[kenyan_cheena]

"I THINK WE'VE JUST SEEN THE
FUTURE OF HEAVYWEIGHT BOXING"

Wednesday 25 September 2002

Story by James Reynolds for the New York Age

As its followers would be aware, the Heavyweight Boxing Federation is currently in the middle of a period that's not quite a hiatus but nowhere near full-steam ahead status, with the World Championship and 1st Defense tournaments having completed their first stages and not due to be back in action for the start of stage two for another month. Fans of the organisation are currently left to be satisfied with the conclusion of the feeder league tournaments and continuation of the newly-formed Qualifying League. Entertaining, yes, but barely able to hold a candle next to the excitement that the WC and 1D tourneys provided during the last eight months.

The competitors who were talented and skilled enough to progress to stage two of the federation's flagship events have continued their training, readying themselves for what will be even more challenging bouts than they've already been through. One such individual is 27 year-old North Bergen native Joe Jeannette, the 11th seed in the World Championship tournament who made his way through stage one with a perfect 7-0(2) record and who is the founder of what is known as "Jersey Pride", a collective of New Jersey-born fighters in both the federation and International Boxing League working together to give themselves the greatest chance possible of success in this, the most toughest of all sports. I visited with Jeannette yesterday at the Lincoln Street Gym in North Bergen, eager to learn more about him, his life and his plans for the future.

But as sometimes happens the day's events took an unexpected but compelling turn, only minutes after my stepping through the gym doors and introducing myself to Jeannette. As we sat down for the interview Joe's attention gravitated towards a young African-American boy who had come into the gym and, keeping to himself, watched with curiosity as boxers such as the Middleweight Mickey Walker and Heavyweight Steve Hamas went through their paces, sparring and working on the heavy bag, respectively. The young boy could not have been older than fourteen or fifteen but he was solidly built, standing about 5'6". Dressed in nothing more than basketball shoes, baggy shorts and a Mets T-shirt he soon moved over towards an unused punching bag in the corner and within moments was ripping into it bare-fisted with a ferocity that brought a fascinated, awed expression to Jeannette's face and caught the attention of a number of others in the gym. Joe politely excused himself and quickly made his way over towards the young boy. I followed a couple of footsteps behind. Joe motioned for the youngster to stop and he did, breathing heavily as he regarded Joe with a determined gaze, the sweat bubbling on his forehead and in his shortly shaven hair.

"You got a helluva left hook there, little brother," Joe said to him, smiling.

The boy simply nodded, but said nothing. He averted his eyes briefly, perhaps a little intimidated by Joe's presence.

"What's your name, kid?" asked Joe.

"Name's Abram, sir. Abram Sin."

"Well, Abram, it's nice meetin' you. That's a pretty unique name you got, there. I'm Joe Jeannette."

"I know, sir. I seen your fights on the TV, sir. I was outside the Ritacco Center when y'all beat Johnny Summerlin's, seein' as I too young to get inside."

"How old are you, little man?" Joe asked.

"Just turn fifteen las' week, sir."

"I take it from your bein' here, you're interested in boxin'?"

Abram Sin nodded. Once again, he looked away shyly.

"You ever boxed before?"

"Uh, not really. Jus' at school if I get in a fight. I was hopin' ... jus' maybe, you'd be able to give me some trainin', sir. Some advice."

Jeannette smiled, placed a hand on Abram's shoulder.

"Find it hard to believe you ain't done this before, little brother, but it'd be my pleasure to help you train. I just have to discuss something with Mr. Reynolds here for a couple of minutes, okay? He's a reporter from the New York Age, came here to talk to me. Just take a seat and I'll be right back."

Joe walked me over to where we had been seated, looking me square in the eye.

"Mr. Reynolds," he started. "I know you came here to talk to me about Jersey Pride and the World Championship and Father Ciccone, but I think you'd agree with me when I say that a better story just walked in through that door ... You see the way he attacked that bag?"

I nodded.

"You seen anyone with that much pop before?"

I pondered the question for a moment before replying.

"Not at fifteen years old, I haven't," was my reply.

Joe nodded.

"Me, neither."

We both regarded Abram Sin for a few moments.

"How about this?" said Joe. "I'll get an idea of what this kid's made of for the next thirty minutes. You take a seat and take notes on everything you see. Sound good?"

