CLINTON ST. QUARTERLY prises for the ex-Golden Gloves Champion. Repeatedly during his bout with Chavez, Newcomb would stop instantly when the referee called for a break from the clinch. Amateurs are penalized for delaying a break and Newcomb’s reflex was to clear immediately, throwing his hands into the air to demonstrate that he was disengaged. His reward for disciplined sportsmanship was a volley of body blows from Chevez who took advantage of Newcomb’s dropped guard to deliver a few that had been delayed previously. There is no training for the actuality of the bout. Sparring, no matter how intense, is never the equivalent of knowing that the other guy is sincerely out to damage. Every match teaches more in itself than any training can. So there were bound to be a few crucial lessons for Newcomb in his first pro fight. n K ut he won, A M am a . You don’t have to cry.” “ This is not crying. When he loses you’ll see crying.” A LITTLE DEFENSIVE HISTORY 1 have these well-meaning friends who are embarrassed by my interest in boxing. They take Karate lessons and assure me (usually in whispers) that if 1 need an outlet for my hostile feelings thee is ample physical contact in a study of the Martial Arts — by which they always mean the Oriental forms of self-defense. When 1 patiently explain that 1am an American of Irish descent and feel more comfortable with the Western tradition, less pretentious, if you take my meaning . . . they claim that the Oriental forms have inherent advantages simply from the hundreds of years of tradition behind them. This appalling ignorance in other-wise well educated people has finally tripped my fuse . . . Boxing was old when it was included in the first Olympic games back on the original Mt. Olympus. Boxers were among the most honoured athletes in Periclean Greece. Jason of the Golden Fleece was a famous boxer. Herodotus talks about boxers in Scythia and Persia as well as Egypt and Greece. Thucydides considered boxing the ultimate physical and mental discipline. Homer speaks of boxers with respect. There are friezes in Greek ruins that date back twenty- five hundred years showing boxers in stances identical to those used by boxers today. The Romans took up boxing from the Greeks but we don’t hear much about them because lions and crucifixion are so much more colorful. It became a lower class technique as time went on. The Greek- worshipping English institutionalized boxing in their public schools, not in an attempt to democratize a sport that had been dominated by slum folk for so long, but because the discipline and training were so deeply revered by the classic civilizations. Modern boxing is as close to Greek boxing as running a Marathon in Adidas sneakers is to doing it barefoot. Most of the changes have come along in the last fifty years. The old bareknuckle fights lasted until one man either conceded or was knocked out. The longest match scheduled today is 15 rounds of 3 minutes each with a minute between rounds. It was bare fists for 2500 years. Then somebody decided that skin tight leather gloves would offer the fighter a lot of protection, and that very quickly developed into the relatively humane padded glove in use today. Training techniques have improved just as nutrition and hygiene have effected stature and longevity, but the basic forms of the fight are the same as they always have been, because boxing, like its Oriental counterparts, evolved directly from the capacities and necessities of the human body. Certainly a person trained in either boxing or karate has a distinct advantage over a thug in an alley. So does a little old lady with a bloody mind and a ten inch hatpin. To my knowledge, and according to acquaintances whose knowledge is much broader, there has never been an acceptably definitive match between, for example, a karate master and a boxer of comparable training and capacity. There is the business of foot usage for one thing — feet definitely come in handy — but if karate is not more effective on a strictly top-end basis there are serious questions involved. In all likelihood a purely top-end match arranged between genuinely comparable practitioners wQuld have even results. The choreography of the Oriental forms is always intriguing. The dramatic poses and the slow graceful movement of practice are very beautiful. They were designed and instituted as a disguise when all defense and attack forms were banned in their countries of origin. The practitioners went underground and continued to teach, but they put the movements into slow motion for practice purposes so they could claim it was a dance if they were seen by the