LOS ANGELES – The Wild Card Boxing Club, the famous sweatshop where the steams of Manny Pacquiao’s lofty ambitions first dripped, sits on a busy corner along Santa Monica Blvd. and Vine street.
Coming off West Covina, I took inter-tstates 10 west and 101 north to get there yesterday, and it was nearing noon when my rented Chevrolet Impala wiggled into a tight spot in the very crowded parking lot.
Lying on top of a non-descript laundromat, I trudged the flight of stairs leading up to the gym’s only entrance. On a small cubicle by the main door, a giant-sized dude with fancy shades oversaw the place.
Sitting there like a desk sergeant of a small police precinct, Mr. Big asked me in a booming baritone: “Are you a reporter?” I said, “Yep,” and he nodded approvingly, giving me the indication that I was welcomed.
The pungent smell of dried sweat and leather hung in the air as I surveyed the gym. Pictures of old and new champs, most of them autographed, adorned the walls. A banner, its words fading with time, was pasted in a strategic place near the ring and it said: “It ain’t easy.”
The place was a noise factory.
The punching bags made thudding sounds of abuse, the speedballs creaked with the rhythm of hard work, while the treadmills whirred without relent. Atop the ring, two guys with headgears sparred and their corners yelled pointers that could be heard all the way to Las Vegas.
ALA boxers managed by Michael Koncz here in the US quickly got my attention among the sea of humanity.
Rey Bautista sparred for the first time since his two-week break. Boom-Boom was a plump 129 pounds, he was slow and off-kilter. But his power never left. Rey bloodied his spar mate so bad their session had to be cut short.
Z Gorres sparred with WBC flyweight champ Brian Viloria. Z has improved a lot lately, says trainer Edito Villamor, and that showed as Gorres acquitted himself well against the tough “Hawaiian Punch.”
Czar Amonsot tortured the speed ball and he shadow-boxed by the window, his bleached blonde hair shimmering in the mid-afternoon light. “I’m ready, sir,” he said of his upcoming US debut at the Orleans Casino on Feb. 3.
“Miss home yet?” I asked. “Sure,” he replied. But Czar also understands the sacrifices he needs to make if he wants to travel the steps Pacquiao has paved for his fellowmen.
Diosdado Gabi isn’t an ALA boy, but he trains here as one of Koncz’s wards. Wearing something resembling a space suit, one that’s presumably designed to extract sweat, Gabi was skipping rope near where the weights were. Later, he hit the bags as though they owed him money.
After the workouts, Koncz brought Edito and the fighters to a Thai restaurant just a few steps down the road from the Wild Card. They had three mammoth bowls of soup swimming with carrots, broccoli, mushrooms and chopped onions.
I wondered why they just had soup after all the work. Edito told me that it’s how their diet works. The heavy meal with meat awaits the famished fighters for dinner and a big breakfast always starts their day.
Returning to the parking lot, a sight started us all. It was a white Range Rover and a black Hummer with super-sized wheels. Loitering around these massive cars was multiple champion James Toney and his bevy of bodyguards.
Toney was gracious enough to pose with the ALA boys, who then packed into Koncz’s white Chevy Suburban as they began the one-hour trek to Orange County.
With my assignment well covered, I went driving around Hollywood and Sunset Blvds. I used to live around here, you know, and the place has changed so drastically since I left.
But something about California still makes my heart glow. Oh reverie, what a blessing divine.
I got back to my rented shack at 8:30 p.m. A bottle of Rum was waiting for me, of course. And gladly, I drank a toast to one wild day at the Wild Card.
P.S. More about the ALA Boys and my interview with them soon. And I’ll show some pictures for you to see in these pages.
