The Dirty Underbelly of Boxing

By Charley “Two-Time” Sung

To a lay person, the assumption is that a boxer who is 10-0 is a better and more skillful athlete than a boxer who is 5-5. After all, a boxer’s record is the only cognizable measure of his acumen as an athlete. This assumption is based on the general belief that a boxing match involves two boxers pitted on a somewhat even playing field, and that the better and more skillful boxer will come out on top. However, that is not always the case. To the contrary, those involved in the art of “padding” a boxer’s record know that there is a dirty underbelly of boxing where opponents who have sometimes never laced up a pair of boxing gloves are picked off the streets and matched against up-and-coming boxing prospects for sure and spectacular knockouts.

One of my first experiences as a boxing manager landed me in a community rec center gymnasium in the remote town of Wilson, North Carolina. At the time, I was the manager for a boxing prospect from Maryland coming out of a very successful amateur career who was ready to turn pro. Let’s call him Flash. As Flash was getting ready to make his pro debut, the goal was to build up his confidence (and “pad” his record) by getting him some easy wins right out of the gate.

I was told that there were promoters down in North Carolina who put on small shows and can provide some easy opponents – commonly known in the industry as “tomato cans.” The cost for getting set up with a “tomato can” and an easy win – $100 per round for four rounds (which, in itself, was laughable and add to the kick, a couple hundred bucks to the promoter for his troubles.

In preparation for his pro debut, Flash was decked out in a green gladiator outfit with matching shoes. His trainers were similarly decked out in matching green Under Armour track suits. We arrived in Wilson with all the glory of a pay per view blockbuster – but we walked into a lackluster basketball gymnasium in a run-down community rec center behind a local BBQ stand for weigh ins. It was immediately apparent to me that there were two sets of boxers milling around waiting for weigh ins. At one end of the gymnasium were polished looking boxers beaming with confidence. They had their trainers and team in tow wearing matching track suits and T-shirts with intimidating team monikers like “Team Killer.” These were guys who flew in from New York, Florida and even California. At the other end of the gymnasium was a group of local Wilson kids wearing basketball shorts and tattered T-shirts inscribed “Team Dead Meat.” Not really, but they might as well have. We knew which end of the gymnasium we belonged in.

When the weigh ins finally took place, each of the boxers stripped down and got on the scales. Now, I understand that even boxers at the world-class level come in all different shapes and sizes – while there are boxers built like Evander Holyfield and “Rumble in the Jungle” era George Foreman, there are boxers built like Chris Arreola and the George Foreman who knocked out Michael Moorer. The highly touted boxers from out of town flexed their muscles on the scales while their trainers and managers snapped pictures to post on Facebook and Instagram. By contrast, the kids from Wilson looked like out-of-shape deer in headlights who were about to become tenderized roadkill. Flash, who had dehydrated for the weigh ins, looked especially ripped as he tipped the scales at 146.5 pounds. It looked like his muscles had muscles and, with his full body tattoos, appeared absolutely menacing. His opponent went on the scale and looked like a nervous and sleepy high school kid who had just emerged from a two-year marathon video gaming run. There were twelve fights scheduled for the show – twelve out of town fighters in the red corner versus twelve completely unprepared local Wilson kids in the blue corner.

After weigh ins, we all sat around the gymnasium awaiting final instructions from the boxing commissioner. I noticed Flash’s opponent nervously sitting alone at the end of the bleachers, sans trainers, sans manager, and sans fancy outfit. I decided to approach him for a quick chat. I introduced myself and asked him how many amateur boxing matches he had had. “None,” he responded without making eye contact. I asked “how long have you been boxing,” to which he replied “two weeks.” I had known that the kid was overmatched, but I realized at that point that the kid was doomed and could get seriously hurt. I had been excited for Flash to celebrate a spectacular knockout win to kick off his pro debut, but now I wasn’t so sure.

At around 7PM, the bleachers started filling up. The out of town boxers were in the red corner dressing room putting on their fancy outfits and shadowboxing with their standard-issued Beats by Dre headphones. I walked over to the blue corner dressing room to find a different mood. The local Wilson kids were dressed in basketball shorts and high tops, and they were peering out into the forming audience like cattle about to be led out to slaughter, before an “oohing” and “ahhing” crowd no less.

The first fight was called. First round knockout for the red corner. Second fight. First round knockout for the red corner. And so it went, until the eighth scheduled fight – Flash’s turn to shine. We were called into the ring first and we walked out to “Blurred Lines” by Robin Thicke. The mood was light as Flash waived to the crowd and was already celebrating what was sure to be an easy and spectacular knockout win. Flash entered the ring and danced around the ropes for the first time as a professional boxer as he had dreamed of doing since he started boxing at the age of nine. Then the announcer called out our opponent. The crowd erupted in anticipation, but the noise died down when it was clear that there was confusion in the blue corner dressing room. The promoter ran into the dressing room then soon came running into the ring and whispered into the announcer’s ear. It was announced that our opponent was nowhere to be found. Seemingly, this kid had wisely decided that his health and safety (and his dignity) were not worth the $400.00 he would have earned (minus whatever cut the promoter likely would have taken from his purse). We didn’t get the win, but a part of me was OK with that.

The final tally of the night – 11 first round wins by knockout for the red corner, one cancelled fight for Flash.

This type of scene is not rare in boxing. In fact, it is a rarely publicized rite of passage for most professional boxers in the early parts of their careers. If you look up the records of many successful boxers, I guarantee you will see some early wins in Wilson, North Carolina, Greensboro, North Carolina, etc. The recipe that makes these “win mills” work is (i) one part boxer with financial backing; (2) one part impoverished area with kids plucked off of pick-up games at the rec center basketball courts who are willing to get knocked out cold for a few hundred bucks; (3) stirred in with a state boxing commission that has no problem approving dangerous mismatches. When people think boxing, they think Mayweather, JR. fights with all the glitz and glamor of the Las Vegas lights. Places like Wilson, North Carolina, however, is where careers start in the not-so-glamorous dirty underbelly of boxing.

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