The Boxer
In the clearing stands a boxer – and a fighter by his trade - he carries the reminders of every glove that laid him down or cut him till he cries out in his anger and his shame I am leaving, I am leaving but the fighter still remains.
These lyrics come from Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel, a beautiful song of years gone by - The Boxer, which I must admit at an earlier age I just couldn’t understand the reason for the title of the song since only the final verse of the five included any reference to the sport of boxing. Later in life I realized that each verse actually spoke of a man’s lifetime of fighting bout after bout with the opponents that life itself throws into the ring.
The first time I walked in the gym I almost gagged from the stench of sweat. Between the stale air and humidity I was perspiring within minutes after entering the building. The lighting was so bad that I could hardly make out the shadows of folks spread sparingly throughout the large concrete-walled, wooden-floor, 1940’s era, severely ran down building. At the north end of the boxing arena I got a glimpse of a folded-out table and three figures sitting around it. That looked like as good a place as any to start asking for this fellow they called “Ace” I was in search of.
As I approached the three I could see and hear one of them slowly reading by the dimly lit light an article from a recent sports magazine about an up and coming young boxing professional that had been tagged with the simple nick-name “Big John” and there he sat intently listening as someone read to him what he couldn’t read for himself. Yes, there John Tate sat in front of me - all 6’4’ 203 lbs - very muscular, dark complexion, with an arm span of 80”. A mountain of a man, intimidating just to witness in person and there beside him, listening just as intently was Jerry “Ace” Miller – Tate’s manager.
We met, shook hands, sat for a while as the fellow finished reading the article and then we all congratulated “Big John” on the notoriety and world-wide publicity he was receiving. John stammered and spoke as if he was a nervous kid in front of the class in first grade, but what he said was very humble, yet obviously determined. He wanted to win the World’s Heavyweight Championship and apparently that was all he seemed to be focused on. This I came to know about Big John in the first five minutes of our encounter - he couldn’t read, he struggled to verbally communicate, he was huge, he had the heart and demeanor of a child, and most certainly he was a very determined man on a mission.
Over the next few months I spent a good number of days training in the same building with Big John. It was a challenge to keep my focus while he was there working out just a few feet away. He was like a machine and I was like a child taking my first steps. The first few months of 1979 went by quickly for a young wannabe amateur boxer and his very talented professional friend. In February Big John headed off to Indianapolis for a national televised fight with a big name opponent. The fight lasted about a minute as John left his corner at the sound of the bell, walked out to the middle of the ring and knocked out title contender, Duane Bobick with a flurry of power punches. In April I fought as a novice Light Heavyweight in the East Tennessee Golden Gloves tournament. I lost the championship match by decision to a guy both Ace Miller and myself knew I should have won. Thus, there lies the difference between a determined and extremely talented fighter like Big John, and an unskilled rookie like myself.
In June John won his last qualifying fight against a big time fighter named Kallie Knoetze to earn himself a shot at the title. Then came October and with it came John’s big opportunity.
In the sweltering heat of an outdoor boxing ring in Pretoria, South Africa stood Gerrie Coetzee, and just beyond him sat Big John’s mark - the world’s heavyweight championship title belt which had been given up by the retiring; greatest of all time, Muhammad Ali. We all knew Coetzee didn’t stand a chance! That night Knoxville, Tennessee for the first and only time in its history became the hometown of the World’s Heavyweight Boxing Champion. Unfortunately, this notoriety only lasted a little more than five months, or exactly one unsuccessful defense of the title. In March of 1980 Mike Weaver knocked out Big John in the waning minutes of the fifteenth round of the championship bout fought in Knoxville, in which John was winning very handily. Things began to change drastically from that day forward.
Years of sacrifice, strife, struggle, and determination all folded onto the canvas in the suddenly still body of Big John as he laid face down before a packed crowd and a world-wide pay-to-view audience. For an instance I thought about the last amateur fight I fought just months earlier, though I wasn’t knocked out, I did make it to the canvas a time or two. I admit, I cried as my large friend was helped out of the ring as it hurt me to see him hurt, it was never supposed to happen like that!
