For anyone who has actually been in the ring share a personal true story!!

Thought you might get a kick out of a behind-the-scenes moment:

Joey Giardello was gonna fight Walter Cartier, a tough NY middleweight, in the main-go at the old Garden.

I was in the dressing room with a bud who was fightin’ on the undercard.

Walter was a very serious, intense guy -- strapping shoulders and chest -- trained religiously under the watchful eye of his twin brother at Stillman’s Gym. Walter was an orthodox, stand-up boxer, with a solid right hand. And you could see, under his brother’s encouragement he believed he could beat Joey, and be vaulted into the title picture.

He was getting his game face on. In deference the other fighter's spoke in whispers. All of a sudden, the locker room door burst open. It’s Giardello in an outrageously expensive camel’s hair coat tied at the waist -- cigar in his yap -- surrounded by an army of goombahs spilling into the room. Clanging, banging, commotion and noise.

Joey strode over to Cartier, who’s mouth was open, and gave’m a resounding slap on the back: “Hi ya doin', Walter?”

The blood drained from Cartier’s face. The TKO in the first round was a formality; Walter lost it in the dressing room.

 

Willie Pep was a floorshow every place he went.

All he wanted to do is laugh and stopped at nothing to break-up everybody in the gym -- had us all in stitches. He'd rib us -- make us feel like he was just one of the boys. With his Graziano slouch and pork-pie hat, he was better able to carry that off goofin’ on a street corner… never in the ring.

When he was at Stillman's, you could count on practical jokes and a florid Lou Stillman. But, he could do that because he was a dream in the ring. It was a religious experience watching him.

He took nothing serious. NOTHING. He came to the gym mostly, I’m convinced, to have a good time. It was an extension of being at the track or playing cards.

Pep never learned anything; it was all God given. His feet didn't touch the ground. He was all but invisible.

That 's the Pep I'd always seen at the height of his career.

After he hung’em up, briefly, he tried his hand at training.

I was at the 5th St. Gym in Miami. Willie was in the corner of a big, beefy heavyweight.

He was screaming at the heavy from the ring apron, getting redder and redder in the face. This wasn't stand-up comic Willie: This was more Vince Lombardi-Bobby Knight.

When the round ended, Pep went berserk -- attacked his fighter, screamed at him, punched him, whipped him with his pork-pie hat, kicked him in the shins; he had to be dragged off by three cornermen.

Pep just couldn't get it in his head that what he did, as natural as breathing, nobody else could.

 

Loving these stories JG, keep 'em coming

 

Getting in the ring or being an ex boxer doesnt give you a license to think you know more than others. Some of the worst commentators i've seen on tv are ex boxers and trainers. Fans will be fans so just take their opinions as that their opinions. Nobody has played basketball at the level lebron, wade, or football like randy moss and terrell owens. Yet they are criticized all over the media and forums in the internet all the time.

I had over 40 amateur fights but that's not a reason to think i know more than others. Most of the boxers i've met and trainers have like a jr high or less education they box on instincts and repetitions not because they are smart. If you ask them to explain to you how to throw a jab or anything boxing related they will have a hard time explaining it, but they can show you how by doing it.

:hat

 

Started boxing in my late teens, did plenty of sparring but never had an am fight because I worked in pubs & nightclubs, nights & weekends. I loved the training & had enough fights at work to know (or think) I could handle myself.

I was in South Africa in 2002, doing a bit of travelling & revisiting a country I'd been to several times as a child. I was staying with family friends in Cape Town & out of curiosity went to visit a local gym, it was small & spartan but very friendly & welcoming, even though I was the only white guy there & a foreigner.

The 1st day I just hit pads, bags & skipped, the 2nd day I asked if I could spar & with a big smile the trainer said yes. I put on a big old pair of borrowed leather gloves that weighed a ton & hopped into the little ring. The guy they put me in with was tiny, about 5'4 & 9st (126lbs) & I had a good 6" & 20lbs advantage. All the locals gathered around the outside of the ropes & I was confident, I knew a few moves & thought I'd do ok.

