf that is chin high somewhere in the house. It could be in the kitchen, bathroom, closet, or garage. It doesn’t really matter where, as long as there is room for you to take a proper stance and move comfortably. Now take a small towel, a hand towel is perfect, and roll it up using a rubber band or tape to keep it rolled, then lay it horizontally on the near edge of the shelf.

 

Take your stance and, without really thinking about it, reach out and grasp the towel and bring it straight back to you. What you should gain from this exercise is that you’ve spent a lifetime grabbing objects off shelves and that you’ve always done it without wasted motion. The reason for that is purely psychological. At home, one doesn’t worry about getting punched in the mouth when he grabs a towel or a loaf of bread off the shelf. In the gym, even in front of an innocuous heavy bag, psychological tension causes the fighter to telegraph his jab, as well as other punches.

 

 

 

Continue to practice this “shelf technique,” which this writer first heard in it’s basic form from legendary trainer Gil Clancy, at home for a few minutes every day. Before long you should see a jab that’s more relaxed, cleaner, and more difficult to counter, in the gym.

 

 

Perception is everything. Life is a “glass half empty” vs. “glass half full” drama for everyone and which one we choose determines our choices.

 

When Bernard Hopkins (48-4-1, 32 KOs) looks back at his career, he can see either a man who hasn’t lost a fight since 1993, against first ballot Hall of Fame inductee Roy Jones Jr., or he can see a man who, most recently, lost two fights to Jermain Taylor then decisioned two badly faded fighters in Antonio Tarver and Winky Wright. Apparently, this “Executioner” is an optimist.

 

His optimism isn’t that of a dreamy-eyed idealist or capricious romantic. His optimism has been sharpened by circumstance and burnished by decades of hard choices.

 

He grew up in the unforgiving streets of Philadelphia and chose to be a thug in order to survive. He then found himself in Graterford prison, where thugs like him were on the bottom of the food chain. It was there that he developed the character trait that has defined his life and career ever since-discipline.

 

For nearly sixteen years, from February 1990 to December 2005, he managed to keep his light-heavyweight sized 6′1″ frame pared down to the middleweight limit of 160 lbs. His first fight in 1988, a majority decision loss against Clinton Mitchell, was at light-heavy.

 

Unlike fighters who seem to pride themselves on how fat they get between fights and how hard they have to train in order to make weight, Bernard waltzes right back into the gym merely days after each fight. Nor does he indulge in the luxury of empty calories in between training camps. His life is a training camp.

 

At this point in Hopkins’ career, there is little that any trainer can teach him, but that’s not to say there isn’t some benefit to having new sights and sounds to motivate with. Motivation is what Hopkins seeks at this stage in his career.

 

A penny pinching multi-millionaire like Hopkins doesn’t need money. A fighter with 20 consecutive middleweight title defenses doesn’t need to build his legacy. A future Hall of Fame inductee doesn’t need another pat on the back. Although he has said that he doesn’t like to box, that it is simply his job, it is more than that. It defines him.

 

The by-product of discipline is habit and it is Bernard Hopkins’ habit to get up in the morning and run. It is his habit to go to the gym and train. It is his habit to find a new enemy, learn his strengths and weaknesses to the smallest detail, devise a plan to overcome those strengths, magnify those weaknesses and vanquish him.

 

His actions aren’t dictated by his environment. While many observers bemoan his reluctance to try and outgun his opponents from the opening bell, he knows, as all learned warriors do, that victory isn’t defined by destruction of the enemy, but by destroying the enemies will to fight.

 

Bernard sees the 12 rounds of a championship as a complete entity. The early rounds are a laboratory for testing his opponent’s reflexes, defense, strength, chin and will. If he loses early rounds he doesn’t get rattled. They have served their purpose. He has a way of shifting momentum in a fight, almost imperceptibly, until one realizes that Bernard is landing the cleaner, harder shots and his opponent’s expression has morphed from confidence to concern.

 

While his fight against 35-year-old Joe Calzaghe doesn’t promise breathtaking action, Calzaghe’s clever defense and constant, controlled aggression present an interesting tactical puzzle for Hopkins that hardcore boxing fans are curious to see if he can solve.

 

If he wins, says Hopkins, he continues to fight. To remain a viable light-heavyweight he needs to stick to ranked light-heavies, and at his age, only belt holders make much sense. The question is: Is he willing to do that? Even for the disciplined, especially for the disciplined, hard choices never stop.