05.05.06 – By Michael Klimes: The front cover shows a copy of an oil on wood portrait of Evander Holyfield’s face. The left part of Holyfield’s visage is human and visible while the other side is mangled. The graphic and abrasive quality of this painting reflects the nature of boxing and Donald McRae’s brilliant if not classic reportage/memoir on his seven year journey at ringside and behind the scenes, detailed in his aptly titled work, Dark Trade Lost in Boxing. Imprinted at the bottom of the cover is ‘Winner of the William Hill Sports Book of the Year Award.’ On the back are the high praises which have been bestowed on this very considerable work of boxing journalism.
Commendations like, ‘An intense, perceptive and brilliantly written account’ do little justice to a book which I received from my elder brother a few Christmases ago, when I was about seventeen. After I read it, I understood some of the more complex subtleties which existed off stage in this violent world and as my passion for boxing grew, I kept coming back to read excerpts of this work.
Two years down the line, I wanted to revisit it more fully and the second adventure has been just as beautiful as the first with emotions, humour and admiration for McRae’s beautiful writing. He is a fan of sensitivity, compassion and understanding. He is also brutally honest about his obsession with seeing two men smash each others’ heads in with their fists.
I think more than any other books on boxing made me want to become a boxing writer and have a more involved relationship with the sport.
Where it Begins
McRae starts his writing in Apartheid South Africa in 1967 at the age of six. He recalls his first personal flavour of boxing in a fight he was forced to participate in as a young boy. A ‘big, scaly and dangerous’ Africaans teacher named Naude forces the boys in the school to fight one day in the playground. McRae avoids the sadistic eyes of Naude but eventually comes to entertain the audience of other boys. The rules of the contest were that a boy had to be ‘bleeding or crying’ before the bout could be stopped. He chooses to fight a ‘limey’ or his English friend Mark because, ‘I could dominate my kinder friend.’
McRae cleverly draws the comparison between him choosing cannon fodder and ‘A boxing promoter building up his fighter in the early stages of his career would have seen my offer as sensible matchmaking. Only a fool, surely, would take on a more formidable foe when easier pickings were on offer?’
McRae instinctively knew he had Mark beat, ‘as I saw his fear.’
The Thrill of Hurting Someone and Hip Hop
McRae almost gains an orgasmic pleasure from fighting and hurting Mark. It suggests the rawer side of human nature, ‘I was fighting and I liked it. The pump of adrenalin, rushing and coursing through me, was addictive. I felt curiously alive. Everything around me looked bright and sharp.’
It then startled me that someone like McRae, fighting at just the age of six could have such a powerful memory from an experience so long ago. It was shocking how McRae could be simultaneously attracted and repulsed by the power of violence he once exhibited.
As I grew to become not only magnetised, but obsessed with boxing, I began to question my personal hunger to see destruction in the ring and still do. My parents find it paradoxical that my first passion in life is poetry followed very closely by a broader interest in literature and history. Conversely, I love gangster rap, especially the likes of Tupac Shakur and Notorious B.I.G on top of my fascination with the roped square.
It seems that gangster rap and boxing; had more in common than people like me ever expected. There are some striking similarities between the nature of both occupations and some of its greatest protagonists. Take Tupac Shakur and Mike Tyson who were living embodiments on the virtues and vices of boxing and hip hop: Both were young Afro – Americans that were born into very poor circumstances in New York City, both went to prison accused of rape, both were very contradictory characters and both had their brushes with organised thugs masquerading as mere business men in Don King and Suge Knight who exploited them.
They were deeply talented but always seemed to have that edge to them where they would tip over at any moment. Both were heroes for young people that came from their complex backgrounds. Their life stories are incredibly intense and Shakur draws on his leaning toward Tyson in the wonderfully delicate song It Ain’t Easy, on the Me Against the World Album (his best one),’ Getting calls for my nigga Mike Tyson, Ain’t nuthin’ nice, Yo Pac do something righteous with your life.’
Equally, Gangster Rap and boxing rely on the glorification of violence to make money. There is an emphasis on being macho and many of its most important members have experienced tragic endings: Shakur and Notorious B.I.G, once very close friends became embroiled in the ultimately pointless East-West Coast War, which led to their murders. Jam Master Jay, one of the most influential hip hop figures and apparently one the most loved was recording in 2002 in a studio in Queens, New York. Some random person came in and gunned him down. Proof, Enimen’s right hand man, best friend and a crucial figure in Detriot’s own rap renaissance was recently gunned down at a party. He was only thirty two.
Now take Joe Louis; he ended up as a doorman at Caesar’s Palace, Ali, as all the world knows got Parkinson’s and it is a miracle Tyson is not dead. Michael Watson, Meldrick Taylor and Gerald McCllenan are arguably half-dead former fighters whose scars will never fully heal. They were lucky to survive their injuries.
The Other Side of these Dark Trades
Hip-hop like boxing can be seductively beautiful. I am touched by Shakur’s heart wrenching honesty about the difficulties in his life. His lyrics use stunning metaphors and similes. I love Biggie’s smooth flow, perhaps the most versatile in history and his chilling narratives on inner city life in Niggas Bleed and Somebody’s Gotta to Die on the monumental Life After Death Album. I also love his playfulness. I admire Eninem’s self-awareness and shining illumination the nature of his business in Sing for the Moment.
In boxing I love the camaraderie that can exist between fighters. I am simply awed by Ali’s artistry in his commanding of Cleaveland Williams in 1966. I also love his overblown and controversial flamboyance. Similarly, I love Ricky Hatton’s down to earth personality and Joe Frazier’s superb left hook. I love the lateral movement, defence, attack, jab, reflexes, footwork and where can I stop?
Hip hop acts as backdrop to the fighters who enter the ring listening to Public Enemy, Eric B & and Rakim, Ice Cube, N.W.A and Tupac in McRae’s reflections. James Toney, Oscar de la Hoya, Chris Eubank, Michael Watson, Nigel Benn and Mike Tyson are just a few of the gladiators who readers are given an insight to. In a number of following instalments I will take a look at the fighters through McRae’s sharp eyes.