The Fight Game

When Malik "King" Scott of North Philadelphia jabs, he extends his left hand driving off his rear back foot as his eyes track mine. His eyes appreciate his work–his face stoic and statuesque as his punch explodes onto the pads while I direct and move him around the floor. He hits at a sweet spot that only a skilled fighter can, one where he practices finding his opponent's head knowing that the shot landed would fully extend their head, backward lifting their jawline, leaving them vulnerable for another. Malik looks to hit his opponent tonight with enough pace to avoid, as he had put it, "a receipt," or a counter. Malik patiently waits for me to lift my hand as I mimic a metronome motion, the same movement I spied his opponents' warm-up too. I can hear the leather off leather crack as the jab lands. The gloves worn on fight nights are ten ounces, resulting in a snare-like echo. The tempo of the pads changes rhythm, reminiscent of a piano played by McCoy Tyner-- pa, pa, pow, bink, bink, bink--then a slight nudge of disruption to throw off my balance, a nuance of control. Malik and I are in Shelton Washington at the Little Creek Resort on the night of January 24th, 2014.

On this night Malik King Scott is a top thirty ranked heavyweight in the world. He and I are coming off a robbery, where the fight ended in a draw against Czar Glazkov and a loss at Wembley arena for a WBO Heavyweight title versus Derek Chisora both within the last year. Scott started boxing at the age of 11 and had a stellar amateur career. In 1997, he won the Junior Olympics Championships, and in 1998, Scott won the American Boxing Classic title and the "Under-19" Junior World Championships crown. [1] Wikipedia.

An unspoken assumption here is that you have probably never heard of Malik King Scott of North Philly or Little Creek Resort unless you are a boxing-head. You probably also have never heard of Trevor Bryan of Wales, or Willie Herring of Florida nor Ronald Baca of New Mexico –all ranked in the world's top one hundred as Heavyweight boxers today.

Imagine what it would be like to be one of the top one hundred fighters in the world, or in Malik's case, top ten. Then realize this is a fantasy, that you could not achieve half the accolades any top one hundred fighters have. Boxing fans are quicker to criticize than recognize the stark reality that they will never assume the role of top one hundred in any sport or anything in life for that matter. Moreover, most have no clue to the fight game.

Small casino venues have the perfect acoustics for pugilism; you can hear the sounds of feet sliding and bouncing off the springs underneath the canvas. The ropes flex as fighters lean against them and you can discern when they are in trouble just by listening to the cadences of their breathing. Within earshot, the voices of the corner bark orders, giving instructions where a pendulum of approval and pleads manifest. However, of course, the most distinct sound is when leather pangs off flesh and grunts reverberate outside of the ring. Resulting in immediate ewwww's and ahhhhh's.

Little Creek Casino Resort can hold slightly more than a thousand seats. For tonight's show, there are roughly five hundred people in the crowd. Malik does not seem to notice or care whether there is a large crowd, nor does he care about whether this fight will be televised. He has a way of handling himself before his bouts; grasping two iPhones in each hand while he stares coldly at the one checking his social media. During fights, he occasionally looks up from his seated position behind a black curtained area set up for fighters to have their hands wrapped or work the pads before they are up.

Then, there are the fans: big, obese, American tattooed guys with gelled hair and manicured goatees and leather jackets and motorcycle boots. Conservative guys with polo shirts, khakis, and clothed zippered jackets. Comped gamblers with dismal facial expressions justifying their evening's losses with their attendance. Malevolent locals who fantasize about being challenged during the fights. Mexican attendees who spend their time discussing Julio Cesar Chavez Sr. Many of these fans have girlfriends in tow, women with denim and blouses revealing a strategic amount of cleavage, footed in high-rise wedges, all who seem bored until the fighters come out. There are blank-eyed rows of elderly and pockmarked native Americans flush in the face working the event.

With few exceptions, all the fans inside have a look of anticipation in their eyes, the same look I see before a firework show on the Fourth of July--expectation. They all have a twinkle in their eyes, the self-indulgent look of people who spend vast amounts of times watching viral street fight knockouts and daily shared memes. Perhaps that is why they took the initiative to make it to the Skookum Event Center in the first place.

Parallel, the fighters on the A-side, the red corner or the favored winners share a similar twinkle but different. They are those who have a just-learning-the-trade look combined with the self-reflective expression of young men who spend most of their days in gyms, on tracks or in strength & conditioning facilities. Many fighters are incredibly young men trying to break into the pro game–guys who knew they could not make the USA Boxing Olympic Team. The older A fighters are business as usual, and they almost seem bored or eager to get this show done. Their eyes have a small pronounced smirk of eagerness foretelling of the opponents they will see tonight, a guilty pleasure.

