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| Alexander "The Great" Enriquez |
FIGHT NIGHT with
Alexander “The Great” Enriquez.
It’s another Sunday afternoon. The gym is closed, and as we
turn the keys, all three of us know we’d rather be at the beach, at the park,
or eating cheeseburgers. But like devout churchgoers, we are here. For my brother George and I, it is a Sunday
ritual to train our fighter Alexander “The Great” Enriquez.
He is about 125 pounds, quiet, serious and has never fought;
all reasons people might assume he is paltry. At first, I wasn’t sure if his
unassuming nature was a form of arrogance or respect. I couldn’t read those
green eyes of his. But as time went by, I learned he has the heart of a lion
and the determination of a wolf.
“How are you feeling?” I ask him.
“Good,” he responds, and I nod.
We all know where we’re going and somehow not just for the
day. Alex steps on the mat, I rush to the office computer to see what the NFL
is doing, and my brother puts on some coffee. The Pats are winning, the air
smells like caffeine and I soon hear the familiar tick tock tick tock of Alex’s jump rope. As seconds wind up to minutes and the bells
of the timer bob and weave into our ears and subconscious minds where the
stillness is - I believe we make time move.
Stiff jabs rip the air, introductions to combinations of hand
movements bound by fists, followed by graceful angles of cutting and moving that
have us lost in the paradoxes of blind mirrors and shadow
boxing with no
shadows. The slip ball, lateral movement, sit ups, pushups, bag work… his warm
up.
Eventually I get off the chair and put on the gear. I’m
getting too old for this, but I want to give him some good sparring. So we step
into the ring.
“Don’t hit my head. I want you to do only body sparring” I
tell him - as I’m still feeling the pain of a car accident a few months ago. He
nods. I lift my shirt and show him a bruised rib and hip, courtesy of
yesterday’s training session and his left hooks.
“I’m coming for you,
cause of this,” I tell him and put on my gloves. “I’m gonna knock you out.” He
smiles that freaky mouth piece smile. My brother readies the camera. We record
it and my brother points out our errors afterwards on the TV, while we deplete
the boss’s supply of waters and peanuts.
“Don’t throw punches you know won’t land!” “Keep your hands
up!” “Look at me in the eyes!” “Don’t circle into your opponent’s power!” we
pop off instructions. We bark out praise and criticism. I punch his face. We do
this for 18 minutes.
He listens, he implements and soaks up every word the way
canvas soaks up blood on fight night. After this, he will run three miles on
the treadmill. I push him as the wheels spin, eight miles an hour, then ten
miles an hour, I put him on full inclines that reach in and try to rip out his
lungs. I stand still next to the machine, but chase him worse than a hound
chases a fox or a ghost a live soul - till he almost falls off.
“If you fall off, you will break your arm or your foot, and
your six months of training will be for nothing” I tell him as he limps
dangerously close to falling off the treadmill. He tries to tell me he has a
cramp, but he has no air left in his lungs. The treadmill is hurting his
insides, but I am sure he is doing the same thing to it; all his sweat, puddles
and pools, fall on this machine rusting up its bolts. He will break it someday,
or at least that’s what I tell him.
Fight night is Friday. “Friday, Friday, Friday” I say like
it is not a day on the calendar but the end of the world. “You need to hurt
this man.”
Our first fight was cancelled, as our opponent got cold feet.
Three weeks later we drove over an hour to a gym, but were not put on the card,
and now it is finally here. We have a scheduled fight for sure.
“Are you nervous?” I ask him. “Yes,” he tells me, and I admire him for his
honesty because I was nervous the first time I fought. “That’s OK,” I tell him. “I want you to be
nervous. You eat eggs in the morning, to gain power for training, and a few
minutes before you step into that ring, you will eat the nervous and you will
have power for winning.” He nods. He listens, he soaks up every word. My brother starts talking to him now. He
teaches him combinations and secrets of the sweet science, something I watch
play out in front of me, over and over and over and over.
I won’t describe all of Friday to you. Not the way I lived
it anyhow, for it would take too long. But I will tell you Alexander’s family
is there. A few diehards from the gym are there. We are there. And
Kobi Julian
– the owner of
XTC gym – is there. She smiles proudly and I catch her admiring
“her fighter.” I give her a thumbs up as we plan where we are going to film our
fight from.
The night is electric. Somebody has already been knocked
out; he beat the count, argued with the ref for stopping the fight, and then
stumbled towards his corner - before collapsing on his face, untouched; doctors
rushing to see if he is OK.
After three bells, Alex lifts the trophy, and he looks at us
and smiles - the biggest smile ever. He exits the ring and is hugged and kissed
by all who love him. He doesn’t want us to cut his wraps off, not yet anyway.
He is 1-0 now and wants to savor this moment like a glass of wine.
Later as he sits in the car, still with his hands wrapped,
he asks my brother “how did you know I wasn’t breathing?” My brother smiles and
pats his head. “Take the day off tomorrow, Sunday, we will do it all over
again.” And we do.
Since writing this article, Alex is now 2-0. He won his
second fight by TKO in the second round. If you have ever wanted to compete, or
simply learn how to box, please come and inquire at XTC gym.
XTC GYM 2131
Colorado Boulevard Eagle Rock CA 90041-1221