We spoke briefly only once after that night– but for me it appeared he was no longer the same person or fighter from that point on. That dramatic loss in the ring took its toll on Big John in many ways. Despite an ailing back he fought soon after his defeat, and again he lost. His swagger was gone, his confidence was crushed, and I suspect he began to feel like a failure for the first time since his poverty-stricken upbringings in a rural area of eastern Arkansas.
The parasites that had latched onto, (and began to take advantage of his good nature) after he had won the title all but disappeared over night. Only the really desperate hung around at this point, and with them they brought drugs, alcohol, and despair. Big John was no longer that “Big” of a deal for the world, and he began to disappear into the shadows of the dark side of life.
I’ll never forget the call I received from my mom a few years later, as I lived in Nashville at the time, to tell me that she had been robbed at knife-point while sitting at her business desk that day. And of all people, the perpetrator was none other than John. She said she talked with him about me, and our past – yet he still insisted she turn over the company’s cash – which she did just before calling the authorities. Again I cried for my friend! Then at the early age of 43 John died in a car accident which was caused by a massive stroke, where large consumptions of cocaine over a twenty-four hour period was seen as a major contributing factor. Suddenly, life was over for this one time champion of the world.
A lifetime of effort - yet only five months of glory - how very sad!
What I’ve found true is; chasing after the riches of this world so often leads to such tragic endings. To some degree we can all relate to the story of Big John Tate. Most of us never reach the world-wide acclaim he did, but in many ways we become the Heavyweight Champs of our own makings. We focus intently on our man-made mark, and we focus our vision on nothing else. Careers, homes, so-called hobbies, children, and yes sometimes even a ministry becomes the gleam of vision for our title hopes. Yet, all the while God stands patiently waiting on the sidelines. Not cheering, or booing, but merely looking on at the mess we make of our lives while we chase after our own version of fame, fortune, and security.
For many, (self included) our determination to do things our own way can even unfortunately lead us to succeed in many areas of life where God is not. We bask in the spotlight, take a victory lap around the ring, buy the bar a round of drinks, and begin to smoke those really big expensive cigars. We fool ourselves into believing that because of our success God must somehow be pleased with it. We begin to live the “highlife” which almost always attracts the “low-lives” of the world. They latch on, bilk us for all we choose to give them, then when we fall face down on the canvas they run off looking for the next free-ride.
Last night during the playing of a Rick Warren Forty Days of Purpose video I was reminded that we often suffer through hard times of our own makings, yet we want to blame God. We get angry, we get frustrated, and we get rebellious. And from this, we often reach a point where we want to fight God instead of learn from Him. Then Pastor Warren made the comment that triggered the thought for this journal item, and he said, “Just remember, our arms are way too short to box with God.”
Big John was a mighty warrior in the boxing ring. I witnessed him leave his corner at the sound of the opening bell, walk immediately up to his skilled opponent and knock him out within the first minute of the fight, something very few can say they’ve done. I saw him beat down his opponent in the sweltering heat of South Africa to win the title he had sought for so long, again something very few can say they’ve done. Yet, I’ve come to understand this about him; he couldn’t handle the idea of being a failure much better than he could, being a success. Without God in his life he was never going to be who or what he was intended to be. And my failing to tell him this while training in the same facility day after day at an important point in his life is where I failed him as a friend, as a Christian.
In a letter the apostle Paul wrote; Timothy, my son, I am giving you this command in keeping with the prophecies once made about you, so that by recalling them you may fight the battle well, You see, Paul wanted to make sure his friend knew he needed God always to direct his path and to never rely on his own abilities to win the fight.
I believe God has great things in store for His true believers, and by recalling this, and keeping our focus on His purpose for our lives we will find the strength to fight the good fight. We’ll be constantly reminded as to where our strength comes from, and to whom we should give the credit and praise for the victories. By doing so, we’ll avoid suffering a stunning fifteenth round knock-out by hearing our Lord say “depart from me, I never knew you.”
In the clearing stands a boxer – and a fighter by his trade - he carries the reminders of every glove that laid him down or cut him till he cries out in his anger and his shame I am leaving, I am leaving but the fighter still remains.
Big John is not just the former Heavyweight Champion of the boxing world, or someone I called friend for a brief time in my life, but he’s also a very sad personal reminder to me of what comes from becoming a “champion of this world.”
Still struggling to fight the good fight….. doug
