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Eubank's book:
Maximo took me on for about a week and then said, 'You're punching like a girl, I'm tired of telling you the same thing about the left hook - you're slapping the left hook. Go back to Andy.' I told him I would get it right, so I went into the corner of the gymnasium and stood close by the wall for over an hour and a half, throwing the left hook, over and over and over, hundreds of times. Trying to get the pivot right, I had to get the angle right. Over and over, thousands of times in the corner, every day, obsessively for weeks. This was a routine of my own making - if I was ever unhappy with a particular punch or move, I would stop, retreat into a corner of the gym and repeat, repeat, repeat. Thousands of times. By the end of each little punishment session, I would be drenched in sweat. This was intense, I wouldn't just throw the punch, I was trying to perfect every intricate detail.
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I watched, I listened, I learned, then I repeated, reviewed and revised. Every minute detail of every move or punch was practised thousands and thousands and thousands of times.
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The precision of my preparation continued right up to the moment I stepped in the ring. It was not enough for the camp around me to be free of arguments. My (hotel) room also had to be immaculate. By that I mean picture perfect. I did not allow anyone else to tidy up, not even the room maids. I would send everybody out and be left alone, then I would spend time making sure the quilt was devoid of even the slighest ripple, like a piece of slate. The curtains would be inch perfect, rigid as a marble pillar. I would check each drawer individually and on several occasions found some slightly opened or had dents, which meant that it was not exactly flush with the cupboard. I needed everything to be ordered, it would play on my mind if the smallest detail was incorrect. The same applied to my shorts, my laces, everything. I boxed in yellow shorts from the Malinga fight in 1992. I had fanatical routines for lacing the boots. People would lace them laboriously for me, but they never did it correctly.
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The attention to detail continued after the fight when the job was done. Before the bout, I watched every tape available on the opponent - after all, this was a business plan. Afterwards, I would watch the fight in its entirety many times. Then I would watch it again this time just looking at my moves. Then again for the opponent, the ref, the judges and even the crowd. I had to memorise everyone's reactions, contemplate every punch and every facial contortion of every person in the front rows. Perfectionism was the only way. The objective was to raise the fans in the positive or the negative, but I would try and get a reaction in the future.
Maximo took me on for about a week and then said, 'You're punching like a girl, I'm tired of telling you the same thing about the left hook - you're slapping the left hook. Go back to Andy.' I told him I would get it right, so I went into the corner of the gymnasium and stood close by the wall for over an hour and a half, throwing the left hook, over and over and over, hundreds of times. Trying to get the pivot right, I had to get the angle right. Over and over, thousands of times in the corner, every day, obsessively for weeks. This was a routine of my own making - if I was ever unhappy with a particular punch or move, I would stop, retreat into a corner of the gym and repeat, repeat, repeat. Thousands of times. By the end of each little punishment session, I would be drenched in sweat. This was intense, I wouldn't just throw the punch, I was trying to perfect every intricate detail.
...
I watched, I listened, I learned, then I repeated, reviewed and revised. Every minute detail of every move or punch was practised thousands and thousands and thousands of times.
...
The precision of my preparation continued right up to the moment I stepped in the ring. It was not enough for the camp around me to be free of arguments. My (hotel) room also had to be immaculate. By that I mean picture perfect. I did not allow anyone else to tidy up, not even the room maids. I would send everybody out and be left alone, then I would spend time making sure the quilt was devoid of even the slighest ripple, like a piece of slate. The curtains would be inch perfect, rigid as a marble pillar. I would check each drawer individually and on several occasions found some slightly opened or had dents, which meant that it was not exactly flush with the cupboard. I needed everything to be ordered, it would play on my mind if the smallest detail was incorrect. The same applied to my shorts, my laces, everything. I boxed in yellow shorts from the Malinga fight in 1992. I had fanatical routines for lacing the boots. People would lace them laboriously for me, but they never did it correctly.
...
The attention to detail continued after the fight when the job was done. Before the bout, I watched every tape available on the opponent - after all, this was a business plan. Afterwards, I would watch the fight in its entirety many times. Then I would watch it again this time just looking at my moves. Then again for the opponent, the ref, the judges and even the crowd. I had to memorise everyone's reactions, contemplate every punch and every facial contortion of every person in the front rows. Perfectionism was the only way. The objective was to raise the fans in the positive or the negative, but I would try and get a reaction in the future.
to your mom..
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