By Ryan Maquiñana
NOTE: This article was originally posted on MaxBoxing.com.
The University of California is an academic
institution unlike any other. Located in
Berkeley, it is the birthplace of both the free speech movement and the atomic
bomb. No other college in America has
produced more PhD students or places more academic departments in the top ten
of the rankings today. A couple years ago, I strolled through campus and
fortuitously ran into NFL star DeSean Jackson and 2009 Nobel Prize winner
Oliver Williamson on the same day. This
Friday, fans clad in blue and gold will support their Pac-10 champion Golden
Bears in the first round of the NCAA Men’s Basketball Tournament.
So why are a political science/history double
major, a graduate student, and a university facilities painter meeting in the dingy
dungeon of a basement in the school's Recreational Sports Facility instead of
filling out their brackets? Each of them
is an integral member of the Cal Boxing team, which is incidentally enough the
oldest competitive amateur sport on campus.
This weekend, the team will take a 25-minute drive across the Bay Bridge
to San Francisco for the Western Regional Finals of the National Collegiate
Boxing Association’s version of the “Big Dance.” And scratching beneath the surface, I found
that their stories could be just as compelling as the professionals whom they
seek to emulate.
THE
COACH
Jim Riksheim has seen it all. A former fighter himself
at Cal with 27 subsequent years of coaching experience at his alma mater, he’s
been around long enough to regale anyone with tales of the days when collegiate
boxing thrived with popularity.
“We have a tradition here that goes back to 1916,
and we’re the oldest continuous boxing program in the country,” Riksheim
informed me. “My first coach, Phil
Nemir, was the son of Cal’s longest standing coach, Ed Nemir, who boxed and
wrestled at Cal. He actually won a
wrestling silver medal in the (1932) Olympics. Early on I got a sense of how
big the legacy was and how important it was.”
Back then, college boxing was held in high
standing at a level comparable to amateur sports that have stood the test of
time today, such as baseball, basketball, or football. In 1932, responding to the rise in the
establishment of boxing as a club sport on campuses across America, the NCAA
made it an official sport and started awarding both team and individual
national championships. It was at this
juncture, sadly, when the ugly side of amateur sports emerged.
“In the bygone days, you had a lot of
recruiting violations, kind of like football.
Ringers pretending to be students.
Guys coming in with disguised records.
Coaches were doing anything they could to get a win because it was their
livelihood. Now coaches aren’t paid like
that anymore, and it’s a whole different atmosphere now because the level of
skill isn’t that far apart. I really don’t think I could condone what was going
on back then.”
The NCAA, unfortunately, did not foresee the
amount of mismatches that would occur in the ring between well-trained fighters
from powerhouse programs and relative novices from other schools. And contrary to a sport like basketball,
where a blowout loss inflicted on an outgunned team solely led to bruised egos,
such a result in boxing could be fatal. As
the amount of casualties in the ring gradually multiplied, a movement to
abolish the sport from the NCAA became increasingly powerful. It was not until Charlie
Mohr, a middleweight from the University of Wisconsin, died as a result of head
injuries sustained in the 1960 national championship, when the NCAA ultimately discontinued
the sport.
The coach chimed in on the Mohr tragedy. “You hope it never gets that late,” he lamented,
shaking his head. “I’d rather have (a
referee stoppage) a second too early than a second too late. I’m pretty aware of what college boxing used
to be, but it’s a lot safer now. But
that danger’s always there, and you’ll that danger in an even fight, too.”
In response to athletic departments cutting the
funding of programs from coast to coast, the status of boxing soon reverted
from varsity sport back to club level.
As a result, the National Collegiate Boxing Association (NCBA) was
founded in 1976 under the umbrella of USA Boxing. Cal joined the Far West subdivision of the
NCBA, which included such schools as neighboring UC Davis, UCLA, the Air Force
Academy, and Nevada-Reno, which at one time featured current referee Jay Nady
and boxing writer Michael Marley on the same team.
While collegiate boxing never returned to the
heights it attained in the earlier part of the century, keepers of the flame
like Riksheim were undeterred from continuing to breathe life into the sport. Necessity is the mother of invention, and one
way to simultaneously harvest recruits and raise funds came through in the form
of holding a boxing class for students.
