What made you a fan of boxing?

As a kid, my dad.

As an adult...

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Rocky offcourse and then John Ruiz VS Roy Jones as my first fight ever

 

Your dad was trained by Miguel Diaz? That's awesome! Best cut man in the business.

 

person: my dad
first fight i remembered watching: sugar ray leonard vs. donny lalonde. i thought they looked like heavyweights at that time especially lalonde.

 

I used to work out a lot a few years back and stumbled across a guy named Ross Enamait's website ( www.rosstraining.com for anyone interested), he's a former amateur boxer and has done conditioning work with Chad Dawson in the past and Matt Godfrey currently. Anyways, from there I saw a video of Hagler vs. Hearns and have been a fan ever since.

 

The title of this thread's too tempting. Put this up before, but thought some of you might enjoy it.

Growing up, when the few blocks around the Brooklyn Navy Yard was the entire universe and sports heroes rose above sky scrappers -- and our only contact with 'em were the bubble gum trading cards we carried for currency -- Sugar Ray Robinson was the supernova that fired my imagination and lifelong love for boxing.

Even with all Roy Jones’ phenomenal gifts and ringmanship, Robinson has meant so much in my life; Jones could never take his place.

All of New York was a hotbed of boxing, and as long as I could remember, people spoke in awe of Robinson. His picture with gloves held low was on fight posters tacked up all over the neighborhood. Grainy shots of him in dinner clothes, flashing his signature smile, hobnobbing with celebrities, graced the tabloids daily.

We crowded around the radio to listen to his fights, and to catch glimpses of him in his fuchsia Cadillac or when he was being mobbed in the streets for autographs.

Robinson was every young boy's hero. When we play-fought, we all wanted to be him. He captured the imagination of every boy as surely as Superman or Robin Hood. He was movie star handsome, gracious to opponents, soft-spoken, feted by royalty, always in the presence of beautiful women - and the best fighter on the planet.

The first time I saw Robinson in the ring, my dad took me to the old Garden in ‘46 to see him against Tommy Bell for the vacant welter title.

Bell was no slouch, in his own right . . . not the least cowed by Robinson's reputation.

Robinson glistened in his corner waiting for the bell. He was sleek and lean, with a dancer's legs and long supple arms that looked even longer because of his sloping shoulders. While the introductions were being given, he windmilled his right arm, like David getting ready to smite Goliath with a sling.

Robinson and Bell were mirror images of each other in style - both stand-up boxer-punchers - though Robinson enjoyed a few inches in height.

Bell fought with hands high and with a tighter stance. Robinson's guard was lower and he was turned slightly to the side, in a concession to defense, but his stance was wider and gave him more leverage.

They dueled on pretty even terms for 15 rounds, but to me, Robinson's punches had more authority and his combinations were like the repeated crack of a bullwhip.

Some thought Robinson lost that night - it was that closely contested - and Bell dropped Robinson in the second round with left hooks. Bell hit the canvas in the 11th, and was almost stopped in the 12th.

I think like most people there, though, it was almost impossible not to watch Robinson exclusively: Every movement was as classic for a fighter as Fred Astaire's for a dancer. Robinson glided over the canvas. And, even in the bitterest exchanges, he had the baring of royalty. His combinations were flashes of fire to the head and body; you could hear the THWACKS! echo through the arena.

The die was cast: I couldn't wait to get to the gym the next day.

After the Bell fight, I went with my dad and uncles to all Robinson's fights in New York, Philly, New Jersey, Wilkes Barre, Scranton and Connecticut, as well as watching any bouts on TV that we couldn't get to.

There were no end zone dances by Robinson when he dropped or KO'd somebody with a salvo. Usually, he was almost turned away headed for a neutral corner while they were falling . . . like a hit man that knew his job.

Whether it was third-tier guys like Floyd Sebastian and Gene Buffalo, or the very best around, like Georgie Abrams, Kid Gavilan, Steve Belloise, "Sugar" Costner, Charley Fusari and Bo Bo Olson, Robinson struck with the same lightening suddenness, electrifying crowds.

There were times it seemed Robinson's opponent came into the ring with gloves and Sugar Ray had an assault weapon. Every one of his punches seemed like he'd teed up the man's head and hit him full force with a golf club. And he had the accuracy of a sniper.

He fought in the trenches when he had to, beat-up the brawlers, outthought the boxers, could beat anyone at their own game, but mostly dictated the action, even backing up. He could do it all. We'd have paid to see him hit the heavy bag.

But what defines Robinson for me, and separates him from fighters like Jones, who've totally dominated the competition with other-worldly athletic ability, is something very accessible: In many fights, Robinson had to bite down hard on pain and adversity and look within himself to find the courage to rage back and win. Much like a parable for all of us in the cheap seats.

Certainly, he was head and shoulders above everybody else, but it made you want to root for him: Nobility has always been in short supply . . . and he was thrilling.

