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How to wrap hands for boxing! With Coach Jordan Guenther
Coach Jordan came by and showed me his style of wrapping hands. We had a good time swapping stories and telling tales of our corner experiences. Jordan is the head coach at Daruma Combat Sports and you can find him running the striking program at American Top Team in Portland Oregon! We’re old friends, this won’t be his last appearance here at That’s Boxing!!!
In The Ring With: Joe Aguilar
Joe came by and we talked about boxing, family and more. Joe is a professional boxer with a growing fan base built on his consistently exciting fights. Keep an eye on his career!
My Toughest Fight: Shoulder Surgery at 38 years old PART 3
{I’m writing this in Lafayette, Louisiana. I’m here with one of my boxers coaching him in this National championship and Olympic trials tournament. I’m just past a month out of surgery}
The First Week:
The first few days post surgery are a blur. I was laid up on the couch watching the Lord of The Rings, extended edition and icing my shoulder. The nerve block kept my arm numb and I was napping and resting all day. Nights were more difficult, I tried to sleep on the couch but found no comfort. I’ve never been a back sleeper so I couldn’t stay asleep long, waking every couples hours to fidget with the sling or reposition pillows. I was waiting impatiently for the nerve block to wear off, I was anxious for whatever pain was coming.
Three days post surgery the nerve block wore off and I was able to remove the dressing on my shoulder and take a careful shower. My wife was so helpful here, peeling countless bits of tape carefully off my back and withdrawing the catheter from my neck. She helped me shower, my arm was still slightly numb and hung limply at my side.
I was surprised the pain didn’t hit hard, there was definitely pressure inside my arm and shoulder but no sharp pains. I’d been on a regiment of ibuprofen and had a supply of heavier pain killers. I took a half of an oxy in anticipation of a flood of pain but it never came and I never took another one of those pills.
Sleep was beginning to be the hardest part of the ordeal. I would fall asleep decently only to wake up two or three hours later and be uncomfortable and aching. I started moving out to the couch in the middle of the night to try not to disturb my wife and try to sleep. I’d usually catch another two hours of sleep on the couch in the early morning.
I took a full week off work and tried to rest as much as possible. I started getting cabin fever though, and began daily walks around my neighborhood to burn off energy and anxiety. I came up with a leg strengthening routine of lunges, squats calf raises and more. This kept my mind satisfied and wore me out enough to sit on the couch again. Daily activities like cooking, cleaning, washing myself and brushing my teeth were difficult but not impossible. Getting dressed was hard, I needed help that first week. Staying in sweat pants and button up shirts or zip up hoodies made it bearable.
Pain and discomfort was constant, and I had a few incidents that clearly reminded me of my condition. One night in the first week I tried to pick up one of my cats in a mid sleep stupor and set off a firestorm of pain deep in my shoulder. I was up the rest of the night icing and hoping I didn’t mess anything up. Thankfully I didn’t and it was no big deal in the end. Another time I made a fast movement with my arm and that shoulder began to spasm in a way that felt nearly like a dislocation, but again the pain subsided and there was no damage to the surgical area. I’m wearing the sling nearly 24 hours a day at this point and still managing to tweak the shoulder. Makes it obvious why they want you to stay locked in the sling.
Week 2:
I started doing the at home physical therapy exercises religiously. Stretching and swinging the shoulder felt like progress, and I was ready for progress. Patience is the key to healing a surgery like this, and mine was being tested.
I went back to work at 10 days, working clients through boxing routines. I’m certainly not holding the mitts anytime soon but I can sure give ‘em a hell of a workout without em anyways.
I’d get sore after a few hours and need to ice after work, but nothing felt terrible and it was nice to be back in the gym doing what I love to do. I decided to keep an easy part time schedule to start back and I’m glad I did, I was still not getting good sleep.