But first, Riksheim had to cast his line and
find an audience. “When I started
coaching in 1983, I had to crank out hundreds of stinky copies of fliers by
hand. It’s made our job attracting
students a lot easier. What’s really
interesting now with the speed of communication whether it’s Facebook or
e-mail, we can reach 500 people online overnight.”
However, while the means of marketing have
evolved, some things never change. “For
all of that, the game is pretty much the same because for all of the 200 kids
we go through in the class, there may be 10% of them that would be interested
in fighting, and then maybe half of those that end up on the team. And that’s the way it’s always been, even in
my day where a lot of kids would go through the program and only a few would
stick.”
Only a handful of pugilists are left after the ten
scores of students are pared down to the team that competes in the NCBA, but
those who earn the right to wear the blue and gold uniform are often
successful. Five fighters have earned
national championships and over fifty have earned All-America recognition under
Riksheim’s watch. Nonetheless, don’t ask
him to single any of them out for special mention, especially since he’s kept
in contact with so many former students for almost three decades.
“If I think of one fighter, then I think of
another and another and another,” declared the coach, sporting an ear-to-ear
grin at the thought of his former pupils.
“It’s like family. The great
thing about the internet is that it’s easy to find each other. I get calls from old fighters wanting to
touch base and see how things are, and it’s a good feeling.”
Riksheim’s dedication to his fighters is
evident, and while he would like nothing more than to paint a masterpiece with
each blank canvas that dares to step in his dungeon, he understands the amateur
nature of a club sport where student-athletes resemble more of the former than the
latter.
“My hope is that [my fighters] have the time
and the drive to go as far as they can.
There’s a lot of limiting factors, and the first thing I tell my guys is
that the only time you’ll ever be 100% is the first day you walk into the gym,
because you’re going to be dinged up, sore, or recuperating from an
injury. Maybe you’ll have school, you
might be sick, or you might miss practice because of work. You might have a hundred things that could
happen.”
Regardless, he remains steadfast in requiring
his fighters to refrain from making excuses. “What it comes down to is that
when the fight is upon you, you still have to fight. If you have 70%, you want to use that 70%.
But don’t let those shortcomings hold you back.
You have to give all you got at any given time and you’ll have nothing
to be ashamed of or feel sorry for. That’s all I want to see out of my
kids. That’s probably the biggest
lesson.”
Coaching is Riksheim’s passion, but due to the
budget cuts, the main portion of his salary is derived from another source. The university employs him full-time as a
painter in the facilities department.
“I have a family to support now. I just got married two years ago and have a
two-year-old son, Everett, so I’ve had a lot happen in my life in a short
amount of time. Also, it turns out that
my boss is Mike Huff, who was actually my second boxing coach when I was at
Cal, which is great when I need time for coaching or when the team travels.” Such is the case this Thursday.
This season, the team is going through a
quasi-rebuilding mode. I use this term
because while the roster is filled with inexperience, the final chapter has yet
to be written about the 2010 Golden Bears as they prepare for the postseason. Six male and three female boxers will make
the trip to “The City.” Those who
advance from this weekend’s tournament will fight in the national championships
at the United States Military Academy on April 8-10 in West Point, New York.
“There’s a punching chance that two or three of
them could make it back east,” opines Riksheim, taking a breath to make his
next point. “And then it’s really the
luck of the draw. Maybe you could pull a
great fight out or someone gets injured.
This is boxing. You just don’t
know what’s going to happen.”
Sounds a lot like the upcoming mayhem on the
hardwood.
THE
CAPTAIN
David Rosenfield disobeyed a golden rule of
boxing, and he dearly paid the price.
“I had lowered my hands. He got on my inside
and hit me with a right cross. Then it
happened.”
The 132-pounder was competing in his third-ever
fight last season against a fellow lightweight from the University of San
Francisco. The result of that sequence
was the graphic image you see above, the explosion of Rosenfield’s nose and the
consequent splash of red hue decorating the golden “California” printed on his
chest.
“My opponent was from USF and he counterpunched
me,” David continued, seemingly enjoying every moment of this anecdote. “I didn’t bring my hands back quick enough
and my defense slipped a little bit.
Hey, if I wanted to look good, I would’ve picked a different sport.”
It’s clear that the outgoing senior has a zest
for combat, and he decided to prepare himself for his upcoming four-year
commitment in the Marine Corps’ Quantico, Va.-based Officer Candidate School by
learning the ways of the square ring.
