Hampton Roads Boxers Fight 'For Life'
"You can get a real workout just walking up these steps," says Bobby Jordan Jr., making his way through the darkened, maze-like attic of Norfolk's Longshoreman's Hall.
Jordan climbs onto a small platform, and back down some steps. Finally he finds a light switch on a nearby wall, and flicks it.
It's as if the room transforms. It's like someone just stumbled onto a great idea, or a mystery was solved, a dream realized.
Light rushes around the room, illuminating a weight set in the corner. There's several punching bags along the walls.
And in the middle, there's the place that Jordan hopes will take him to the top of the sports world; his next step comes Aug. 16 at the Fight For Life event at Portsmouth's Renaissance Hotel.
"I've been training here about six years," he says, glancing at the huge boxing ring. "I was always going to the gym with my dad."
Jordan's father, Bobby Sr., had a promising career cut short by cataracts, and his uncle Speedy once battled Muhammad Ali in an exhibition in Roanoke.
Still, through his early years at Norfolk's Park Place neighborhood and as a student at Maury and Booker T. Washington high schools, Jordan preferred the gridiron to the squared circle.
"There was one game where we lost to Ronald Curry," he recalls (Before he started catching passes in the NFL for Oakland, Curry was throwing them for state titles at Hampton High School). "After we lost that one big team sport, I wanted to try an individual sport, because the team sport didn't work for me, losing because the guys were scared to play when I wasn't scared the whole time."
As his teenage years came to an end, Jordan's amateur career took off - he estimated that he had "like 70" fights and won "more than 40."
"Just my toughness and my heart are my main strengths," he said. "It just comes from growing up where I grew up. I got challenged every day. If it wasn't fighting, it was somebody wanting to fight. Having a father that stayed on me, telling me, 'I hope you're as tough in the street as you are in the house!' and just having that mental check lets you know you just have to be tough with the people you have to get tough with, not your family."
After falling in the trials for the 2004 Olympics, Jordan decided to move up in the boxing world, turning pro.
"You take the headguard off and get used to getting roughed up," he says. "There's a difference in pro. You're allowed to hold. You have to watch out for headbutts and a whole lot of stuff. It's a big mental adjustment, I'll tell you that."
Still, it took him less than two rounds to take his first pro fight in Dec. 2005.
"I was just like, 'I'm here now!'" he says of how he felt afterward. "If you did anything your whole life, or some of your life, and you just wanted to see what it was on another level, you wanted to make sure you didn't waste your time with it. You're trying to see if you can make it and get something out of it."
After a draw and two more victories, he moved up to six-round competition.
"Yes, sir," he exclaims of whether it was an adjustment. "It was a gut check. You can train six rounds, but it's a whole other class going six rounds in the ring."
In March, he took another win. Now, for his battle with Willis Lockett in Portsmouth, Jordan's going up to eight rounds.
"Two more rounds to go," he said. "Two more rounds to go. I'm running all I can, making sure I got the wind in the tank. I can think I'm ready, but I won't know until I get in the ring. You have to let your hands go, and there's a man letting his hands go, pushing you back. You can't practice that every day."
It's the day before the event, and things are falling into place at the hotel. At a table in the now empty room (save for the huge ring in the center), co-promoter Kariann Taylor discusses the Police Athletic League (PAL).
"It's great to get a professional boxing event to benefit the league," she says. "It supports programs for inner-city kids."
That's why Lou Duva, the patriarch of boxing's unofficial First Family, is here to help out. In a career that's spanned over half a century, Duva's a member of several boxing Hall of Fames.
"(The PAL) has got to be commended for putting something out there that gets kids off the street," Duva says. "They're doing it in Chicago, New York, all over. They've done a hell of a job."
So has he - he's trained 19 world champions, including Evander Holyfield, Lennox Lewis, and Hector "Macho" Camacho.
"My advice is to be in shape at all times," he says for today's boxers. "Some trainers and some fighters have it in their head is that the only time they have to train; the only time they have to get ready is when they're having a fight. But more titles are won as substitutes, believe it or not. You have to be in shape at all times. It's a year-round business; it isn't like football or baseball. Boxing is year-round."
His daughter Donna and son Dino are in the boxing promoting game as well (Duva's other son, Dan, who died in 1996, was an avid promoter).
"I guess it's love for the boxing," Duva says of his reasons for such a long involvement in the sport. "We love the sport."
Nearby, his cell phone rings, and he picks it up. Then a voice comes from behind.
"That was me, Lou!" Duva turns around, and his caller saunters through the door. It's one more of Duva's charges, and arguably Hampton Roads' finest sports legend: Pernell "Sweetpea" Whitaker, who represented his hometown of Norfolk with Olympic gold in 1984 and followed it up with titles in four weight classes.
Whitaker climbs through the ring ropes, and back-steps around the ring, tossing out quick jobs and uppercuts. Then he raises his arms, perhaps a backward glace to the showboating that was his trademark throughout his career.
"No comment!" Whitaker blares of his reaction to criticism of his showboating. "If you liked it, that's all that matters."
Sitting with Duva, one of Whitaker's future charges watches his trainer.
"I'm just going to be ready," says Philadelphia native Miguel Gonzalez, who rushed to the top of the amateur ranks, and makes his pro debut at the Fight For Life against Kitty Hawk's David Derby.