Week 3:
I managed a trip to Los Angeles for thanksgiving during the third week of recovery. The flight wasn’t too bad, and the pain and discomfort had subsided to a dull background noise. The time away from home kept me out of the gym and gave me a good week of rest with family. I rode a stationary bike and took some walks. The worst part, as I’d come to expect at this point, was sleep. I’d take ibuprofen before bed in anticipation of the 2 am pain train.
Things felt good in the surgical area, i didn’t have the vulnerable feeling of the first days, doing the stretches and exercises three times a day was a labor of love. I felt like every move was bringing me closer to being whole again.
Week 4:
The fourth week went quickly, I was starting to notice my shoulder feeling more normal again. The sling became the real struggle. I felt I didn’t need it when I was around the house doing regular tasks. But doctors orders said it stays on for six weeks! I kept it off as much as possible, which led to a lot of hibernation and rest. I was finally getting decent sleep, thankfully. I started working on my posture this week. Doing a series of exercises to keep my shoulders back and stretching my neck. The sling really pulled my right shoulder forward and rounded my back. I’ve already got bad posture and boxers shoulders so it was really difficult and very necessary exercise.
Week 5:
This last week I’ve been in Louisiana. Flying with the sling is tricky, I took it off mid flight so I wouldn’t be jabbing my elbow into the stranger by my side. It turns out the pad on the sling makes a decent pillow! At this point I feel like the surgical healing is done. There’s no pain or discomfort when out of the sling. I’m able to brush my teeth with my right hand. The range of motion is extremely limited as expected, but the repair feels great. I’m sticking with the exercises and counting the days till I meet with my surgeon and get cleared to finally lose the sling. I’ll start physical therapy next week, and from what I’ve heard that’s when the real work starts. I’m ready. The next post will be a report on the process of regaining my range of motion and strength.
{Thanks for following along. This has been one heck of a journey, I hope documenting it can help anyone out there considering surgery or going through the early days of recovery. It does get better, and at this point I have no regrets. I’m thankful I’m in a position to take the time to do the surgery and that I have an amazing wife and support system to help me through this}
My Toughest Fight: Shoulder Surgery at 38 years old PART 2
{I am writing this series while recovering from surgery. I am three weeks out from the operation and I've got some time on my hands. I hope this story can inform and inspire anyone that is suffering shoulder problems.}
When we left off in the last chapter I had finally decided to see a doctor about my shoulder dislocations. But life took its twists and turns and years passed before I scheduled an appointment. My coaching career had some good momentum and I had been traveling for pro fights and amateur tournaments all over the US and even into mexico. My son was growing up and I didnt need to carry him around much anymore. I got engaged to the love of my life and we bought a house. Life was better than ever, but my shoulder was the worst it had ever been. I suffered some terrible dislocations that took way too long to relocate and caused extreme pain. The kind of pain that sets a man to shaking and sweating. I finally had enough and made the appointment for an MRI.
The scan showed a torn labrum. Torn nearly all the way around, there was no question that surgery was the only option. Yet again I postponed it, I had work to do. I had a heavyweight golden gloves champion who needed mitt work, we had regionals and nationals coming up. I had pro fights to work as an assistant and cutman. The surgery would have to wait till the end of the year, when things slowed down around the gym. Or maybe I was just looking for another reason to avoid my fate.
I spent the summer training my ass off. Whipping myself into shape. I started thinking about surgery like a fight. I knew what was coming would not be easy. I knew that I would be facing adversity, that I would struggle. That I would have to endure pain. But I was no stranger to pain, a decade in the boxing gym will make anyone familiar with pain. I knew fear. Anyone that has stepped through the ropes knows what it's like to face fear. And much like a fight I knew that I would get through it, and that I would be better for it in the end.
November 2nd came and I walked through the doors of the OHSU orthopedic surgery facility. I was nearly transcendent, watching myself change into the gown, the silly yellow socks. I nodded in quiet agreement to a hundred questions, I was hardly there in spirit. This day was just for my body. I drifted off somewhere far away, leaving my body on the table where they did the long awaited work on my shoulder.