On the B-side, in the blue corner, or the opponents you will find conspicuously older looking fighters who have kept their shape or younger pugilists in over their head. Framed for smaller weight divisions, these are men who started their careers three weight limits below what they are slated to compete in this evening or men who had little amateur experience. They still look the part. Most, if not all of the older fighters, had a permanent look of disappointment-- their faces lined with defeat from the years of losses in the fight game, the sort of look that a fighter acquires when even your best friend has lost faith in your career.

First, I want the general public to understand the path that boxing stars take before they end up on your seventy-two-inch television. Boxing has no qualification series, and each governing body has different rankings. Which leads to obscure shows around the country, many which have their principal bouts televised on the major networks. However, these shows are still a small fraction of the fight game, and most bouts are untelevised littered across America in casinos and hotel ballrooms.

There are levels to the fight game; these fights are the equivalent to AAA baseball games throughout the small-towns of U.S.A, a good majority of fighters on the A-side have undeniably world-class talent, but they are far from having their matches televised and far from being considered stars. The majority of the A-side will make under $2000. Unknown to most of the A-side, often the B-side, or opponents, sometimes make more. That is not to say that they coerce them into losing, preferably when they face young pistols, they know the price of things. Furthermore, if you have no ties to a promoter or manager, or unknowingly are an opponent (referred to as the flesh), it is not out of the ordinary to be required to sell 25-30 tickets to your friends and family around $50 a piece. Which might not be so wrong, but I have seen fighters in this position, fighters whom I have trained leave with a couple of hundred dollars after their bouts, bouts they had won.

Now, the upside is that the promoters pay the hotel and meal expenses and traveling expenses of fighters and trainers although that is just a perk of televised show. The downside is fees for new state athletic commissions, a cut-man, percentages for your lead trainer and second need to be paid. I have had fighters debut as professional fighters. One in particular who was in the negative due to the cost of medical exams (required from the state), taxes, a cut for the promoter, a cut for a manager, trainers' fees. His custom trunks, a second mouthpiece required by the state and buying gloves he preferred as opposed to the used ones brought by the commission.

Finally, there are boxers on the cusp of their first televised bouts. As well as contenders who need a rebirth, fighters who have had televised matches on the major networks who now need to rack up wins or in the case of Malik, move up his ranking to make it back to the boob tube. These fighters have preferably gained enough traction or buzz for the Max Kellerman's, Jim Lampley's and Mark Kriegel's to convince their network's viewers that their star is facing a potential threat.

So, there is a lot to factor in. Some boxers are building their wins to move up for tv, and some understand more or less they are in a silent agreement to lose. And others are in the middle of rebuilding their ranking or record for another shot.

If you are wondering why Malik King Scott with a combined record at the time of 35 wins-1-draw and 1-loss, ranked in the top thirty is facing Grover Young, there is a simple explanation. Young was listed just inside of the top one hundred, a journeyman with a combined record of 7 wins-12-losses and 1-draw. For Malik to be moved up to meet Deontay Wilder, he had to fight Young so the WBC could place him into the top ten. A win propelled him into a series of fights for the WBC eliminator heavyweight division title.

Now, knowing Malik would be the B side to the Wilder bout, one could assume how the WBC would prefer the outcome of this fight in Washington to go. In fact, Malik and I knew Wilder was his next opponent. The bout had been made just announced. This is not to say the fix is in; it is to illustrate pieces move around chessboards much more strategically then the general public is led to believe. The placement of the pieces is by men who know boxing and understand the game.

One reason boxing hates upsets at this level is that the promoters have already gone around working up the buildup for the bout that matters or in this case, the road to the Heavyweight title, earmarked for Wilder. Before you read earmark and leap to judgment, realize the WBC knew Wilder is special, that if he stays committed to his craft, he will hold the title for a decade and arguably go down as one of the best, who did it. Governing bodies are paid a percentage for all championship bouts; therefore it is in their best interest for the belt to end up with a champion who will hold the title for years.

When a longstanding champion holds a title, purses grow exponentially generating more revenue for the governing bodies cut. Lastly, Wilder had already left an indelible impression of Scott, dropping him in a camp before the two ever met for money. Further sealing destiny and the fate of Wilders becoming the champion.

