By Troy Ondrizek 

To hear the utterance of the word death is almost startling.  Death is virtually taboo in most societies, mostly avoided by many but yet is on the minds of all.  In America to speak the words “I want to die” will get you involuntarily admitted to a psych facility for a minimum of 72 hours.  To some death is the ultimate fear, others it the ultimate relief.  No matter where you stand on that morbid spectrum of thought, death is the reality that we all will face. 

It’s obvious that some ways of death are more acceptable then others and consequently some seem more tragic depending on the circumstances.  Such is true when the death is apart of your family, a member of your inner circle, or a colleague.  So when a boxer dies as a result from a fight it touches “boxing” people in one of these ways.  Whether you’re a fan, a fighter, or someone who is involved with the game in some way, we all have felt like one of our own is gone. 

With the recent death of Yo-Sam Choi (39-5 19KO), the boxing world has once again been exposed to the harsh reality of the frailty of life.  Detractors of the sport will inevitably point out that the brutality of such leads to these deaths and that boxing should be outlawed or restricted.  Granted there are several commissions that need to step up their safety precautions and I am not here to call anyone out.  No, this subject is bigger than the naysayers, it is bigger than any congressional interference, and it is as big as boxing itself. 

Before I mislead you, this isn’t a piece about the debate of safety in boxing; this is a piece about how all of boxing loses a piece of itself when it loses a part of itself.  Choi wasn’t an established star that was beloved by the sport; he was just a mere contender.  But when I say mere, I mean he was a brave soul who put it all on the line every time he stepped through those ropes, and by no means should he be deprived of the respect that is due him.  

Deaths in boxing are always a high profile affair and garner much attention good and bad.  There are shows on cable TV that portray dangerous professions in chest-thumping glory.  But boxing which has a lower mortality rate than many everyday jobs is vilified.  Our sport should never be given the same respect as say firefighting when it comes to the honor due those who have died on the job, but nor should the respect be withheld as if the fighters were drug-dealers who were shot.  The fighters had families, friends, hopes and aspirations.  They fought to provide for their families and all involved suffered.

Men like Leavander Johnson, Deuk-Koo Kim, Johnny Owen, and Benny Paret have all famously passed doing what they loved.  We’ve embraced all involved in those bouts.  Emile Griffith was never the same fighter after “The Kid” died, Ray Mancini is more known for felling Kim then he is for his battles with Chacon, Bramble, and Camacho.  In reality the deaths define the survivors and it defines the sport.  Both don’t deserve the stigma attached, but both feel it.

In Yo-Sam Choi we were given a glimpse into his inner thoughts via his diary.  He was a troubled man who battled more than physical foes in the ring, his personal demons packed quite a punch.  When you are on top and successful, friends are plenty in the sport, but when the best days are past the quiet of the loneliness is deafening.  Choi tasted success in 1999 when he won the WBC’s version of the light-flyweight crown.  It escaped just four fights later when he tussled with the flamboyant Mexican Jorge Arce. As Choi lost all that was around him, he sunk into a place in where many of us dwell, just some move out faster than others. 

It is ironic that Choi was released from his bondage by the sport that held him captive, and it’s almost poetic that possibly the last thoughts he had were that of a winner. 

His story is all too sad and familiar.  But once again it’s us who are left to pick up the pieces.  We are in a self reflection state, one in which we are reminded of those who fell before Choi and those in our own families that we miss.  Boxing is hurt, that’s ok we’ve hurt before, recently and often.  Diego Corrales left us with a void from where we drew courage from his own, or Hank Kaplan a man who we garnered knowledge from his infinite experience.  None of whom can be replaced, sure there will be more nuts and guts warriors and historians with vast libraries, but their experiences and their personal perception cannot be regained. 

As we wish in our own way for Choi to find his peace, and as we take a moment to reflect on the truths we often ignore in life.  May we come to realize that the fabric of the sport, our lives, and life itself will be torn by tragedy, but we/it all moves on a little wiser and a little emptier for our endeavors.