CHICAGO — It was slightly cold outside, maybe a mild 65 degrees, when I visited perhaps the world’s most famous sweatshop that sits in the corner of Vine St. and Santa Monica Blvd. in Los Angeles, California.
But inside the Wild Card Gym last Jan. 23, the weather felt like a heat wave.
Crowded like a Persian bazaar, the place swayed to the rhythm of the beautiful music that only the sweet science brings. The speed balls hummed with the cadence of a hundred drummers, the giant punching bags wailed with every blow they took, while the treadmills whirred like engines.
There must have been 30 or so boxers there during my visit, but one stood out for various reasons.
He dyed his hair blonde, bleached and semi-dirty. He lugs some 130-pounds, has the specs of an Atlas, and at 5-foot-8, he is a skyscraper in his weight class. But what struck me the most was the way he conducted himself in practice.
Unlike other muscle-bound fighters, this kid from Tagbilaran City, Bohol didn’t move as though he was carrying a knapsack full of rocks. He was amazingly nimble while skipping rope, and when he shadowboxed, he was graceful as a ballerina, light as the early morning rain.
That’s where the tenderness ends though, because when he climbed the ring — taped and gloved for a sparring session — he blew his spar mate like a typhoon across the Pacific.
A converted southpaw, he is armed with a one-punch knockout power. He is 13-1-1, with 10 KOs. Born Cesar Augustus Amonsot, he is now simply known as Czar. And given his talent and work ethic, he could indeed be king, a star who will brighten a sport darkened by so much violence.
Humble start
Like most prizefighters, Czar hopes to wear a championship belt across his slender waist someday. He sees the fury of his fists as the only means with which he could untie himself and his family from the bondage of poverty that have bound them for years.
Czar, 20, comes from a hefty family, the eighth of nine children. The Amonsot siblings never hungered for love growing up. Their parents — Julian Sr. and Miguela — provided a lot of that. What was severely lacking, however, were material needs such as clothing, shoes, toys, school supplies, etc.
To hope and to dream didn’t cost a thing, and so the Amonsots clung to both with every ounce of optimism they had, only to be deflated by their fisherman father’s death eight years ago.
Miguela didn’t work. Raising a flock, she didn’t have time for a job. And besides, she’s too weak and too tired, wounded by the cruel arrows of his fate.
Just like that, 12-year-old Czar was left to his own devices.
He took on boxing. And purely on the strength of his raw talent, he became a national youth champion in the 2002 boxfest in Iriga City. Shortly thereafter, Czar joined the famed ALA stable.
Home
He couldn’t have found a better home.
After 15 fights as a pro, Czar’s bank account isn’t fat yet, but he’s earning enough to support his brothers and sisters. He provides for his mother’s needs and he is paying for his younger brother Rocky’s education at Mansasa High.
Czar’s eldest brother, 36-year-old Julian Jr., works at a Heinz factory in Arizona. He promised to make the long drive to Nevada to watch him showcase his wares. Czar also has two siblings in Manila, and like those left in Bohol, they will be pulling for him in hope and prayer.
A tightly-knit clan, the Amonsots have since splintered to various places, each looking for their ray of light under the sun. It’s Czar’s fondest wish for them to be together again as a family, even only for just one joyful Christmas season.
But for now, Czar is focused only on his US debut, which happens tomorrow at the Orleans Casino in Las Vegas.
He has changed foes for the third time, but it doesn’t bother him. “Duwa lang gud ta. Andam na ko bisan kinsa. (Let’s play. I’m ready to take on anyone.”)
Czar’s trainer, ex-champ Edito Villamor, mirrors the Boholano’s confidence, “I think Czar will be fine. He has power and sufficient defense, and once the confidence level rises, he’ll do well.”
