Boxing Bootcamp Day Whatever -- The French, The Homeless, The Reality Check

So yesterday I passive-aggressively berated the two "blatantly French" (yes, I'm quoting myself writing like an idiot) guys in our class for having too much fun and being too silly while the rest of us try to get our beef sweat on. I mentioned also that I tried to see what their deal was after class, but they left before I could catch them. Today, I caught them. Or, rather, I caught the one who speaks English. We'll call him Eric (because that's his name). Without knowing me, after a brief, light-hearted introduction by Simon, he invited me to the restaurant he runs for a "bootcamp discount" and some wine. Then we chatted a bit. Why is his friend so averse to exertion? Because, not too long ago, he was involved in a serious automobile accident, during which his spine was basically snapped at the neck; he was paralyzed for more than two years. Eventually, through therapy, he was able to walk again. Now, he's visiting Eric in San Francisco. The two have known each other as long as they can remember, and they decided to try boxing, now, so they could feel strong again, like they did when they were boys. Hence the silliness.

Boxing quote of the day, from Eric: "Some people, they are not afraid to be hurt, but they fear the shame. Me? I do not fear shame."

So who feels like a big, gaping, smelly asshole? This guy -- me.

That was after class. During class, we boxed pretty much nonstop -- started with partner drills (throwing and defending against jabs, backhand punches and hooks), and then finished the day fighting a partner, with the only rule being: Don't punch your partner in the face; body shots only. Which was fun, but tiring as hell and here's why: because there are so many people in the class, and there's limited space, each pair only has about five square feet to box. And an average boxing ring is between 16 and 20 square feet (that link, I'll warn, is a PDF; the rule I'm referencing is on page 19). So there's nowhere to go, nowhere to fall back -- you end up pummeling each other exhaustively like kids in a school yard (or a cage) until the bell rings and you can stop. Again: fun, but extremely tiring.

After that: shower. Then watch Eric's friend try to hang from a pipe in the gym, accidentally pulling it down. Laugh, witness the aftermath, chat with Eric, as outlined above. Chat with Simon. Leave. On the way to my bike, I run into two dudes on 18th Street, both drinking Schlitz and smelling like they've been drinking Schlitz for hours -- years -- at 8:10am on a Tuesday. One of them approaches me, seeing the gloves and gear, and asks if I'm a boxer.

"Nah," I say. "Just kinda trying it out."

"You know," he says, "that guy over there" -- he motions toward his friend -- "he used to be a pro."

"No shit?"

"Yeah, man. You remember..." he pauses for a second or two, thinking. "Aw, what's his name -- Kim, the Korean guy in the 80s?

I did remember him. I had read about him. Duk Koo Kim is a boxer who, in 1982, fought and lost to Ray Mancini, then collapsed into a coma in the ring and died shortly thereafter. His final fight made the cover of Sports Illustrated, and was/is seen as a potently eye-opening moment in boxing -- as tragedies in sports always are -- when the line between competition and death match was blurred. It was also made into a bad movie called Champion a few years back. I tell my drunken friend as much.

"I don't know about that," he said. "But that dude over there fought him."

I walk over to meet the guy, but he's too drunk to say much. They both share some tips (with stumbling, kinda threatening motions, rather than words) about how to cut a boxer's eye during a fight, and how to sneak in an elbow to the face while the referee's not looking, but I just can't seem to get the boxer's name, even after asking him to repeat himself 5 times. After about ten minutes of bullshitting, I tell them I have to go to work, but maybe I'll see them tomorrow. They nod in unison, and take sips from their brown-bagged beer cans.

I've been looking here at work for the drunken boxer's name, but I can't find it -- can't seem to locate a 56-year-old black former boxer currently in San Francisco (or once in Ohio, he said), who once fought Duk Koo Kim. If they did meet -- and that's a big if -- it doesn't look like it was in a regulation match. Looking at Kim's record, it seems (as pointed out by Snitch writer Joe Eskenazi) that Mancini was the first non-Korean -or-Filipino boxer Kim faced. So if my new drunk friend fought Kim, it was either as a sparring partner or in a very elaborate dream.

Who knows. Maybe he was making shit up. But he sure knew a lot about fighting dirty...

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Boxing Bootcamp is a bit of fun orchestrated by 3rd Street Gym, SF Weekly's Matt Stroud, and Rob Quintiliani from the SF Bay Guardian; the fun involves Rob and Matt training for 6 weeks before pummeling each other publicly for everyone's amusement. Questions? Write to Matt Stroud.