“I’m a pressure fighter who likes to throw a
lot of straight punches. I like to get
you in the corner or against the ropes and throw as hard as I can. I like to slip. I’d rather slip and hit than block the
punches.
With four years of Krav Maga (the Israeli
hand-to-hand combat system) under his belt, the Cal boxing club immediately
appealed to Rosenfield when he arrived on the Berkeley campus last year as a
junior college transfer. “Just like in Krav
Maga, it’s just you and your opponent, and somehow you have to overcome him. There’s something basic in boxing that I love
about it.”
However, before any beaks were bloodied or
uniforms soiled, David had to first take the class and earn his spot on the
team just like everyone else. From
learning how to wrap his hands to keeping his poise when sparring in the
pocket, he grasped concepts so quickly that by the beginning of the next
season, he not only had made the team, he was made team captain.
Rosenfield reflected on his new
assignment. “Jim saw something in
me. I was extremely hungry as a boxer.
Jim knew I was going to Officer Candidate School so he thought I had leadership
potential and ability.”
While a team captain is arguably an extension
of the head coach in the ring, David has found himself performing that same
role outside of it as well. “It’s a
student-based club sport, so I’ve taken on a lot of administrative duties. We
really don’t get any support from the university except our little dungeon of a
gym because it constantly floods. We get
a little bit of money from USA Boxing, but it’s hardly enough.”
So where does the money come from? Rosenfield explains. “I’m in charge of finances. We teach the eight-to-ten hour class four
days a week at the beginning of the semester, which is basically a team tryout. We also raised money by painting six sections
of the Cal football stadium. It took us
four days.”
The Tustin, California, product wasn’t done
describing the extent of his tasks. “I
have to set up schedules for practices and classes. I myself teach classes and even hire
assistant coaches. We have to raise
money for travel and equipment. This
year we bought all new bags and purchase the uniforms.”
One would be hard-pressed to find too many
student-athletes with those responsibilities, much less one who also finds the
time to double major in political science and history. Not bad for someone who has gone through life
with two learning disabilities.
“I’m dyslexic and dysgraphic, so I’m in the DSP
(Disabled Students Program) at Cal. I’m not a very good reader or writer, but I
enjoy political science and history so much I’m able to get through it. It’s very difficult. But while boxing has been a timesuck on my
study time, it brings a relief.”
After running through Rosenfield’s transcript, he’s
“getting through it” a little more successfully than his words would suggest; he’s
currently on track to graduate with a 3.5 GPA.
His coach chimed in with an evaluation of his
designated team captain. “He’s very strong, he’s a southpaw, and he’s
smart. He’s a long-arm standup figher
who likes to brawl, and if I could just get him to sit back and box a little
bit more, I think he can be more effective,” noted Riksheim. “But he really just likes to stick his head
down and start swinging away, so if I could just take that aggression and
polish it up a little, he could go farther (in the tournament) than he did last
year.”
After taking into account Rosenfield’s
experience at the 2009 Western Regional Finals, it’s clear that he wants to
make amends in San Francisco.
“I needed to win my last fight to get to
nationals,” Rosenfield sighed. By now
his jaw tightened up, almost bracing himself for the end of a story he knew far
too well. “After the second round, I had
nothing left in my tank, I was in bad shape because I couldn't breathe through
my nose, I was coughing up nasty yellow-brown shit, and I had a weird pressure
in my head. Even if I had won, I would
not have been able to fight at nationals, because I had to get nose surgery
immediately. When I came home I got my
infected hematoma drained and my two fractures and separation in my nose fixed.”
If David Rosenfield is unable to make the trip
to West Point, it won’t be for a lack of motivation.
THE “CHAMPION”
Having a conversation with Lauren Pettis in an
academic setting is like talking to any vibrant member of the Berkeley student
body, one that is historically renowned for social activism.
“My ideal job one day would be as a program evaluator
for a substance abuse prevention program, says the 25-year-old graduate
student. “That’s why I’m here.”
So why is Rosenfield telling me it’s essential
that I to talk to her?
“She’s the defending national champion at
welterweight,” replied the captain.
Pettis is currently pursuing her master’s
degree in the School of Social Welfare, but she has decided to pack her
schedule with a daily dose of boxing.