I woke up in a new place, my arm hanging numb at my side in a sling, head pounding like I had pulled an all nighter at the bar. I felt victorious. Through the pain and confusion of that moment I felt pride. I had done it, finally I had done it.
Eight anchors, drilled into the bone. Seven for the labrum and one on the humorous head, locking down the rotator cuff. Officially it was a “Shoulder Arthroscopy, Labral repair, Capsular Shift, Decompression of paralabral cyst and Remplissage”. They rolled me outta there as soon as I was awake and sent me home to recover. I had a nerve block catheter into my neck, and a pouch full of medicine. The meds numbed my entire shoulder and arm, completely. It was awkward but I didn't feel a thing for two days after surgery. I didn't need to take any pain medication, besides some ibuprofen for swelling.
During those first days of recovery I began to realize that the surgery was not the fight. The surgery was the start of the fight, the first bell ringing out to let me know the battle had begun. I sat there on the couch and thought about what was coming. 6 weeks in the sling followed by three months of physical therapy. They said I couldn't punch again for 6 months. The fight had just begun.
{Thanks for reading. We’re almost up to present time in the story. In the next chapter we’ll talk about the recovery process through the first three to four weeks. And from there I will write updates as the process continues.}
My Toughest Fight: Shoulder Surgery at 38 years old PART 1
{I am writing this series while recovering from surgery. I am three weeks out from the operation and I've got some time on my hands. I hope this story can inform and inspire anyone that is suffering shoulder problems.}
It could've been that horse that bucked me off when I was fourteen, it could've been recklessly wrestling my brother. Maybe it was the backyard brawls or the drunken arm wrestling. How about spending most of my teenage skateboarding career eating concrete? Or my summer of surfing that I spent mostly underwater and limped away from with staples in the back of my head and stitches in my foot. Could've been any one of the forgotten moments of youth, but somewhere along the way I tore the labrum in my right shoulder.
I might not remember the initial injury but I do remember the first dislocation, well actually it was a subluxation but we'll get to the full dislocations later. I was in gym class at sixteen years old and I tried to throw a ball as hard as I could. I felt a terrible movement inside my shoulder and my arm fell limp to my side. It felt like my arm had popped out and then sucked right back in again. It hurt like hell but I was too ashamed or prideful to ask for help so I just went on with my day and pretended nothing happened. Looking back now I should've gone and gotten it checked out but you know what they say about hindsight.
As my teen years passed and I tried to learn to be an adult my shoulder would subluxate a few times a year. If I tried to throw a powerful right cross it would slip out and back in. Or if I reached behind me it would slip and I would scream in pain. It became a part of my daily life, protecting the shoulder.
When I was 26 my son was born and I started training in boxing seriously for the first time. Instead of dabbling in the sport I became a full time boxing gym rat. I knew my shoulder was messed up but I still had never been to a doctor about it. I made a lot of assumptions and just hoped that I could make it work.
I got away with it for a few years, the shoulder didn’t give me much trouble. I trained religiously and worked my way onto a competition team, sparring with the best and trying like hell to get a fight career going. Those were some of the best years of my life.
The shoulder started really giving out at 30 years old. I started getting full dislocations. It would pop all the way out and hang, and I had to move my arm around til it found the sweet spot and it would pop back in. I became way too good at that, it was so excruciating but nothing was ever quite so relieving as the feeling of that arm sliding back into place. It started at the gym, but eventually started coming out at home doing everyday things like turning on a light switch. Twice it dislocated in my sleep. Thats a hell of a way to wake up!
I realized I couldn't realistically compete with the vulnerable arm. It was hard to accept, boxing was my life! I was lucky enough to have the opportunity to step into an assistant coaching role. Boxing is a young person's sport anyways, at least competitive boxing is. But I still had the itch to spar, I still had a reason to fight burning somewhere inside of me. I couldn't walk away from boxing, so I had to consider surgery.