"It's amazing, like a blessing for me," he says. "I grew up watching Whitaker. To be able to have my idol and Lou Duva in my corner is going to be great."
Finally, it's about time to hit the ring - and make the opponents hit the mats. The crowd is meandering in, the refreshments are being set up, and the judges and referees are getting into place.
Next to the main ballroom, fighters have turned a business-meeting room into a makeshift hotel. Stretched out between two chairs, John Mackey takes a quick nap. Norfolk native Stephon Alexander does calisthenics, careful not to bump into the huge table. William Bailey, a Virginia Beach-ian, gets his hands taped as he prepares to take on Waynesboro native Juan Robles, a former sparring partner.
"He don't impress me," Bailey says. "He's a likeable guy, but he doesn't really have anything that impresses me."
Gonzalez has something that impresses Whitaker.
"I'm Pernell Whitaker; nobody's better than Pernell Whitaker, and that's no secret," he asserts, "but these guys have the drive, and the opportunity. I'd rather let them do it; I've already done it."
Jordan strolls in, dressed as if he's preparing to attend a graduation.
"I'm just trying to show up," he says. "You're supposed to worry about yourself, but I worry about everybody. My friends and co-workers in the audience, and I want to give them a show."
In the other dressing room, his opponent's ready to rumble, says his trainer.
"Lockett's looking the best I've seen him in years," says Han Kim. "I've been working with him for six years, and he's in top condition. Jordan has a lot of experience, but this is pro, and I've seen a lot of amateur guys that don't make a good transition to pro. Lockett's a good pro, and we're going to see how Jordan reacts to a seasoned pro."
Finally, the national anthem is played, the introductions are announced (unfortunately, Michael Buffer isn't here to roar, "Let's get ready to RUMBLE!").
Alexander has a quick night; in just under two minutes, he knocks off (and knocks down) Philadelphia's Gustavo Dailey.
"I wanted to get my shots off and let them go," he says afterward. "I was shocked at the first knockdown; the second, I don't even know what I threw! I'm waiting on a call for my next (fight), but I'll be back in the gym on Monday morning."
Mackey, now wide awake, snares a TKO over Luther Smith. It's time for Gonzalez - and Duva and Whitaker, who escort him to ringside.
The fight begins, and it's a pretty even first round.
"Touch 'im, touch 'im!" Whitaker shouts from ringside. "Come on out - let's go!"
By the second round, Whitaker's off his chair, and improvising a punching and blocking routine, reminiscent of Apollo Creed during Rocky Balboa's last fight with Clubber Lang.
Finally, Gonzalez cracks Derby in the stomach, and Derby goes down.
"Right here!" Whitaker shouts to Gonzalez, tapping his own stomach. "Right here!"
Moments later, Derby collapses on Gonzalez, and the bell rings.
"I boxed the same way as in amateurs," Gonzalez says. "Bringing my style to the professionals, I was comfortable. I was good, and I felt great."
It's Bailey's turn now, and he and Robles spend the first round feeling each other out. In the second round, however, Bailey's jabs start connecting (perhaps he's unleashing "The Storm" that's embroidered on his trunks), snapping Robles' head back and forcing him to stutter-step as the round winds down. But Robles keeps coming, nailing Bailey with a strong roundhouse at the bell.
There's nothing huge about the next few rounds, but the redness on Robles' face is starting to spread, and he's even bleeding here and there, his hair being whacked into a mis-grown bush. He keeps up, but Bailey's got the upper hand, hardly breaking a sweat as the last bell rings.
It's a unanimous decision, and Bailey drops to a knee as the referee raises his hand.
He's got a reason to savor such moments; 2008 will be Bailey's last year in the ring.
"I want to promote and be a coach," says Bailey, who works as a truck driver between fights. "It was a good run. A lot of people will look at me and look at my record (he's 9-14-2) and say, 'He's a loser,' but I'll tell anybody that when I first turned professional, I jumped on big dogs; I didn't really care. Now I can't be stopped good."
Finally, it's time for the main event. With his parents Bobby Sr. and Gail - celebrating their 32nd anniversary - in tow, Jordan makes his way to the ring.
In the first round, Jordan's in defense mode, allowing Lockett to punch his blocked body to tire himself out. But the few punches that he lands do some damage.
As the third round gets rolling, the fighters make their way across the ring. Suddenly, Jordan staggers Lockett with a few power shots, and Lockett grabs Jordan, dragging him across the ring to the other ropes.
Right back in the action, Jordan keeps up the intensity, and Lockett loses a point for holding. Jordan swings with a wild knockout attempt, but misses. Soon after, through, Lockett hits the canvas.
He's right back up, and the fight commences. In the fourth, Jordan floors him again, and this time he doesn't arise so quickly.
The last two rounds go by, but they're a formality by this point; Jordan's too far ahead, and a unanimous decision belongs to him.
"Ain't that some pressure?" asks Jordan, holding his son, Bobby III. "You come back to your corner, and your mom says, 'What the hell you doing, letting that man hit you in the head like that?' Ain't that some pressure?!"
Fortunately, he handled it - and hopes to do so in front of larger crowds quite soon.
"I've turned down ESPN three times," he says. "I'm going to get up there. I just want to be ready."