Even she gets tired reciting it.
“At 6:30 a.m. I’ll wake up. From
7:00 until about 8:30, I’m at Edwards Track Stadium doing roadwork. Then I’m on campus taking classes until 5:00. Training with the team goes from 5:00 to 7:30. Maybe I’ll lift weights and then do an ab
workout for an hour after that. After
that, I head home to do whatever homework I’ve been assigned.”
So when is sleep? “Midnight,” Pettis laughs. “And then I’ll do it all over again
tomorrow.”
Having
roots in the Bay Area, L.A., and Phoenix, boxing became more than an outlet for
Lauren. “It’s a great sport. I’ve played basketball, soccer, and tennis,
but boxing isn’t necessarily a team sport because you have no team to rely on
in the ring. It’s the heart that makes
it great.”
It was in the Valley of the Sun when she learned
her craft at the Rodriguez Boxing Club.
However, Lauren’s initial days in the gym weren’t exactly ideal. “As a girl learning to box, it’s tough
because on one end, I had relatives telling me things like they didn’t want me
to lose brain cells, and on the other hand, I had people telling me I was too
pretty to fight.”
Pettis decided to break through those
stereotypes by letting her actions speak volumes about her character. “I had to prove my commitment before I could get
the training I needed, and I did just that.”
After overcoming the obstacles that she faced
just trying to pick up the sport, carrying over the knowledge and skills she
developed to the college scene afterward seemed easier by comparison.
“She’s one of the best boxers on the team, if
not the best,” her coach stated. “She’s
very intimidating to get in the ring with because she’s taller than most of her
opponents, at 5’11, she’s faster, and she’s also stronger. The funny thing about her is that she doesn’t
believe how good she is, and we have to keep telling her that. She just gets so nervous before her
fights. In fact, she wraps herself up to
the point where we’re constantly calming her down and cheering her up before
her fights. And then invariably, she
just crushes her opponents.
Pettis’s nervous spells are well-documented
within her team, and most of all, by the fighter herself.
“Getting in there is nerve-wracking. I’m nervous the whole day leading up to a
fight. For one, I have to eat my
pre-fight meal of pot stickers and shrimp cocktail. Write that down.” My hand is shaking just putting the pen to
paper after witnessing her tell me about her routine.
Once she’s in the ring, on the other hand,
Pettis’s meek demeanor instantly dissolves in the aroma of sweat and worn
leather. Instead, it’s replaced with
unbroken focus and a killer instinct as evidenced by her triumphant run to the
de facto national championship at the University of Maryland’s campus last
season.
Pettis remembers few details from the bout. “They sang the national anthem. I listened for the bell. In the ring, I couldn’t hear anything. In reality, I forgot everything else except
the objective, which was beating this girl up for the next nine minutes.”
Having a limited number of female collegiate
boxers at her weight class works both as a gift and a curse for Lauren. While she only had to fight twice to reach
the final bout of a virtual national championship, a 5-0 shutout of USF’s Renae
Santa Cruz, the easy road didn’t get her the extensive ring competition and
experience any amateur fighter would like to acquire.
“There aren’t a lot of female fighters at the
heavier end of the spectrum (being at 147 pounds).” Pettis admits. “It definitely limits your exposure.”
Even though she’s on the brink of receiving her
diploma in the near future, the defending “national champion” isn’t quite ready
to hang up her gloves.
“I’d love to turn pro some day if I can get the
chance,” added Pettis, “but right now I’d just like to return to nationals.”
If Lauren Pettis and her teammates have their
way, the University of California will have another reason to keep dancing
until April.
From March 18-20,
the National Collegiate Boxing Association will hold its Western Regional Tournament
at the Koret Boxing Room on the University of San Francisco campus (222 Stanyan
Street). Tickets are $20 for general admission, $10 for any student with ID,
and $5 for USF students with an ID. Tickets can be purchased at the door. For more information, call (415) 422-2773.
Boxing correspondent Ryan Maquiñana is a member of the Boxing Writers Association of America and Ring Magazine’s Ratings Panel. E-mail him at rmaquinana@gmail.com, check out his blog at Norcalboxing.net, or follow him on Twitter: @RMaq28.
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Can the Bulldogs give NCAA hegemony the ol' Fork in the Eye one more time?
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