The Big men are always last up in the evening. The light heavies, the cruiserweights and finally the spectacle everyone is there to see--the heavyweights, men who do not fit between the ropes, men who go over the top rope with ease. Malik is responsible for a magnitude of lessons in boxing, but the one that stands out is when I first spread the top rope and middle rope open as I have for smaller weight classes, he yelled: "Yo, I am a Big Man!" Quickly watching Malik step over the top rope, inside the ring as I got ready to hold mitts for him the first time. Everything magnifies with the "Bigs" except for the pace of the fights. More gauze and tape needed to wrap their hands, the gloves are ten ounces, trunks that look like blankets, and the cups. I have walked out with a lightweight and a heavyweight; I cannot describe why but there is a different feeling. The crowd looks at you differently, more than likely because physically mediocre men cannot convince their girlfriends or wives that they can take on a heavyweight. Their language changes from, "I don't care how quick he is, he is one hundred and thirty-five pounds, to how much money would you need to hop in the ring with him."

Malik and I stood watching the previous bout, USA Boxing National Golden Gloves Champion and USA Boxing 2012 Olympic team member at Heavyweight Michael Hunter vs. Gary Tapusoa in his third fight make easy work of his opponent stopping him by knockout. The crowd tore into a frenzy as Gary struggled on the canvas. I heard Joe Goossen, former trainer of the Ruelas Brothers, Michael Nunn, and Diego Corrales, ask me if I had the adrenaline (an ointment used to coagulate cuts). I had never used adrenaline and quickly told him no; he then told me to grab the bucket and lead Malik out, Joe's apprentice Ricky Funez (Brandon Rios former trainer and trainer of prospect Juan Funez) passed some adrenaline to me.

I do not remember specifics of the Grover Young bout besides being excited to work a fight with World Hall of Fame Trainer Joe Goossen. I apprenticed under California Hall of Fame Trainer Jesse Reid for years, trainer of Roger Mayweather, Johnny Tapia, and Hector Camacho. Malik had trained with Joe before, and I was uncertain about wrapping Malik's hands, but I wanted to work a corner with Joe, and Malik arranged it an hour before he was up. Malik disposed of Grover quickly in the second round by knockout, a body shot. My assignment was to observe Joe that evening, watching him wrap hands, make jokes and put Malik at ease. His presence, his composure, knowing he had been there a million times and detailing the attributes that have made him a world class trainer, is priceless. My other learning moment following the fight was when Malik paid me based on the percentage of his earnings, and as the lead trainer, you earn roughly ten percent of a purse, paying me $300. For Malik's 38th professional fight, he only made $3000.

At this point, you could think of Malik Scott's career as being on the brink of relevancy to not just boxing-heads, but the general boxing fan base. A potential win would of lead him towards huge boosts, financially, psychologically and fame. Of course, boxing is a bit more complicated. Unlike the NBA, NFL or MLB, boxing fans do not show up regardless. There is no redemption the week following a loss. A successful fighter is defined by their ability to put asses in the seats or win when it matters. The development of Boxing stars does not happen overnight, and the top earners are scarcely thin. The pool of men, like Malik, in which promoters draw opponents from, is perhaps a little bigger but not by much. Before you watch Deontay Wilder, Mikey Garcia, Terrence Crawford, and Saul Alvarez, remember that all these men, even Floyd Mayweather, had to fight at boxing events just like Skookum Event Center. They also evolved as attractions and fan favorites. Canelo spent a couple of years winning in Mexico before he suddenly erupted in the minds of adoring fans in the United States.

Still, even names in the top ten can be obscure and unknown. An example of late is Wisaksil Wangek alias Srisaket Sor Rungvisai, a policeman in the Sisaket Province, Thailand. If he still is not ringing a bell maybe reflecting on the two losses HBO star Roman "Chocolito" Gonzalez experienced at his hands this year should remind you, the last bout ending in a knockout. Srisaket first televised fight in America was on HBO where he was considered an incredible underdog by odd makers. Srisaket turned pro in 2009, eight years later accumulating a record of 42-wins-4-losses-and 1 draw. Despite all of his success, even boxing heads struggle with his name or identity, referring to him as the "Thai guy."

