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 Through the Eyes of A Child
 by Thomas Gerbasi (April 29, 2003)
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There was that tug on my arm again.
“Come on daddy,” said my seven-year-old daughter. “We have to get Buddy McGirt.”
Now it’s bad enough when your only daughter knows fighters (before Kindergarten she knew the names Ali, Frazier, Big George, Sugar Shane and Gatti), but when she starts talking about trainers, then you’ve got a problem. So off we went, at last Friday’s Boxing Writers Association of America dinner in New York City, to “get” McGirt, voted the organization’s “Trainer of the Year” for 2002.
“Hey,” said the former world champion, who currently counts Arturo Gatti and Antonio Tarver among his pupils. McGirt leaned over, asked my daughter her name, and signed her Disney autograph book, making the effort to make time for someone at an impressionable age.
Because McGirt knows that this is where a sport makes fans for life. This is where a kid can see that these larger than life characters on television are real human beings; that once the final bell goes off, they’re not killers, but fathers themselves in some cases. They’re men who go out to work, have bills to pay, and have birthdays to celebrate.
But pro boxers are like no other athletes. Despite being in perhaps the most brutal sport in the world, they are among the most giving to their fans. This was never more evident than last Friday, when I had the pleasure of walking around with the smallest fan, and got to see things through her eyes, which is good, because I’m a fan too. As I write that, the heavens rumble and the Sportswriting Gods wail because they fear I’ve lost my objectivity and have become one of “them”.
But how could you not be a fan of the purest of sports? Sure there are things to hate: the corruption, the shady characters, the toll each fight takes on a boxer’s health, and the veritable dearth of happy endings for the retired. But when it’s done right, there is nothing better.
Tell me you weren’t a fan of boxing Saturday night, when James Toney showed the young kids how to do it, or when Vassiliy Jirov fought to keep his title with every ounce of his strength.
So I’m a fan.
Michael Katz is fond of telling us here at MaxBoxing that we’re being fans when he feels we’ve crossed the line for some reason. But listen to him talk of his favorites, like Tim Austin or Chris Byrd, and he gives it all away, even though he blurted, when we spoke of some writer who I felt hated the sport, “Do you have to love war to be a war correspondent?” Katz asked. Touché.
But for me, I couldn’t cover this if I couldn’t listen to the stories of the fighters and still be fascinated, or watch a fight at home and cheer out loud. I couldn’t play it by numbers like that. I’m not good enough to fake it.
The Odds are that my daughter will never want to cover prizefighting for a living. In fact, for most fights, she’s unconscious by the time Michael Buffer gets “Ready to Rumble.” But last Friday (and actually for the week leading up to the dinner), there was no bigger fan.
Working the room like a Public Relations ace (it pays to be seven), she grabbed autographs from some of the biggest names in the game, and since they all went beyond the call of duty (there were no signatures while looking away or ignoring the fan, ala stars in other sports) let’s give them all a shout.
2000 Olympic Gold Medallist and current heavyweight prospect Audley Harrison, the aforementioned Buddy McGirt, ace photographer Teddy Blackburn, and former Ring Editor (and current Showtime broadcaster) Steve Farhood, all graciously took time out to sign between the covers adorned with Mickey Mouse, Donald Duck, and the rest of the Disney clan.
Lightweight Brian Adams, one of the class acts in the sport, signed as well, though my daughter remembers him not as a fighter, but as the ring announcer at one of Bob Duffy’s Ring Promotions shows last year.
Heavyweight contender Wladimir Klitschko, in town to present Klaus-Peter Kohl with his award for ‘Manager of the Year’, broke from a huddle with Kohl and HBO Boxing exec Xavier James to sign, complete with a heart and arrow. My only problem was that my mother (not my wife, not my daughter) insisted on taking a picture with ‘Steelhammer’.
Heavyweight champ Chris Byrd, besieged by autograph seekers and picture takers, made sure he found my daughter in the growing throng, and signed her book. “He signed it upside down,” she complained. “That’s okay,” I explained. “He’s the heavyweight champ. Now you know it’s special.”
Last, but certainly not least, former welterweight king Vernon Forrest, prior to receiving his award for ‘Fighter of the Year’, didn’t only sign his signature, but also wrote an inspirational message about following your dreams.
That’s class, and if you can’t be a fan of that, get your heart checked out.
The only disappointment of the night was that my daughter’s favorite fighter couldn’t make it to NYC due to problems with his flight. It was almost as bad as her learning that his name wasn’t Artoono Gatti, but Arturo Gatti.
“I like Artoono better,” she said.
But the rest of the fighters who made it to the Big Apple last Friday certainly made up for any disappointment, and even though a seven-year-old’s attention span sometimes doesn’t extend further than the latest episode of “Spongebob Squarepants” or “All That”, by Sunday she was showing off her autograph book to the neighborhood kids (along with her goody bag – any event with a goody bag is a hit with the under-10 set), and looking forward to bringing it to school on Monday.
Boxing, as bad as you can get sometimes, you got another fan in your net. Long may your flag wave.
E-Mail Thomas Gerbasi at tgerbasi@mindspring.com
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