I was 30 years old, raising my young son on my own. I had a modest business repairing electronic equipment out of my garage and a part time gig at the gym. I had no money and no free time. I had to postpone the surgery when I found out the recovery time can be up to 6 months and you can’t use the arm at all for at least 4 weeks. There was just no way I could make that work.
So I waited, and focused on coaching. I sparred with one hand, I stayed in decent shape. But that time bomb in my shoulder was ticking and I knew someday I would have to face the music. I didn’t know it then but it would be 7 years and many more dislocations before I finally stepped into a doctors office and asked for help.
{thanks for reading, come back for part 2 where look at the MRI results, assess the damage and schedule surgery}
Interview: Dust Raps the Blues
Listen in as my friend Dust and I chop it up about music, boxing life and more!
The Wait.
The Wait.
You bide your time. You wait in a line.
You wait on the flight that’s always late.
You wait to eat. You don’t complain.
Patience is the name of the game.
You’ve been waiting your whole life. This is boxing.
You’re a fighter. Just like your father.
You wait for the scale, the doctor and the circus too. You wait for the meetings, the officials and the songs.
You wait for the bell.
It rings out its metallic cry.
And all at once the waiting ends.
Your strength cracks the air like lightning.
Wild eyes wide, nostrils flared you feel no pain.
Knuckles crack bone, the crowd roars.
A heart is beating hard and blood is falling on the canvas.
You’ll wait to find it isn’t yours.
You wait for the punch, the one you know will end this game.
When you see it, will you wait again?
In this place where time is gone, will you watch him fall?
You wait for the judges, you wait to celebrate.
You wait for the bruises to heal.
You wait for your hands to stop hurting. You don’t complain.
“Good job tonite” they’ll say, and talk of what’s next.
And you know you’ll wait again.
Interview with veteran cutman and prolific poet Tom Smario
Tom is the kind of guy that has forgotten more about boxing than most will ever know. He’s been involved in some legendary fighters careers and he can tell you stories for days of boxing and blood and beyond. He’s published many books of poetry as well. He shared some of his time with me and I’m happy to share that video with you. Thanks Tom.
It’s Show Biz, Baby!!!
It’s an age old adage, work smarter not harder. Yet in the boxing world it seems that hard work is valued over skilled work. The superhuman effort of a Rocky-esque figure will overshadow the clinical execution of a highly trained boxer. Why? I think I know. And I think that reason has a huge effect on the sport and is the cause of many of the problems and controversies that mire the sweet science in unnecessary drama.
It’s all about the story. Even the most ardent boxing fans and historians fall for the narratives that sell the fights. Is it the story we tune in for, or the actual fight? I admit that I have fallen into the pre fight hype of many a main event and picked a fighter based on a story sold to me in gloss and glitz. From the everyman tale of the working class hero’s chance at glory to the fallen champions return and quest for redemption. These tales color our impressions of the boxing event before the gloves are even laced up.
It’s all about relatability. The average person that tunes into a fight or follows the sport of boxing is not a fine tuned fighting machine. They are just regular normal people. So what’s more relatable than a fighter who seem like a normal guy? A puncher with a solid chin and a ton of grit, ready to risk it all for a chance to better their life. Thats who people can project themselves onto and feel connected to.
So where does that leave the slick and sharp technical boxer, the one not willing to wade face first into battle. The life long pugilist that would rather leave the ring unscathed at all costs, and executes that plan with a display of excellent footwork, head movement and defense? Is he relatable to the layman? Not generally. So this is where things get complicated.
Boxing is a business, and like any business the goal is to make money. As much as possible. So these promoters and managers create narratives that will sell. If a fighter isn’t relatable to the public they will twist and flip the tale anyway they can to get attention. One of the first ways they did this was to exploit ethnic stereotypes to align fans in favor of a fighter. There were some downright racist and shameful gimmicks in the early 1900s and sadly still today you see this tactic employed by shady promoters.