I nodded once more and we both walked back over to Abram who, while we'd been talking, had been watching Walker's sparring session with an intent in his eyes that sent a shiver down my spine. He appeared to be taking everything in, studying every move.

"Abram?" said Joe. "I was thinking we might put some gloves on you and let you go to work on the heavy bag for a while. What y'all think o' that?"

"Sound good, sir," Abram replied.

"You are one polite brother," said Joe, smiling. "Callin' me "sir" all the time. Where you from, Abram?"

"Was born down in Hoboken, sir. Live on Garden Street, near Church Square."

I did as Joe had said, sitting back, watching and note-taking as he took the young man through a thirty minute workout. Before they were done everyone in the gym was watching, too, and Joe had an expression on his face like he'd just witnessed the second coming. Abram Sin abused the heavy bag with sledgehammer-like lefts and rights, shots thrown with seemingly-evil intent that had Jeannette hanging onto the bag for dear life. There was something in Abram's eyes, a resoluteness driving him on as he pounded away. When Joe had him work on the speedball it was like he'd been using the apparatus for years, his rhythm and timing on it impeccable. Next up was ten minutes of jumprope. Again, he got through it with ease, his speed something to behold. Push-ups and sit-ups followed, Abram completing fifty and a hundred of each respectively. By this time he was covered in sweat from head to toe but he appeared to be loving it.

"How much you weigh, Abram?" Joe asked.

"Um, ain't sure on that, sir. Maybe 140. Don't know."

Joe retrieved a set of bathroom scales and Abram stepped onto them. 152 pounds, putting him in the Middleweight range.

"How do you feel about sparrin' with Mr. Walker?" Joe suggested.

Abram's eyes lit up.

"I'd love that, sir."

Standing off to the side, Mickey Walker smiled.

"Glad to be of service," he directed Jeannette's way.

"You go easy on him, Mickey," Joe warned jokingly.

What happened next exceeded everything that had passed during the previous half-hour as in the space of just three minutes Abram Sin made the highly-regarded Mickey Walker look like an amateur. It wasn't just the fact that he dropped him on his backside twice (once with a flush left hook and then again thirty seconds later with a neck-snapping uppercut). Neither was it the speed of his jab, snaking out and tagging Walker like a cobra. It wasn't the apparent defensive awareness either, the head and foot movement that made it near impossible for Walker to land a punch on him. It was all of these things, but above all it was the ease with which he did it. When the three minutes ended everyone in the gym continued staring in a shocked silence, for what seemed like a long time but must have only been a matter of seconds. Joe Jeannette simply regarded Abram Sin with something greater than amazement. Walker finally broke the silence and extracted a few laughs with what he said.

"Hell, I might aswell quit after that."

Walker removed his head gear, spat out his mouthpiece and left the ring, heading straight for the showers, shaking his head along the way. All the while Abram Sin stood in a corner breathing lightly, unsure of what to do or say. Jeannette took him to one side, away from the others and spoke to him, allowing me to listen in.

"Abram, I'm gonna tell you the honest truth," said Joe. "You've got a talent that I've never seen before in someone as young as you. It's a special gift, my brother. Now, you tell me right here and now how serious you are about this. How serious are you about boxing?"

Abram smiled, really for the first time since he entered the gym, his countenance showing embarrassment over Joe's compliments.

"If I could make something of myself from boxin', it'd be everything to me, sir," he finally replied.

Joe nodded.

"I wasn't expecting anything remarkable from my day, Abram," he said. "But you walked in that door an hour ago and I have to say, you've made my day remarkable. You sure this is what you want? 'Cause if it is, you gotta be prepared to put everything you got inside yourself into it."

Abram nodded yes.

"I understand that, sir," he said.

A tear trickled from the corner of Abram's left eye and while Joe noticed it he didn't address it.

"What I want you to do is go home and have a rest," Joe said. "Let your body get over what you just been through. You come back here tomorrow morning at nine and we'll start trainin', okay?"

"Okay, sir."

Abram Sin left the gym soon after, every single set of eyes in there following him out the door. Joe Jeannette stood stroking his chin in contemplation. He ran a hand over his bald pate before sitting down next to me.

"That kid is incredible," I said. "It's hard to believe he just walked in here off the street, that he's never fought before."

Joe shook his head and then nodded, the first disbelief and the second agreement. He stared out the front window of the gym, held his gaze as he spoke.

"Mr. Reynolds, I think we've just seen the future of Heavyweight boxing."