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.