The First Time they Chanted my Name

My love of boxing was a secret for so long. Until I built up enough courage to join the local boxing club. I was ecstatic when I was finally given the chance to spar one of the club heavyweights, a big, hulking guy nicknamed Blackie. The bell rang, and I charged straight at Blackie. Then he hit me. Right in the solar plexus. Oofff! The air exploded out of my body. I genuinely thought I was dying. Every instinct told me to fold up and collapse, but somehow I managed to stay on my feet. Worse than the pain was the humiliation. I was boxing terribly. I wasn't bobbing and weaving like Barry McGuigan. I wasn't fighting like Jack Dempsey. I was getting battered. I wanted to quit right there. Then I heard something unexpected. The boys standing around the ring started chanting my name. The greatest fights of my life didn't begin in a boxing ring. They began in secret on those lonely, dark days when I had every reason to give up—and chose not to.