As of today, Malik "King" Scott, age 37, is no longer listed in the top 100 for the WBO, although I am certain one if not more of the governing bodies still has him in the top fifty. Listed at six-foot, five inches tall and 242 pounds in his last bout. His weight has always fluctuated from 217 to 250. In person, Malik is bow-legged, he has the upper body of a cruiserweight. On the canvas underneath the lights, he moves sleek and fluid. The quickest way to describe him would be his other nickname "the Noble Artist," the reflexive mix of Pernell Whitaker and Niccolino Loche. His look would remind you of Idris Elba if he hung out with Aleister Crowley. Tattoos paint his skin, a collection of a life lived in transition, the kindred spirit of a sailor. He always has a shaved head, and he has the type of goatee that makes you question his trust. Professional fighters begin to look like warriors after thirty fights–with that kind of PTSD look that has penetrated the subconscious mind. But Malik's faculties were abhorrently sharp. He is just as fluid in conversation as he is in the ring, garnished with a Colgate smile. When he fights, he moves like water effortlessly peppering his opponents with speed and precision. A fighter who utilizes a pragmatic approach. If Malik "King" Scott were lighter in weight, he would be celebrated. However, he was born as a "Big," and we expect our heavyweights to be brutal, bloodthirsty barbarians, there is no room for kings or noblemen.

The foundation of the "King's" style is rooted off an educated jab that is good enough to give the rest of the top one hundred losses and give anyone a hard night in the top ten. Like Larry Holmes, his jab takes on different faces; there is an oscillating up jab. An up jab that starts off the radar below his hip poised like a cobra to strike. A chop jab taught by his mentor Lennox Lewis, a measuring jab to establish his distance, a blinding flick jab that sets up the two, a forty-five jab which splits guards and the conventional jab. His innate ability to give his opponents touches off his lead hand proved to be his greatest asset and his worst enemy. Malik's ability to steal shots with his jab at will, to take heads on the rise, to flinch his opponent's eyes, and touch guts of men who were confident that their legs would react, stunted his development. Against the top big men, his jab became a decorative gesture, a nuisance set on a stopwatch leading to his self-detonation; at best, he would keep them away at worst he would find the canvas.

Like most defensive minded fighters, Malik's second most reliable shot is his left hook, a weapon of near-surgical precision and delivery. Malik's left hook is a lesson to watch. An extension of his jab, he whips check hooks even when his opponents have been warned because he has entered a high guard. Also, he toils his hand in the same slotted up jab position, patiently waiting for his opponents to violate distance, many who think they will smother the possibility of that up jab landing only to be quickly met with a sucker hook. He also throws a shovel hook from that same slotted position of his up jab that would make Vitaly smirk.

I have seen him change heavyweights' postures and statures with his left. Emphatically stealing their spirits, landing so many shots, Jesse Reid would call them aloud in camp, "One...two...three..." I once heard him stop at 13. Malik Scott does not know in these moments how underdeveloped his right hand is: It is unconscious, ingrained into his aesthetic early on as a boxer, and is now inseparably hardwired into his approach in the ring. The result of a tiresome American cliché, "if it ain't broke, don't fix it." This cliché is in direct conflict with building a prizefighter. Trainers operate with the mindset that we fix everything, so our fighters do not get exposed.

For a while, I was told that Malik's inability to throw his right hand was him being scared, something trainers would whisper behind his back. Beside that notion being ridiculous (made by men who have never stepped into a ring), Malik often would switch to Southpaw. In contrast to his conventional stance, he would land his power shot with his left at a much higher frequency. I remember watching him spar Audley Harrison in shock that he kept landing his lead left, a looping left and a pull counter left hand. Proving his right side was not a fear, but a weakness.

The idea that there can be entirely dissimilar but similar levels to the fight game–skill sets so distinct that the fights made are in essence, mismatches, not by intent but physical abilities and development are abstract. That the differences between a fighter ranked at thirty versus a champion might seem minimal. And that this notion is in defiance of a Hollywood Rocky movie script. These constraints are only felt and understood by the men who were limited by them, men that knew what it meant to be in the top 100 in the world, men who know what the fraction of a second means in a fight, men who could tell you who the hardest puncher was in a professional career.

The night of our championship fight in London, at Wembley Arena, I cornered Malik Scott vs. Derek Chisora for the WBO International Heavyweight title. I was in the legendary company of Jesse Reid who had trained 23 world champions and Russ Abner who trains current world champions Deontay Wilder and Vasyl Lomachenko. Malik and I both had our dreams on the line, a dream for him that was decades in the making and a dream for me that was a decade in the making. We both fell short. Losing for a fighter does not begin and end the way we seem to think it does, it lingers. The ring is a reflection of their being, repeatedly told, "You are who you are in the ring, the ring does not lie." That night we were losers.

