The making of a boxer

When I joined the Bell Green boxing club as a ten year old I was confident because of what I was taught by my dad.  I was convinced that I was born to be a boxer.  I believed that boxing ran in the family and my destiny was predicted though genetics.  I knew my dad had been a professional boxer, at 10 years old I thought everybody in the world knew my dad was a boxer.  He had told me that he had beaten an Irish boxer called Pat Stapleton (stopping him in 6 rounds) who was, at the time, ranked ninth in the world and fifth in the British Empire. He also told me he had knocked out a famous boxer in sparring called Henry Cooper, and beat Henry Cooper’s twin brother George in 2 rounds.  As a child I believed everything he said and now with the advent of Google I can confirm he did beat the undefeated Pat Stapleton in 6 rounds at Tolka Park, Dublin in Ireland and Henry’s brother George Cooper at the City Hall in Hull in two rounds.  He also told me that he was too tired to continue in one fight, so decided to knee his opponent in the groin.  Taking all these facts into consideration I decided that if I didn’t party like my dad did and trained harder I could become a world champion. He also told me that after each win he would party wildly which explains his fight record of 21 fights 9 wins 8 by knockout 10 losses 7 by knockout and two disqualifications. I figured that, by all appearances at least, I was black, although I did have my mother’s white blood running through my veins, and most world champions at the time were black. In fact all the top heavyweights at the time were black.  Muhammed Ali, Ken Norton, Joe Frazier and George Foreman were top of the tree for more than a decade.  All undisputed heavyweight world champions in my lifetime had been black.  It seemed to me that the only way forward as a young mixed race boy was sport and in particular boxing.   

My first attempt at boxing came as a 10 year old.  At the time I was living in Wood End with my father and two sisters.  Wood End like the neighbouring Bell Green was a council estate and the boxing club was like a sanctuary for kids who used boxing to keep them out of trouble.  I have to admit that the thought of going to a boxing club aged 10 was exciting but at the same time a daunting experience.  The short walk to the boxing club was across an unlit open field.  We were always told to walk using the pavements, but being kids we always walked the shortest route.  If I was alone I would take the longer safer route but when you are with your mates you need to show them you are not scared.  It wasn’t so much the dark I was scared of but the stray dogs that would be barking as they heard us crossing the field. Coming out of the darkness into the Bell Green’s shopping area was both a relief and also a different type fear.  The worry of the stray dogs would be replaced by the concern of walking through gangs of older kids hanging outside the shops who would occasionally tease us..   Bell Green ABC was in a room above Bell Green Working Men’s Club.  The first time we went there we walked through the bar, as we were unaware that we should have used the Steel fire escape at the rear of the building that would have taken us to the first floor where the boxing club was.  I remember the stench of pipe tobacco, beer and sweaty old men.  Back in the early 70’s you would rarely see women at such establishments. Working men’s clubs as the title suggested were places where men went after work to drink beer chat and play games like darts cards and dominoes.  As we climbed the stairs we could hear the hum of voices coming from behind the tatty double doors and the sound of people warming up with skipping ropes whistling through the air. Above the noise I am sure I heard my own heart beating.

I was trying to be cool and relaxed.  In my mind I knew I could box a bit from what my dad had taught me but I felt so nervous.  I would like to say I was excited but I don’t think I was, I was just scared.   As we entered the room where we were to train the smell of the cigarettes, Pipe tobacco, beer and sweaty old men was quickly replaced by the warm odour of stale sweaty boxing gloves and sweatier boxers.  40 years later I hear people, who are used to air conditioned sports centres, complain about the smell of my Spit n Sawdust gym, but over the years this smell became my ‘comfort blanket’.  The room was full of boxers, the noise of skipping ropes whistling the air punch bags that looked older than my dad being pounded and instructions being bellowed by boxing coaches were intimidating.  This was pre ‘political correctness’.  This was when if you didn’t do as you were expected you would get a clip round the ear and your parents accepted it.  Being ten years old and living on a council estate and being surrounded by bigger older council estate children was initially very scary.   But what I found then and have continued to see in all my years being involved in boxing is that boxers are generally honourable people.  Bullies rarely attend boxing clubs and boxers although having to be single minded due to the nature of the sport, are respectful of each other. 

I saw joining a boxing club as a way of learning to look after myself but ultimately had bigger dreams.  I wanted to be the next Muhammed Ali and after a few months training I found people were describing me as a natural.  I was in a comfort zone, sparring with people who had started training about the same time as I had and I have to say I was feeling smug.  What I had learnt over the years with my father had brought out my natural ability…. Until the day they asked me to have a spar with a bigger boy.  This boy was not only bigger and older than me but I had just given his previous sparring partner what I considered a serious beating and made his nose bleed.  I refused to spar him, was told I would never make a boxer and left that evening with my tail between my legs never to return.  Running was my new sport, I ran everywhere. Four years later, when we moved a little over 5 miles across town from Wood End to what in comparison looked to a posh part of Coventry, Radford, I chose to run to keep my bus fare and run to school.  My sister Maxine used to catch a bus to the city centre and another from there to school. 

I met a lad called Andy Christie. He was a year younger than I was but taller and looked athletic and to be honest hard as nails.  He walked and talked with an air of confidence and seemed very self-assured.  We had a paper-round at the same newsagent in Radford.  I quickly found out that Andy was one of five brothers who all boxed.  All of them were either a former a British Champion, a British Champions or a future British Champion.  After visiting the Christies house and meeting the family and seeing their mountain of trophies it wasn’t a difficult decision to join the Standard Triumph Amateur Boxing Club. Joining such a boxing club for me was a big moment for me.  As a 10 years old joining the boxing club was impulsive and something to help my confidence. At 15 I knew it was serious and this time I was joining knowing that I was going to become a boxer for real