I couldnt have been more wrong, I have never seen anyone move so fast. I dont think I laid a glove on him in the 1st round, much to everyones amusement. In the 2nd I dug in a left hook to the body & a few seconds later I was on my ass, I just about survived the 3rd but it was a humbling experience & I didnt go back.

 

Nice story. Well told.

 

You come VERY highly reccomended by Ian Wigley, I can see why.

 

Damn. Really unfortunate

 

I trained at Stillman's with a rugged, undefeated pro middleweight. There was buzz about him as a contender.

He had a walk-in, crowd-pleasing style -- idolized Carmen Basilio, who was also handled by his manager, Al Braverman. At every opportunity, he pushed Braverman to introduce him to Basilio.

Finally, he got on a Basilio undercard in Syracuse and begged Braverman again to meet Carmen. So, Braverman arranged it. Carmen said hello, shook his hand and wished him luck.

When Basilio walked away, the fighter turned to Braverman: "I'm not gonna look like him, am I?"

 

One of the best posts I've seen on this forum.

 

As a kid, I had a bud named Sal, who was a tough street fighter and gave it a shot as a pro heavyweight. No amateur experience--just balls and a big punch.

Sal worshiped at the shrine of Joe DiMaggio; everything out of his mouth was: Joe DiMaggio this and Joe DiMaggio that, and he was the best Italian athlete ever...and blah, blah, blah. It never stopped.

Every day Sal took a pounding sparring, and it was worse in the few prelims that he got.

When he packed-it-in, Sal opened an Italian restaurant in Queens, named after his idol: "Jolt'n Joe's." Every inch was covered with pictures and paintings of DiMaggio, newspaper clippings about him, and the wallpaper was Yankee pinstripes.

For years, the guys would go in Jolt'n Joe's for dinner every week, but you could hardly eat, with all Sal's DiMaggio stories.

I had a friend who did some business with people connected to DiMaggio, and I told him all about Sal and what a thrill it would be for him if DiMaggio would come to his restaurant.

Not too long after, the guy calls me back and says Joe will do it Friday at 8 P.M.

So, I round up all our friends and we make it our business to be in the restaurant early. We couldn't wait to see Sal's reaction when DiMaggio came in the door.

We all made small talk...but it was killing us. Finally, the door opens and there's DiMaggio--"Joe D," in person-- as dapper as you could imagine in a double-breasted sharkskin suit.

I thought Sal was gonna have a coronary. His mouth dropped open; his eyes went wide. He practically leaped over to where DiMaggio was: "Joe...Joe! This is the greatest dream of my life! I never thought I would ever meet you. Look... your pictures are everyplace! You've been my hero since I was kid!"

We had to swallow hard.

"Sit! sit! Joe. I make you something personally" Sal almost kissed us as he headed into the kitchen.

Joe was seated and waited. We were feeling wonderful seeing Sal's dream come true.

When Sal came out and placed the food on the table, he said to Joe, with his eyes glistening: "My son feels the same way about you that I do, Joe. Could you autograph this menu... to Paulie?"

DiMaggio looked up and said, "I get $5 for that."

All the air was sucked out of the room.

Sal looked at him... not believing what he heard, then hurled himself on top of DiMaggio, trying to strangle him, yelling, "YOU MISERABLE MUTHA-------!

It took all of us to pull him off DiMaggio. Sal kept trying to dive back at him. We were barely able to get DiMaggio out of there and back in his car.

 

In my second fight there were a lot of us in a medical room and they were shouting out two names at a time, the two that had been matched up. They shouted my name and this other lad. He stepped forward and I thought 'It can't be him, he's massive.' His legs were thicker, he was taller and his upper body looked thicker. So we weighed and he was only a kilo heavier than me. I was nervous as hell, we got in the ring a little while later and he beat me 8-4 on points. Two years later and I've had 20 fights, he's stopped boxing.

 

Looking forward to reading this thread properly... If anyone's got any questions feel free.

 

It's been deleted without explanation

 

It has been moved to the training section of the forum Mr Garfield