14.02.07 – By Jeremy “No Relation” Ebert: The only way the unknown becomes known, is when man pushes the limits and they bend. A limit on thoughts, possibilities, capabilities… all things that man does not know, he eventually will try to test. It’s a human instinct. Be it the idea that the earth isn’t flat, or that you can get that cookie out of the kitchen, right before supper, without your mother taking it from you. Whatever it is, the limit of all things must be considered breachable, for the endurance of spirit to remain alive.
One of the most glaring aspects of this peculiar human endeavor is the boxer who needs to know if they got one more in ‘em. Just one more magnificent performance, even if their specific level of magnificence is uninspiring to all, they remain chained to the idea that they can give of themselves enough, to transverse the effects of time and revisit the glory of their prime.
The difficulty of this quest is that, sometimes, the only way you can know whether or not your well is dry is to step into the ring. Sometimes—and many times, not even this is enough proof—the slurring of speech or the stumble of one assured step is all the fighter needs to know that his time has come; the time when either age or too many rounds has grounded out the physical spark, even though the desire to fight still remains. Sometimes, not even the most evident signs of corrosion to a fighter’s ability is enough to make the face of reality seem real enough. Sometimes, sadly, the only thing that will get the truth of inevitability firmly planted into a fighter’s mind, is the attempt to draw upon past grasps at greatness and coming up empty handed and battered for their troubles.
Countless are the instances where once great champions were given fodder for the cries of the woebegone, the washed up fighter. Whether it was the aged Mexican legend Julio Cesar Chavez being pummeled at the hands of then Light Welterweight kingpin, Kostya Tszyu, or the sight of the once flightful Muhammad Ali searching in vain for the easy magic of yesteryear against Trevor Berbick, the chronicles of boxing’s memory is littered with ex-champion’s who stayed in the game just long enough to be sympathized with, as the most boisterous of their fans argue that not too long ago, their man would’ve embarrassed the victorious young.
In their prime, is what they say.
Therein, lays a fighter’s biggest problem. The simple exercise of stepping into the squared circle belies an intense belief in the fighter’s self that is crucial to be great in the sport. It was once said by a Hall of Fame quarterback that ‘once you hear the footsteps, it’s time to leave’. The inference being, that to stand in the middle of the battleground, and exhibit the characteristics of a champion, you must disregard the possibility of being hurt. You can’t be smart in the ring if you carry your fear along with it, so you convince yourself that you are special—that’s what happens to those other poor slobs who get dragged back to their corner; it isn’t even in the remote possibility of happening to you. All great champions bear this trademark; whether they were known for being bruising punching bags who hit back, or nifty footmen who danced across the apron with easy style.
Seeing as boxing is a combative sport, where you have to willing allow yourself the chance to be hit viciously numerous times just for the sake of returning fire, it’s of the utmost character for a fighter to be fearless; almost without regard to the after effects of the night’s warfare. For years, even the greatest of fighters, take their punishment, win their titles, collect their money and train laboriously to do it all again in the near future. Thought is never given to the day when all those years, all those punches, all those miles of roadwork, all those hours of lifting weights, will eventually make the champion’s body say, “No, mas”. The specter of such things is never seriously considered, because once you hear the footsteps…
Eventually, of course, the great fighter falls. Maybe it’s Rocky Marciano walking away before the opponent can have the chance to send him out. It just might be an injury the befalls the still strong instincts and punch. It can end in so many different ways, but the most memorable, is the sight of the great, proud lion of the ring walking out, having learned the most important of lessons; that no matter how much you want to give, you only have so much to give, and then it’s gone.
A long time ago, somebody had the bright idea to see exactly how far the flatness of the world truly extended beyond. So, they set sail, kept going, until they realized that conventional wisdom had it all wrong. There are no limits to what the human mind can imagine. No limits to what the human mind is willing to desire. But, eventually, you find your way back home and realize that the journey does have an ending. Sometimes, it ends with success.
In the world of boxing, most often, it ends with a bloody lip and swollen eyes. Nobody’s untouchable in that regard. Not the most genius or ordinary of us and certainly, not the most fearless of us. All we can hope for is that when the inevitable becomes known, the most fearless amongst us doesn’t desire to see if maybe one more time, the magic touch can be found again.
This article also appears on The Mushroom Mag:
http://www.eatthemushroom.com/mag