To leave without his championship belt or my first world champion and to be relatively conscious of what they had is to be in defeat all of the time. I have seen trainers give their contenders to championship trainers, anyone not involved in boxing will not understand. Fighters have never been good at listening to their trainers, but they never failed to intimidate them; there are trainers who win Championships and trainers who do not. I had the most profound understanding knowing Malik, and I had left the United Kingdom as incomplete men, men who failed at their dream. Men who struggled to look at one another on our flight back to Los Angeles. Educated by the men who fasten belts around their waists, the trainers who grab their fighters wrists balled into fists and the humbling experience of a loss. Malik would go onto another title shot without me against Luis Ortiz for his last shot at vacant WBA Inter-Continental Heavyweight title in 2016, but he came up short again.

Given the measurements of a ring, a sixteen by sixteen or eighteen by eighteen-square foot, enclosed by four ropes with four corners and a canvas floor. We can only speculate that during the inception of boxing, they wanted to confine the fighters to a cage, but the conventional boxing ring is more suitable for presentation. It is where pugilists meet toe to toe, in fixed positions, the efficacy of each punch and combination determined by one another's skills to hit or not be hit. Each variable in constant motion a breath away. Educated hands are strategically tricking autonomic nervous systems, feints, and aesthetic tics. The wildcard? Whether a fighter will be able to take his opponents best punch, a variable that breaks the branches of the "trunk," what boxing trainers refer to as the body and a fighter's ability to function. Once a ballistic shock has reset a fighters' coordination, their body ceases to recognize its nervous system.

If you have ever laced up a pair of sixteens or fought, you have an idea of how hard boxing is--I often refer to it as an unnatural experience that you get used to over time. Your best Ali impersonation would never have equated to chance, against the control and majesty of his tactical imagination--these men are savants. No different than Tesla, Einstein, or Picasso, there are various forms of intelligence. Champions are born with both physical and spiritual intelligence.

Boxing is the most beautiful sport there is, and a part of me dies when I refer to it as a sport. It is a spirit. The kinesthetic awareness of where your body is at all times, reptilian reflexes that are the difference between the canvas, and falling to your knees with your hands extended in the moment of victory. The hand-eye coordination which equates to survival, not a score in the end zone. The endurance, the perseverance, the speed and the focus necessary for the square circle. The fight game requires smarts that are invariably on the fly, not force fed from earphone sets or playbooks and miniature dry erase boards. No hard foul will ensure you win by free throws. There is no timeout.

It is easier for men never to mention the kinds of sacrifices professional fighters have made- the time away from loved ones, the early mornings, the micro evenings. We will wear silkscreened clichés of "Just Do It" or "Hard work Dedication," without any concept or idea of the pain and suffering fighters have gone through for greatness or to be in the top one hundred in their weight class. No explanation of spitting in a cup, no description of a fighter's mouth feeling like sandpaper or the sweetness from Pedialyte overwhelming a body that has not had sugar for a month can translate over to civilian men. Preflight celibacy is an abstract norm for an everyday guy, for a fighter it is ritual. The fact that Floyd Mayweather Jr might struggle with literacy is a reflection of what he gave up to be great, that other greats before him could not read and that fighters live by a code of restriction knowing it has led many men before them to become champions as a result of hunger for legacy. Ask yourself have you ever gone to sleep dressed in vinyl sweat-suits, have you ever gone without water for two days or do you know what an Epson salt bath does to your hydration? Routinely, men under the lights risk the chance of their cognition or death for their dream to be great, to know inside that they were the one of the best in the world at their craft. We prefer not to assess the lives of our pugilistic heroes, and most men can only name a couple of former fighters who are by definition, punchy. However, the men involved in this sport know dozens. Note the way the "up close and personal" profiles of fighters stop after they have retired.

We pretend to know what makes a fighter great, or what creates a world champion or the differences between these men. The paradox of recognizing what it means to be in the top one hundred is precisely this-- that as one begins to become conscious, they start to measure how they fall nowhere near anything at the top one hundred in society. I imagine one of the reasons people downplay men who are the best in the world at anything, or fighting, is because once they admit there is no place for such an assertion, they will be forced to deal with the pain of their mediocrity. We openly chastise and criticize the Malik Scott's of the fight game, men who have fought twice for a title. With little thought taken for how hard it is to be in the top one hundred at anything in the world, or what it takes to be in the top ten like the "King," and no real idea of what it takes to make it in the fight game.

TD Sambrano~