Last weekend I scrolled too far and ended up in the comment section of an article titled: “Call sounded to help former two-weight champ Reggie Johnson.” It was there, in the comment section, the call for Reggie Johnson was answered by “SMASH”, a commenter, who proposed that the solution to the American’s struggles lies squarely at the feet of three men: George Foreman and Jermell and Jermall Charlo. “Big George & the Charlos,” SMASH wrote, “come on splash a bit of the cash.”
SMASH was then promptly reminded by another commenter that George Foreman was in fact dead and therefore in no position to help any retired boxer in 2025. This reminder was appreciated by SMASH, who confessed he had forgotten all about Big George’s passing, yet the retraction of his proposal failed to stop me wondering why Foreman and the Charlos had been earmarked as potential saviours.
Presumably the link was Texas. That’s somewhere with which Johnson, Foreman and the two Charlos are all synonymous, though why the responsibility of helping a Texan must fall on the shoulders of a fellow Texan is anyone’s guess. Foreman had the grill, I suppose, so maybe that’s it. As for the Charlos, Jermell and Jermall, they are both alive and active, so perhaps it is assumed they have money to burn – or simply donate. Chances are, as world-class pros, the Charlo twins will continue to make good money until the day they both retire, at which point they will, like Johnson, then look around and question (a) where all the money has gone or (b) when the next paycheck arrives.
Of course, just because they are active and have links to Houston, Texas should not mean the Charlos are responsible for the fate of Reggie Johnson, now 59. On the contrary, if there’s one thing the Charlos should be doing during their respective careers it is preparing for The End and not treating that moment as a bridge to cross only when it comes. If anything, they should be looking at someone like George Foreman and taking notes. Specifically, they should draw inspiration from the way Big George was able to endure and flourish in retirement and how he was able to continue making money at a time when for many ex-fighters the money stops.
Someone else in the comment section of that Johnson article almost had it right: “Fighters nor former fighters from Texas don't have a responsibility to financially support other former fighters who fall into hard times, GTFOH,” they said, with the acronym a bit unnecessary. “I would say it’s up to former champions, their families and your management to resolve all that early on, however it’s unfortunate for anyone at this stage in the game especially a good dude like Reggie!”
For all that comment’s sobering truth, I still preferred the first comment, the one from SMASH. If the first comment about Big George and the Charlos revealed anything it revealed the desperation of fans to make things better and the panic to name someone, anyone, as a potential saviour. It revealed, moreover, how none of us really know how to help retired fighters who fall on hard times, nor who to turn to when we hear stories like Reggie Johnson’s. Indeed, upon reading that story about Johnson, I was convinced that I had read the same story before only with a different name in the headline and body text. All the same notes were played: semi-familiar boxer; a list of accomplishments; reasons why we should care; a GoFundMe link.
Year after year we hear sad tales of retired fighters facing either financial issues or ill health and every time we encounter one all we can think to do is either shout the names of potential saviours – in Johnson’s case, “Big George & the Charlos” – or point people in the direction of organisations such as Ringside Charitable Trust. The more stories like Johnson’s you read, the more you recognise the need for organisations like Ringside Charitable Trust, and yet still we are no closer to figuring out how to make the whole aftercare thing actually work.
In fact, without the assistance and financial muscle of promoters, sugar daddies and sponsors, the idea of a care home for retired fighters will always remain just that: an idea. It sounds good and it would do good, but “why” is a word easier to say than “how”, unfortunately. It is also a word much cheaper to say.
It’s true that there is a lot of money in the sport these days, and much of it disposable, yet little if any of it is being pushed in the direction of organisations that help retired fighters cope and learn how to survive. Really, this should come as no surprise, either. After all, if you look at the direction in which the world is heading, and if you consider boxing a reflection of that, it is easy to understand why the health of the sport and its participants is secondary to grindset and financial gain. Just because the men in positions of power have the money to help those in need – those who once helped them make the money, no less – does not mean they will have the slightest urge to skim some off the top and extend their hands to the men and women too proud to ask.
Rather than that they will continue to focus on themselves and what can be achieved, financially, in the short term. The long-term health of the sport is not their problem anyway. The same goes for the long-term health of those fighters who make the sport what it is. These are only freelancers, remember. Not a single pro fighter belongs to a promotional company or a corporation that will ensure they have everything in order as they transition from pro fighter to civilian. Instead, these men and women go out the way they came in, only weakened. They do their own taxes, they Google the word “pension”, and they suffer the same silence and shame any blue-or-white-collar worker feels when laid off from a job or forced to retire. In the context of The End, they are no different than the rest of us. No braver. No smarter. No safer.
Some will even go so far as to argue that they have no right to be treated differently. They will stress that boxers know the risks of the sport when entering it and should therefore know that the only thing scarier than defeat or damage is retirement. If, as professional athletes, they don’t acknowledge this, and are not prepared for it, whose fault is that? With cautionary tales aplenty, is it not the responsibility of the boxers themselves to approach the prospect of being out of work, either temporarily or permanently, the way we all must approach it in the real world? The finish line will bring trepidation, yes, but there must also be a degree of pragmatism and maybe a contingency plan for when it nears.
Or so you would think. But no. Sadly, when it comes to retirement, boxers are even less prepared than they are for either defeat or damage. In retirement they realise it is too late to go back, start again, reroute, or learn a new skill. They suddenly miss the routine; the purpose; the noise. They miss hearing their name announced by emcees and chanted by fans. They miss the feeling of knowing where to be and what to do.
In retirement a boxer is unceremoniously stripped naked and dumped in the wilderness. But then again, aren’t we all? Some might end their job on a knockout defeat, whereas others must stare at the dead eyes and shark smiles of HR on a Zoom call. However it comes about, though, being out of work essentially means the same thing. It hurts the same and it leads to the same void and concern. Perhaps the only difference in the end is the nine-to-five worker’s familiarity with silence, anonymity and mundanity, all things a pro boxer forever fears. It could even be said that the very nature of the nine-to-five worker’s job prepares them for retirement, while the extremities of a boxer’s life serve only to make the silence, irrelevance and tedium to follow all the more shocking.
That’s unfortunate, of course, but should it mean the boxer is entitled to have their hand held in retirement?
Well, no. But also, yes.
Ideally, every boxer would be helped and rewarded for all they have given to the sport and we would have an infrastructure in place to guarantee this support when these damaged men and women decide to retire. Yet to consider today’s world remotely ideal is deluded at best, and, at worst, dangerous. As a society, never it seems have we been more divided, greedy, self-absorbed, and entitled. Never have we been so distracted and so willing to either walk or scroll past the horrible stuff to get to the shiny stuff. Never have we been so keen to look the other way.
Even in boxing much has been made of how once warring promoters are now happy to hold hands and collaborate in Saudi Arabia. But really, to what end? Unity, in this instance, hasn’t been for the overall betterment of the sport. Unity, plus the injection of Middle Eastern money, has done nothing to increase or improve drug-testing, for example, and it certainly hasn’t done anything for fighters like Reggie Johnson, someone whose only hope as he pushes 60 is a GoFundMe or the generosity of a legend who died in March.