Its all about emotion, And if they can’t sell you camaraderie and love they will sell you hatred. Thats why the tactic of creating a character that is completely unlikable is the most successful method of selling a fight. Its a classic model that’s been used for decades. But today it’s created a system for boxing where talent and skills are the last things on the list of requirements for main event participants. It’s hatred, drama and controversy that get the sport headlines instead of skill or entertaining competitive matches.
I recently conducted a poll on my instagram page and found that the majority of people value effort over skill in the ring. And if you’ve ever watched a boxing movie you’ll see they always tell the story of a hard luck puncher that wins with his heart and not his head. As a coach and fan and former competitor in this great sport I find it interesting to consider all this. How can I train a fighter to be a perfect puncher with a hit and don’t get hit style when some of the highest paid guys are just master salesmen and mediocre athletes? I can because I have respect for the sport and an understanding that there is always an element of entertainment in the business of boxing. As someone once said, “That’s show biz, baby!”
Questions with Coach: Leonard Gabriel
Recently I got a few minutes with one of the busiest guys in the boxing scene. Leonard has been around and seen some things! At a a recent amateur event he wrapped some hands and answered some questions. Thanks Coach!
On losing and winning, in and out of the ring.
My first boxing coach was an alcoholic. He was a deeply religious man, we would work out to the sounds of local Christian radio station playing songs of redemption and faith. He had fought many boxing matches and even more demons. He could tell you about defeating Tony Tucker in the amateurs a lifetime ago. Sometimes he’d talk about his losses too, not in the ring but in his life. He’d lost touch with his children, losing them along the twisted path his life had wandered. I had a newborn son at the time and he’d warn me of the perils of the drink. He had an unforgettable look in his eye the day he looked at my son and told me to hold on tight and never let him go. Coach went on to a tragic drunken fate that ended a life and sent him down state to pay for his mistakes with the only thing you can take from a man that has nothing left, his time. He’s still there today, I think about him often. He’s the one that taught me how to box after all, and now I’m in the gym passing on the lessons he gave me. Lessons on punching and lessons on life.
Questions with Coach: J.C. Wade
I ran into J.C. in the dressing room of the Roseland Theatre in downtown Portland. He was a welcome sight because I was in an unfamiliar scene. This wasn’t a boxing event, it was mixed martial arts! I was assisting in the corner of the main event with a lady fighter that I have been training. As I entered the locker room to a sea of strangers I was relieved to see a familiar face and a real old school boxing coach sitting against the side wall. J.C. coaches two of Oregons finest pro boxing prospects as well as many amateurs. He was there working with an MMA fighter from their gym. I took some time to ask him the five questions, and he was kind enough to oblige me. He gave us a great interview, thanks Coach!!
Questions with Coach: Myron Johnson
It’s a sweltering Sunday afternoon. We’re in a crowded gymnasium where two boxing rings have sprung up over the basketball courts. Boxing coaches, fighters, family and fans mill about, awaiting the beginning of the days scheduled fights. The energy of anticipation crackles all around. Coach Myron is the kind of person that is familiar in this sport. A warm and welcoming man that exudes a sense of calm and fatherly energy. He took some time to answer my questions while he attended to the hand wraps of a young fighter. Thanks Coach!!!
Up the stairs, around the corner and through the door.
Up the stairs, around the corner and through the door. The kid followed tight on the heels of his older brother. His eyes grew wide at the majesty of the gym. Ancient posters adorned every inch of the walls, long perished heroes welcomed him into this timeless space. His senses reeled at the things he’s yet to know. The smell of aged leather, the creaking of boards beneath his feet. The odor of sweat and fear and pain. The old coach spoke to him. “Turn your shoulders”, and he turned. “Extend that jab” and he jabbed. “Move your head”, and he flexed and twisted . He did all this with one eye glancing over to his brother, trying his best to emulate his moves and his sounds. The coach couldn’t help but smile to himself at these valiant efforts. Maybe this kid has really got it?