wrong people. Television aside, actual karate is performed at high speeds and with impact. It’s interesting to note that in A LITTLE BALD HEADED TRAINER CAN WAVE A BIG CIGAR AND USE TIN-PAN ALLEY LANGUAGE TO GIVE YOU EXACTLY THE SAME MESSAGE YOU'D HEAR IN THE TEMPLE OF THE FALLING BLOSSOMS. actual championship karate bouts the primary stance for maneuvering and defense as well as an attack base is very similar to the erect, arms up, chin in posture of the boxer. Those who argue that the ritual forms are philosophies that improve all other aspects of existence, conveniently ignore the fact that among the Kung Fu saints there were also many like I He Ch’uan (Literal translation: Righteous and Harmonious Fist), the grubby, sleazy, but undeniably skillful master of Tai Kwon Do, who did his best to take his students’ money and then not show up to teach them. He was usually found in the lowest bars, knee deep in his own spilled lunch. He was known for his ,foul breath, his filthy tongue, and his habit of going through his students pockets for money in the dressing room while they were out on the mats. He would have been at home drinking gin in a dark corner with Sonny Liston. A guy you wouldn’t care to take home for dinner, but a hell of a fighter. The point is simply that these people, like all others, come sweet, nasty, mediocre, and ugly. What mattered was how good they were at what they did. These anti-ethereal remarks are meant, not to cast disparagement on the practice of Oriental forms of selfdefense, but to remind us that they too have earthy and practical sources and purposes, and to offer a foothold for the re-examination of the value of boxing — in itself as old, as physically and spiritually demanding, as beautiful, and as rewarding as its Eastern counterparts. The aims of a boxer’s training are speed, mobility, and the optimum strength for body weight and maintenance of fluid movement. It is a discipline whose every purpose is to foster conscious intelligence in the most critical situations; to override the instinct toward wild and uncontrolled violence in favor of alert reaction to constantly changing circumstance. Do I actually need to point out that you don’t have to light candles and assume the lotus position to meditate? Thirty minutes into a heavy workout a boxer’s alpha pattern is indistinguishable from that of a meditating monk. A little baldheaded trainer can wave a big cigar and use tin-pan alley language to give you exactly the same message you’d hear in the Temple of the Falling Blossoms. You don’t have to whisper to speak the truth. Lao Tzu could tell you that a good fry cook becomes one with the spatula. A karate master, if pressed for the truth, would have to admit that hardening the hands is, ultimately, to make them effective weapons. Well, the cock fights are gone, no more dog fights, no bulls, nobody packs a pistol. The mountain men caught out in the wrong century are mostly in jail or on their way. The frontiers now are explored by machines and money and the remotecontrol brains of the brief-case and cardigan crowd. Our meat comes packaged and we’re offended by blood and ashamed of our own sneaking lust for it. We’re soft, we’re fat, and we are what the bitter young would label ‘Phony.’ I don’t call it that myself, it seems more the tight thin confusion of yet another human extremity. The race lacks the knack for moderation. Having reached this plateau of development we carefully strive to disassociate ourselves from the stuff that made us the grand bozos we are. Luckily we’re never completely successful at that either. The deep heart stuff stays, try as we will to disguise it and pretend we never needed it anyway. It finds places to live and stay strong and when we stumble on those places we recognize them immediately. A place like that you can get food and beer and your kids are welcome, and the show is very good, even when it’s bad. The fan: “ Sure, I’ve seen them both fight other guys on other nights, but I’m still not betting. It’s chemistry in that ring, see. And any two men facing each other at this moment create something different than they would at any other moment, or than either one of them would with anybody else in the world. What they make, in there together right now has never existed before and never will again in just the same way.” H 211 SW Ankeny 222-5753 Chocolate Moose Mon.-Sat. 11:30 am-1 am Sun. 4 pm-midnight Sandwiches Soups Desserts Fine Cheeses Imported Beer & Wine Steak Cellar Sun.-Thurs. 5:30-10 Fri.-Sat. 5:30-10:30 Underground Dining featuring Steaks, Roasts & Salads 42
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