My love of the ancient and noble sport of boxing was a direct result of my older brothers' incessant picking on my then-skinny self. A neighbor, apparently tired of seeing me get whupped regularly, taught me the basics. How to stand, how to move my feet, my head, and my hands, How to punch, block, and slip. Most of all he showed me that even little dogs can have their day. Over the months prior to my moving from Brooklyn NY to Tennessee, my mentor Jimmy had gotten me into the Police Athletic League's boxing program. I lost my first three organized bouts(3 rds ea.) on points before winning a match. I didn't care, as the real victory was the first time I knocked my oldest brother ass-over-teacup a month before. That's when it started for me.
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