“Move your feet”, the command was clear. A grimace came across the face of the young puncher. “What’s wrong kid? You getting tired already?” “Nah coach, my feet hurt. These shoes, they’re my brothers old shoes. They’re too big coach, way too big, my feet are sliding inside and they hurt real bad.” The coach, unflinching in his rigid ways, called the command again. “ move your feet”.
That evening the sun set in the western windows of the gym and rays of golden light cut the dust over the faded ring. In that magic hour time holds still and it could be yesterday or tomorrow or a hundred years ago. A silence settles over a place that’s rarely still. The bags sway mutely on their chains, possessed by the spirit of a thousand punches. From the small corner office the coach calls upon a friend, a long time boxer and pugilist to the core. They speak in private to improve the kids luck with his feet.
Up the stairs, around the corner and through the door. The come in side by side, one bag of gear between them. Ali looks them over with his champions grin , Norton and Holmes glare down from above. Cotto and Margarito stand in a permanent stare down behind a pair of boxing shoes sitting on the bench. The coach steps from his spot near the window at the corner of the ring. A perch that’s worn so well you can see his shadow there even when he’s not in that familiar pose against the ropes. “Gear up and let’s get on that jump rope” his voice rings loud and clear. He shares a glance with the kid and nods at the bench, the shoes sit warmed by the morning sun. Without a word he laces them on and walks to the mirrors to join his brother. The old leather ropes whip the ground, popping to the quick tempo of two hungry fighters. The coach eyes his timer, they can’t see that he hasn’t started it yet. They don’t know it only works properly half the time anyways. But he holds it in his big hands and watches them lift their feet and spin the ropes. The kid is really flying today, a smile passes over his face as he tries to outrun his brother. The ropes whip faster and faster to a frenzied pace, those new shoes lost in a blur of movement and energy. The ropes tangle and they both rest, laughing the way only brothers can share a laugh. The coach smiles at them for a moment before he makes the call, “ Keep that rope moving!!”
Interview: Juan Rivera
What follows is a short interview with a boxer I met in Tijuana last year. While the conversation was short the words are powerful and poignant. Like many fighters that travel to fight in TJ he was alone in his preparation, getting his hands wrapped by the all purpose corner man that the promoter employs for the outta towners. The back stage area was so small that they moved out into the alley and it’s there that I captured the photograph and spoke to him.
Cual es su nombre? (What is your name?)
Juan Rivera
Que es el boxeo para ti? (What is boxing to you?)
El boxeo es mi vida. Toda mi vida es boxeado
(Boxing is my life. All of my life is boxing.)
Si? (Yes?)
Si. Ya voy a retirarme. Pronto me retiro.
(Yes. I’m going to retire. I’m retiring soon.)
29 years boxing
Juan went on and fight to a no contest that night. His life is the embodiment of a true tough boxers tale. A lifer in this sport, with more losses than wins. But he has no less value than a winning man. He’s invaluable to the sport, a necessity in the machine that is professional boxing. For every boxer that you see on tv, the household names that transcend the sport, there is thousands of fighters like Juan. With no glitz nor glam they step through the ropes time and time again. Without these valiant boxers battling in the shadows we wouldn’t have the millionaire dollar stars under the television lights. It was a honor to have met him and I’m grateful that he answered my questions. Support your local boxing scene!
The Crossing
Have you ever been to Mexico? Where the edge of San Diego’s opulence runs straight up to the end of America’s soil. You can see the foreign hills beyond the wall, bustling with life and busy as a bee hive. Buildings cracked and ramshackle, worn by the sun and the sand and long since unmaintained. You can feel the tension in that place. A million lives all bottled up at one arbitrary line. Something about it makes one quicken his pace, to reach his destination and complete his job.
