Boxing

Rope a Dope Takes on a Whole New Meaning

Last time I scrapped was the fourth grade, when Benji Leva spat on my sister at the bus stop. I pulled the bully's raincoat over his head, kicked him in the backpack, and bolted to school as fast as I could.

Would you believe I had no formal training?

That all changed when I met welterweight champ George Sylva, who taught me the ropes (and how to stay off of them). I had a few things working against me. One, I am skinny; two, I'm white; and three, my HMO is so weak that it covers only an apple a day. So it goes.

The whole gym worked out in three-minute intervals. When the round-clock buzzed, everything stopped like The Twilight Zone. It's hard to describe the tricep pain without using the F-word. Three minutes doesn't seem like a long time, but when you're shadow boxing it's like 180 seconds.

George ordered some ab drills that he had learned in the navy. Until then I had seen medicine balls but didn't know how much I despised them. And when I absolutely, positively could not go on, he ordered ten more crunches.

"Body blows," he said. "You'll thank me later."

Every time I dropped the jump rope, I had to jog a lap; and during that process, I made a discovery ... You know what works just as well a jump rope? An imaginary jump rope. Same exercise -- no friggen mind games.

One day George showed up with funny eyes and said, "I think you're ready."

Sparring, for the record, is a time for boxers to hone their technique. It may look friendly on account of the headgear, but getting punched is a lot like getting punched.

George called on 16-year-old Hugo Centeno, a junior gold medallist who was -- gulp -- 56 and 0.

"He's skilled enough to control his sting," said George.

Oh. Well. That's encouraging.

First, I hate it when ninth-graders are taller than me. Second, I was old enough to be his ... spiritual advisor. Stepping into the ring, I mentioned my HMO, but Hugo didn't get it. The round clock buzzed and George pushed me out of the nest.

I sidled up to Hugo, peeking through a gap in my gloves. Hit him?! I don't even know him. Jab. Jab jab. Nibble jab.

George shouted from the side: "You're trying to swim without gettin' wet."