I did have. A cheap one that still tasted like rubber cement and filled the roof of my mouth up a little too far so that I felt like I was choking. It don't matter that much, Ray said. It's not like we're going fifteen rounds. He winked at me. Ray had given me a headgear with a cross piece on it to protect my nose. There's no sense in getting your nosed busted unless you really want to keep doing this, he said. Ray didn't put anything on his own head.
I stepped in the ring and it felt unfamiliar, quiet under the helmet. The 16 oz. gloves felt like big bubble mallets compared to the 12 ouncers I normally work out with. There were a lot of folks in the gym, mostly boxers, and I could feel all eyes on me when we started out. When the bell rung, Ray called me in close. Try not to reach out, he said. Keep your hands up, keep your chin down, and don't reach. He smiled at me. I already know what you're gonna do, he said. Everybody makes the same mistakes. It's just natural.
We tapped gloves and he came forward to me. Open your right hand a little bit, just like you're gonna catch my jabs. The first one came in and I reached out for it with my right hand. Don't reach, he said. Just leave it right there and turn it. He threw again. I reached again, so he threw a controlled hook that hit me above the right ear. That's what happens when you reach, he said. If we were fighting, it'd be over already.
Ray was not throwing hard punches, not his hard punches, but they came out from where they started very fast. If I had been working out with Fred, who is a really good athlete but a novice boxer, it would have been easier to see the punches coming, but he probably would have thrown a little harder, with a little less control. I thought of soccer. If you're playing with a really good shooter, they might not crank up on a shot but the speed and solidness of the contact they create is something you can feel. Ray's punches are straight, easy, and quick. He threw a right at me and I reached for it. Don't reach, he said. Think about pulling them in. I thought about it but I kept reaching out to try to catch his punches. Watch me, he said.
I threw a jab and he watched me from in between his gloves. His right hand was open and just off the side of his mouth and his left hand was resting against his cheekbone. He watched the punches come in and I could feel them bounce off of his mitts. Let your punches go, he said. I'll catch em. I was nervous because he didn't have a headgear on, but I knew he knew he was safe, so I tried to let them go. It's not natural to hit your teacher in the face. The bell rung for the first round. It was a dream. I had no memory of the time passing. I was breathing hard out of my mouth and sweating and I had no memory of exerting any effort.
We tapped mitts at the next bell. Let's move around a little bit, he said. Let your punches go in combinations, he said. Right at my chin. I stalked him, doubling up my jab and following with a right. It felt like he was always too far away. My punches were done by the time they got to his mitts. He smiled at me. It was an ironic smile, a superior smile. Ray is generally very nurturing, but there is something about being in the ring, with gloves on, across from someone else. They are an adversary. You respect them, but you battle them. I remembered talking to Ray after our last workout. There's so much more to this, he said. Nine out of ten guys don't care. They just do it for the fitness so I let em throw. But if you want to learn this, it takes years. Slippin punches. Timing guys, getting your spacing right, keeping your head moving. Throwing is just one piece.
He threw a combination at me. I kept my right hand still on his two jabs but as they hit me I closed my eyes each time, blinked. And then when his right came I reached out for it so he threw another hook and hit me in the head. He smiled again. Keep the left hand back, he said. Now you know. You throw it out there and you get it right back. I tried to focus on being still, on feeling my own gloves on my own face the whole time unless I was punching.
Now move to your right, he said. You're moving to your left the whole time. I could time you all day like that. He was timing me all day. Whenever I threw punches he was just out of reach. When he threw his, he was playing drums on my head. Gradually though, I was relaxing. If you keep your hands back and in the right place, there's really no way a punch can get through. Watching them come in is the tricky part. Teaching yourself not to blink.
Ray back himself into the corner. Throw to my body, he said. I threw at his body. You see that? He said. I sink my butt down, suck my stomach in,� and drop my elbows, and the target gets so small you can't hit it. I'm just dropping my hands about four inches, like a gate closing.
The bell rang again and I paced around the ring breathing hard. My skin felt cool and my body was very relaxed. A byproduct of real tension is real relaxation, like flexing a muscle to stretch it. When punches come at your head, you don't think about anything else in the world, not even the position of your hands. That part has to be habitual, instinctive. Thus practice. Repetition. Like Jimmy had said that day. Boring repetition. But no so boring.
In the last round I moved better. Got more comfortable keeping my hands in. I could take two punches and watch them in to my mitts. If he threw more than that, I'd freak out some and either blink or reach. And then one would get through my gloves and I'd panic a little more. That's what happens when a guy gets knocked out in a flurry. He loses his cool, his hands start moving to protect himself from what's coming, and the other guy just lets his combinations go.
You know in the Old Batman show how whenever they hit the bad guys KAPOW! BIFF! WHAMMO! SHAZAAM! I always liked shazaam. That must have been an uppercut. When you actually get hit, it's like the light in the room getting switched on and off real fast, and then the tangible feeling of not being in control of your movement, of being off balance. Pain comes way later, after your done and the steady stream of adrenaline that's dripping in the back of your throat, shuts off.
My jab felt pretty good, but I realized I'd been throwing it from too low because when it came back it was not in the right place. When I tried to throw with it from the right place, my shoulder got tired. I needed to work on that. The bell rung for the third time and we tapped mitts and Ray winked at me. Not too bad, he said. The last round you're doin a lot better letting em come in. I told you, it's not natural. Let's do this again next week.
There was a cue lined up to work out with him. I wanted to talk to him, hug him, thank him, and it reminded me of how fighters, after killing each other bloody, will hug each other and say they love each other right after the fight ends.
I took my mouth guard out and Ray took my headgear off, and I went out to the heavy bag. I felt high and my head was ringing. I didn't have to guess anymore about where my hands should start on my punches. I knew. I could feel them. I had a shield to go with my sword. But I had to start over some. Throw from the right spot and let the muscles build the rest position there, especially in my left shoulder. The hand needs to be higher and tighter, and snap out on a straight line to the chin.
It did not take long for me to tire out on the heavy bag and I finished with two rounds on the speed bag, one more on the rope, stomach set, leg set, push up set. Reality: I will probably never become a decent boxer. If I want to I will have to throw thousands of punches and spar for a year.
Chad came over to me, his eyes glowing. What do you think? he said. It's really fun, I said. I didn't notice the time. I love it, he said. It just gets more and more fun, he said.
Defense wins championships. Like Hagler and Hearns. Hearns one of the most dangerous punchers ever. So quick and so long. Hagler, perhaps the toughest defender in the business. He got Hearns tired. Played defense, got close, worked the body to loosen his opponent's legs. And then finished. There are many ways to win. Everyone is talking about De La Hoya v. Mayweather now. Remember Ray's words. Mayweather is too quick. That's poison for De La Hoya.
Thursday afternoon I sparred for the first time and the whole frame of reference I'd put together in training altered slightly and permanently. I was supposed to work out with Fred Degand, one of the trainers at Go Time. He would throw punches at me while Ray directed both of us. But Fred's schedule changed and so Ray decided to lace em up and just do it himself. I jumped rope for two rounds and then shadowed for two more to get a good sweat going and then Ray called me in. You got your mouth guard?