Adventures of a boxing cornerman
On the rare occasion I watch boxing on TV these days, I'm often surprised by the shoddy cornerwork on display. These are professional bouts. Some of the support on offer for fighters is anything but.
I was lucky enough to serve an apprenticeship under an outstanding coach. He gave me a thorough education. He provided an understanding of how a corner should work before, during and after a contest.
I won't go into the nuggets of knowledge he passed on to me in any great depth. They are his secrets, and his to divulge should he want to. But I can say that I often see some elementary mistakes in televised contest cornerwork.
A good second knows when to speak, and when not to. In amateur boxing there are two seconds at ringside. The principal — a coach who steps into the ring with the boxer between rounds — and a supporting second.
As the support, I kept my mouth shut. I readied the stool for the returning boxer. I had the various tools of the trade for the principal in case he needed them. These range from the bucket and towel, to specialities like adrenalin solutions and cotton buds.
I stamped my own little idiosyncrasies into the process. As a cornerman, you never know when you might need tape. Gloves and laces can come loose in the heat of battle, and tape is a quick fix. I habitually cut off lengths of the stuff and stuck them to my shirt, so they were close to hand in an emergency. This soon became a superstition that I couldn't shake and often drew puzzled looks.
Superstition became a big part in our corner. For example, if I wore a club polo shirt, our head coach insisted that I wore the collar up — Eric Cantona style. We developed a partnership and bond that I treasure to this day.
Pre-fight, I had a list of duties to perform. Upon arrival, I would always reconnoitre the room and ring set up. A home club will often look for competitive advantages. One club/venue in particular would often try every trick in the book. This could be placing a PA speaker next to our corner. Or 'inadvertently' supplying us with heavier gloves. My coach helped me look out for all these dark arts shenanigans.
I found out early that a cornerman must also be an amateur psychologist. Stepping into a ring to fight another human being is a stressful situation. All boxers are different. How they cope with these demands vary. Some prefer solitude. Others need company and a bit of fortitude.
Pre-bout work also included knowing what was happening ringside and in the dressing room. As a second it was my job to keep an eye on the bout schedule. Some bouts end early, meaning timings run in a constant state of flux. Judging this correctly to get the boxer ready on time is crucial.
It’s important that the boxer gets a good warm up on the pads, so they are ready to compete. You never want a boxer to enter the ring cold and undercooked. The opposite also applies. Wearing the boxer out on the pads before a bout is equally damaging. Preparation at the optimum time is important.
All the while, I kept my eyes peeled for our opposition. A sneak-peek at their pad work warmups often provided precious intelligence. Southpaw or orthodox? Any visible faults to exploit? Confident or nervous?
The bout itself passes in the blink of an eye, especially if you are leading the corner. My first time leading a corner was nerve-wracking. I always found the responsibility a heavy burden to carry. The fighter is someone’s son or daughter. A husband, wife, father or mother. They rely on the corner to look after them and make the right decisions.
It angers me when I see a corner prioritise a result over their boxer’s wellbeing. I often think of the great Eddie Futch retiring Joe Frazier in the final fight of the Ali trilogy. Frazier was admant that he must continue, but Futch overruled him, saying — ‘It’s over, son. Nobody will ever forget what you have done here tonight’.
Frazier was furious. But Futch had the bravery and fortitude to do what was right in the most trying of circumstances.
I learned an early lesson as a principal corner. In one bout, my boxer was sluggish. I just couldn’t get him going. At the end of the second round he threw up all over my feet. I retired him straight away. After the bout, I spoke to his parents to ascertain why he had been so flat.
‘Ah, yeah. He’s only had a packet of crisps all day’, chuckled the father, matter-of-factly. ‘He said he wasn’t hungry’. I had to walk away and say nothing. I was furious — at the family — but even more so at myself.
From that point on I always made it my business to find out what the boxer had been doing that day. What they had eaten, how they were feeling. I would pack nuts and raisins to use in an emergency. I had ready-made small talk at hand to fill tense, uncomfortable silences.
Some of the most important corner work happens after the bout. This is an emotional time for a boxer and coach. The adrenalin is still flowing. Emotions are raw and charged. Now is not the time for a fight post-mortem — leave that for back in the gym. But I always checked in on the boxer to make sure they were okay. A quick, quiet word is all it takes at that moment.
Working corners provided me with interesting and challenging experiences. Like anything else, you can always get better at it.
I always evaluated my performance in the corner. What could I do better?
In one contest I inexplicably forgot the towel. Luckily our boxer won, but I will never forget the dressing down I received from our head coach. It hurt me that I had let him and our fighter down. It spurred me on to rethink my approach.
If you are considering a boxing coaching role, I can recommend it. Be prepared for long hours of travelling and many hours of waiting around. But the experiences and friendships you will gain is more than worth it.
