Chris Eubank: The Autobiography. Chris Eubank

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СКАЧАТЬ perception told me she did. I could almost read her disappointed eyes saying, ‘. . . and I thought you were a good boy.’ That look, which I am sure she was not aware of, withered me on the spot. My spirit was crushed. I have always had a deep-felt respect for my elders and so this lady’s inner dismay really hurt me. I stopped smoking weed there and then.

      Some Jamaicans say weed is a herb of wisdom. I agree but perhaps from a different viewpoint, namely that the wisdom only comes if you stop smoking and apply yourself to something. Marijuana helped me because it made me appreciate my focus more when I had stopped.

      As with weed, I had always felt guilty about smoking cigarettes, but did it anyway, as you do when you are younger. The incident that stopped this habit was when my mother came down one day and caught me outside on the steps smoking a cigarette. All she said was, ‘Jesus Christ!’ but that was enough. Knowing how precious her religion is to her, she could not have hurt me more if she had whipped me with a cane. Those two words made me feel like crying. It levelled me and for days I was in despair, so ashamed. Whatever I did, I would always say to myself, Please don’t say those words.

      I gradually cut back on the drink too and started to get my life in order. Although I had been a persistent offender in London, I was street-wise enough not to steal one thing during my time in the Bronx. Over there, if they catch you stealing even the tiniest thing, they give you a good hiding first before they call the police. New York was a rough place and I was there in the early 80s, when it had one of the highest crime rates of any city in the world. This was not the place to be taking liberties with people’s livelihoods.

      I was surprised by the prevalence of the gun culture over there. In London there were knives at worst, and even then they were only brandished in extreme circumstances, and actually used even more rarely. Yet in New York it was common for everyone to have a gun. I would find out just how popular firearms were shortly after.

      I started attending church and enrolled at Morris High School in the South Bronx, where I studied from 1983 until 1986. I took North American History, Spanish and Geography. I didn’t have the same temptations around me as in London, so I became a good student who worked hard towards graduation. My transition was well underway (this period of cleansing, if you like, went on until I fought for the world championship in 1990 – it was constant application).

      By the time I was in New York, if I had learned one thing from my teenage years it was this: almost everybody lets you down. My initial impetus to enter a boxing gym was to get fit. However, I soon also realised that, with pugilism, I knew the parameters; no one could let me down, it was all to do with me. The only person who could let me down in the ring was myself. I couldn’t help but be drawn to that. There were no false promises any more.

      My brothers had previously started boxing – indeed, Peter went on to beat Barry McGuigan in the Irishman’s fourth professional bout (McGuigan won the return match). So, I was already aware of the sport before I travelled to New York. I’d actually been in the ring before in the gym where my brothers used to train. However, these few fights were just tear-ups, kids scrapping. In one particular brawl with a kid called Matthew, I’d got badly smashed up: all my teeth were chipped and I was heavily bruised. That early exposure to the business was a very negative experience, which totally put me off boxing.

      In New York, however, I was keen to get in shape. I started going to the Jerome Boxing Club, Westchester Avenue, South Bronx. It was a derelict building, so the gym fees were only $15 a month. However, this was money I just didn’t have. Fortunately, they let me be the ‘caretaker’ for the gym, which basically meant I swept the floors and put the buckets down to catch the rain that came through the roof – it was peppered with holes. I had the keys to the place, so I was always in there, seven days a week. Within three months of arriving in New York, I was in good physical condition. I was evolving into a very determined character.

      After four months, I was asked if I wanted to spar. By now, I was very motivated so they put me in with a young man nicknamed Horse, a strong Puerto Rican. I got in there and throughout the first round he hit me relentlessly. The second round was the same, I could barely catch my breath. But in the third round, something important happened – I hit back. My competitive spirit in the ring had been awakened and from then on there was no stopping me.

      Adonis Torres owned the gymnasium and was the first person who treated me with respect, like a man. He was effectively my first manager and really looked out for me in those early days. It was quite daunting in a Bronx gym at that age, being a foreign interloper with what was perceived as a peculiar way of speaking. They used to say, ‘This guy’s weird. He sounds like an English gentleman.’ Even though I came from south east London, I had been teaching myself better speech patterns, accents and articulation for some time. How I did that was by listening to the newsreaders on BBC1 and the World Service radio too. I copied them over and over until gradually it just became the way I spoke. I also learned by listening to how the Americans spoke English incorrectly.

      So, at first, I was the new boy. However, I gradually became a more permanent fixture. I was there every day and over the next three and a half years, I watched fighters come and go, all the fly-by-nights, the triers, the posers, the good-looking guys with no heart, all of them. I was there throughout. I am often asked if I was ‘spotted’ as a prospective champion – the answer is no; I never even believed I was a good fighter myself.

      I started to be drawn towards learning the art of boxing itself. I began to adore watching other fighters sparring. I loved to see them throw a left hook, take a body shot, go through their moves. The art is a beautiful thing once you can do it. I learned so much by watching other fighters. I don’t mean just in the ring either. How their personal lives impacted on their careers always compelled me. Really good fighters who were supposed to be going places would get caught up in complicated personal situations, and before you knew it, their aspirations were in tatters.

      Sparring was the gospel of New York gyms. It was their faith. Everybody spars. Sparring is how you become a good fighter. It is far more important than the road work, the bag work, the skipping, the shadow boxing, all of it. The most essential thing you need to do if you want to be a good fighter is to spar four or five times a week without fail. And in New York, sparring was not going through the motions either – these were merciless bang-ups. This was a boxing commandment I took with me when I returned to England and to which I adhered throughout my career.

      I started off with one set of three rounds, then over the months that progressed into six-rounders, then eventually full-blooded 12-rounders. We even did some 15-rounders to condition ourselves so that a 12-round fight felt easier. That was how I honed my ring intelligence. There is a ring fitness and there is a road fitness – if you don’t have ring fitness you may as well not even step into the arena.

      I started to notice one fighter in particular who inspired me. His name was Dennis Cruz, a southpaw. He had this seductively poetic way of moving, slipping, bobbing and weaving. He was a delight to watch. His jabs were like pieces of art – there was a sign in the gym that read, ‘The right hand will take you around the block, the jab can take you around the world.’ That’s a fact.

      I became obsessed with being able to box as well as Dennis. I wanted to be able to weave like he did, to throw shots, to retreat, dance around like he did. I wanted to be as smooth as he was in the ring. This man was poetry in motion. Over the years, I have been asked so many times which boxers influenced me and, to be honest, there was only one – Dennis Cruz. Everyone has ‘flavour’, everyone has a perception of how something should be done, some people have it much deeper than others. Dennis epitomised it for me.

      I have no idea where he is now. I’d love to see him again. The sad thing is that time and hardship have a way of wearing a man down. A young boy has all the possibilities laid out before him, you feel everything will be alright, but as a man things quickly change. For me, I didn’t miss my СКАЧАТЬ