When Robinson dramatically ended a fight, as he usually did, I couldn't wait to get home and relive the moment in front of the mirror, supplying the roar of the crowd myself.

At the Uptown Gym and Stillman's -- the General Motors of fight factories -- where legends, amateurs and journeyman went about the daily grind in a democracy of sweat, everybody stopped what they were doing to watch Robinson spar and do his floor exercises.

Sugar was always cordial, calling me by name, showing me how to extend my jab by dipping a knee, how to draw a right hand and counter over it . . . and countless other tips and encouragement.

Robinson, at best, was only a friendly acquaintance; I wasn't part of his clique. I was a kid; he was a man - a giant figure on a world stage. And, I could only fantasize about the richness of his life.

I tried to emulate everything about him, from what he wore in the gym to his stance in the ring. But it did me no more good than trying to hit home runs copying Ted Williams's stance. And, as far as his gym gear, no matter how I pulled and tugged, it never looked quite the same on me.

Once after sparring a round, I looked down and saw Sugar at ringside. He gave me an approving nod. I couldn't have been prouder if I'd won a title.

I saw the arc of his whole career, from welter to middle, all of his title victories and losses, the ticker tape parade down 5th Ave. after regaining his middleweight crown from Turpin, and every other glorious moment . . . until time and too many fights reduced him to a mortal, and he was only a Ray Robinson look-alike in his final days in the ring, eking out a payday for the use of his name on a marquee.

Even in his very last fight in ‘65 against Joey Archer, he showed flashes of the old Robinson - and I was on my feet, hoping for a miracle, but it was not to be; he couldn't pull the trigger often enough.

I don't recant anything about Jones' brilliance, but for me, there'll never be anyone sweeter than "Sugar."

True, Robinson was far less heroic as a human being . . . but I still get chills thinking of ring announcer Harry Balough, with his shellacked hair and shiny tuxedo, grabbing the mic at center ring in the old Garden and trying to shout over 17,000 fans straining on the edge of their seats to hear him say:

"IN THIS CORNER . . . S-U-G-A-R . . . R-A-Y . . . R-O-B-I-N-S-O-N!"

 

Woooww.. What a post, man I am so jealous, you knew the great SRR. God I wish I could see some of his prime welterweight bouts in clear video.

 

- tyson -

 

Hagler did it for me. The Hagler/Hearns fight locked me in as a lifetime fan.

 

Wanting to tear someones head off and being long and rangy so that MMA crap is not my cup of tea

 

great story bro that was ****in awesome to read :happy

 

early 90s Mike Tyson

 

I remember as a very young child watching some clip about boxing on a news segment and thinking that boxing looked so crude compared to other martial arts. In my young mind I saw boxing as crude sluggers battering each other; compared to the more accurate and surgical strikes I imagined karate and kung fu fighters could do.
I had an uncle who is a huge boxing fan and so it was natural for me to watch the big matches. I became steadily interested but largely indifferent.
The three fights that I believe made a huge dent in me were matches that caught me emotionally. They were Barry McGuigan - Steve Cruz, J.C. Chavez - Edwin Rosario and Frank Bruno - Tim Witherspoon.
The McGuigan - Cruz fight caught me because, by this time, McGuigan was a huge celebrity in England, and this was chance to show off his skills to an American audience. I remember seeing all the clips on the news leading up to this match and then the weigh in. Cruz struck me as being so much larger than McGuigan and I think this was mentioned in the news segment. The fight itself will always remain one of my all time favourites; it had role reversals, drama and the then that horrendous 15th round. McGuigan impressed me that night with his sheer heart; he was utterly exhausted but somehow managed to cling on.
I saw Chavez-Rosario by accident. It was on a Saturday afternoon and I caught it from the 3rd round on. I had never heard of either of the guys before but what I saw shocked me. I had never seen anything like this; two guys throwing bombs and one in particular, looking like a young kid, was just marching in and being utterly relentless. So much pressure. This was my first taste of the Mexican style of infighting and it defines it for me. I became a huge fan of Chavez from there and started buying the American boxing magazines.
The Frank Bruno - Tim Witherspoon fight hit me the hardest. Bruno was built by the media to being almost superhuman. There were stories circulating about how hard he hit and it just seemed to me that all he had to do was turn up and land some of his right hands and that would do it. I was in California on holiday with my family when this fight happened. We tried to find some bar to watch it but it did not get great coverage in the States; nobody seemed interested. I was in my room reading something and then I was urgently called into the sitting room. A news segment was showing an overweight Witherspoon bludgeoning superman Frank into oblivion. I remember crying when rewatching that clip in my mind's eye. I scoured all the channels just to get to see that same clip again.

Probably a good companion to this thread would be 'what fights almost made you quit watching boxing.'

Fantastic forum by the way; I come on here regularly and get informed and get exasperated in equal measure. Great to meet so many boxing nuts.