Bringing back boxing
It was the fall of 2011, a season of changing leaves and, in that spirit, I too was intent on turning a new leaf. Specifically, as many pieces of looseleaf paper strewn across rickety tables on McKeldin Mall as I could write my name on.
Like most freshmen, I was eager to have as many friends as possible and completely neglect my academic life. I was at a new school and nobody knew how lame I was yet, so I had some grand delusions about the new life I would lead. I was going to be extremely cultured and well-read, I was going to start wearing leather jackets, and most of all, I was going to have the body of an adult man and not of a starved contortionist with hormone problems. The first two weren’t too hard. (Did you know you can just buy leather jackets? You don’t have to take a test or anything!) The last one proved a bit more difficult.
I went to the First Look Fair, that time-honored tradition of overzealous upperclassmen screaming at nubile freshmen about joining their a cappella group, and proceeded to sign every notebook on every table with a remotely fitness-related club behind it. Some were great (yoga), some were not my cup of tea (Quidditch) and some were confusing (one just said “Ball Club”).
That’s when I stumbled upon the perfect club for me: the Boxing Club.
It had all the romantic credentials I could dream of. I envisioned myself as the hero of a hard-hitting Oscar-winning drama. I was a fighter, determined to punch things even though society said, “No Danny! Stop punching!” but I wouldn’t listen because I was punching them. Simon & Garfunkel would write sad songs about me when I died, lamenting a man who, when faced with adversity, would punch adversity. Daniel Day-Lewis would play me in a movie.
So I signed my name on the email list, repressed the urge to tell the man behind the table that I couldn’t wait to explore the landscape of my body with him and went merrily back to my dorm room.
That night, I received the first of many emails from the Boxing Club listserv. It said simply that there was no practice the next day. Well that’s all right, I thought to myself, I’m busy the next day anyway. The next day there was another email reminding us there would be no practice that day but there would be practice in two days. I couldn’t make that one, but that’s OK, I thought, I’ll make it to the next one!
That was almost four years ago, and I’m now in my last semester at this university. I have never once been to a single Boxing Club practice. I also never unsubscribed from the listserv. Every few days for my entire college career I have received emails from the club. I have seen the passing of presidents, the victories and defeats of big competitions, many cancellations and many fundraisers. I’ve laughed, I’ve cried, I’ve learned absolutely nothing about boxing but a lot about proper email etiquette to a large group of boxers.
I like to think of all the guys and girls at the Boxing Club as my little family. A family I’ve never spoken to or interacted with in any way, but a family nonetheless. If any of you out there reading this are members of the Boxing Club, know that I’m with you always.
And Taylor, the way you always signed your emails with “Your President, Taylor” is adorable. Thanks for the memories.