With a bag full of corner man equipment and three hours on the clock til the fights started, I found myself sitting in a holding room at the pedestrian crossing in San Ysidro. My fighter and our team had made it though the checkpoint, past the metal detector and the heavily armed Mexican border guards. But me, I was plucked from that desperate and sweaty line to be dropped into a locked holding room with a dozen strangers. The stress in that room is palpable. There’s no cell service there even if you decided to defy the handwritten sign taped to the walls above the metal benches. No Cell Phones, No Pictures. So I sat, and waited. Nearly shaking with nervous energy, wondering would the team have to go on without me. The show must go on, they say. I bet whoever said that never had to be the one left behind in a border crossing holding cell.
Minutes felt like hours as I watched a guard come in the room and pull people out one by one. Where they were going and what was happening I had no idea, but I sure did want to find out cause that room was feeling smaller by the second. My heart sank as some who had arrived at this cold, hard room after me were called up before me. Finally, when they called my name I sprung from that cold bench and passed through the door. What awaited me was simple. A desk, worn and weathered. Behind it a man in an official looking uniform. His eyes held no mercy as he made it clear to me that I had two choices, return to the united states immediately or pay for a day pass into the great city of Tijuana for a reasonable fee of 800 pesos.
Well believe me when I tell you I had that 40$ on his table before he finished his sentence. Off I went, through the doors and down the hall feeling relief wash over me. Rounding the corner I catch sight of my team. Where did you go? What the hell happened? Thank god they waited for me. As we walked down into the city, the vendors calling and taxis honking filled the air. The children run about your ankles and nearly trip you up, the place is so alive your every sense is on high alert. I turn to the team and tell them how I nearly got sent back, but I took care of that day pass fee so were all good. Our manager looks at me laughing, the kind of laugh that comes from way down inside. Whats so funny man? There is no such thing as a day pass fee! Welcome to Mexico! Our laughter joined the cacophony of the wild streets of Tijuana, as we were swallowed into the city and swept off into the night.
Lorenzo “ El Matador” Caldera went on to improve his professional boxing record to 5-0 that night. We’ve had three fights in Mexico and each time was memorable and each time we overcame adversity to win the fights. A lot of great fighters cut there teeth down in Tijuana, its so much more than a boxing match and its a great place to get experience and test a fighters ability to excel in less than excellent conditions. Just don’t forget to take a little extra cash with you.
“That Vintage Feeling”
Letter from the editor.
Welcome to That’s Boxing. The goal of this venture is to build a boxing magazine. I grew up on magazines. I guess that makes me sound old. I remember the feeling of a fresh magazine in my hands, the way it was so slick, and the way the binding would crack on the first opening. Skateboarding mags were the currency of middle school. Everyone passed around the same copy of thrasher or big brother, the rag getting rougher as it worked its way down the ranks of cool in the school. in those days I rarely saw a fresh magazine, never had a subscription, but I remember getting lost in the gloss of those pages. Later in life I got into boxing, and have seen some nice collections of vintage boxing zines, and I get the same feelings. And I wonder what it must have been like to crack the cover on a fresh copy of Ring magazine in 1973. Any starry eyed soul can get drawn in to the allure of greatness. When you’ve got very little its easy to dream big. And here we are now in these modern times, when print media is a shadow of its former self. Internet and apps rule the day. I remember the summer that we all got smart phones and I recall it as a real moment of tangible change in my life. And just like everyone else I got rewired to have my info and entertainment come in fifteen second clips and sensational headlines. So here I sit, typing away trying to explain how I plan to use modern media to achieve that vintage feeling. I am gonna start simple. Sharing stories, videos and pictures of the boxing world that I am so lucky to inhabit everyday. As my boxing world grows, so too will this magazine. And I won’t stop trying to capture that vintage feeling.