OPINION: Lessons From Boxing Ring True

Why did I get myself into this?

The thought jolted me as I watched my opponent warm up.

Weeks earlier, brimming with bravado, I registered for fight night at the University of Arkansas. It was 1986, the spring of my freshman year. By paying a fee and signing a waiver, you could box against fellow students for bragging rights and perhaps be crowned fight night champ.

Now the bills came due. I was a serious runner and had stamina. But my "training" didn't prepare me to do battle. The other guy moved crisply, with purpose, experience and harmful intent. I felt hollow inside, and the prospect of a beating briefly triggered thoughts of fleeing. That wasn't an option if I wanted to keep my man card. So it boiled down to this: Get out there, avoid him for the required three rounds and make it to class tomorrow.

We touched gloves in the center of the ring. There were roughly 100 people in the crowd at the Washington County fairgrounds. It sounded like more because the booing was loud. After the opening bell, I stayed away. The fear was clear. The fans wanted action, and they let me hear it.

I saw my foe's eyes in the yellow light. He snarled, fists up and set to swing as he stalked easy prey. Shamed by the boos, I finally waded in late in the first round. My gloves were too low and slow. I absorbed shots around the eyes and jaw before hitting the canvas.

Fuzzy in the brain -- but not unconscious -- I reached for the ropes. The referee kept counting until it was over. I almost made it through one round.

Humiliated, I packed and went home to bed.

The morning dawned with another jolt. A fight night organizer called. He said I was the "best loser" by virtue of having outlasted the other victims in the competition. I could advance and try again in the semifinals, he said.

Pride got the best of this best loser. I accepted the offer.

Road to redemption, right? Wrong.

Event officials looked alarmed when they saw me that second night. Maybe they assumed I wouldn't show. A couple of strangers came by and urged me to keep my hands up. Before the second bout began, the ref (a new one) said he witnessed what happened the night before and would intervene after the first serious punch. I got hit on top of the head about 20 seconds in. The ref stopped the fight immediately.

A few boos punctuated it all. Return customers. One gentleman called me a bum.

But the fighter who defeated me the second time said I was a "helluva" man for returning. The lesson being to keep going, even after taking your lumps. Corny but true.

My boxing failure contained another valuable kernel. The humbling experience enhanced my ability and desire to sympathize with others.

In the final analysis, standing -- and falling -- between the ropes helped me learn the ropes in life.

-- Al Gaspeny started as a sports correspondent for the Arkansas Gazette in 1987. He's worked for newspapers, including The (Springdale, Ark.) Morning News and the Florida Times-Union in Jacksonville, as a writer, page designer, editor or supervisor for more than 30 years. Gaspeny graduated from the University of Arkansas with a journalism degree. The opinions expressed are those of the author.