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If

The Sweet Science Revisited

November 7, 2024 by Peg Leave a Comment

Ray Stallings. Picture taken by Peg Redwine.

For those few of you who might miss reading my weekly column, Gavel Gamut, I will point out to you that this past week I fractured my shoulder while working around JPeg Osage Ranch. I feel I must rely on past columns for a while, such as, those that have dealt with my interest in amateur boxing. The following column appeared the week of September 4, 2006 and involved Peg’s and my friend Ray Stallings from Burnt Prairie, Illinois. I will rerun it as it appeared almost 20 years ago. I hope you enjoy reading, or perhaps rereading it.

 “Amateur boxing has fewer fatalities and far fewer serious injuries per participant than high school baseball or football.  It is a sport like wrestling where the participants are matched according to size and where bouts are won based on the number of legal blows landed on the front, top-half of the participants.  The force of the blows is not a factor.  For example, a punch that knocks a boxer down counts no more than a punch that simply lands in the scoring area.

Boxing is called the sweet science because a student of the game who can apply the lessons of boxing when actually in the ring can defeat a superior athlete who relies on brawn. As the old adage goes, “The race is not always to the swift nor the battle to the strong.”  Of course, the related adage is also true: “But that’s the way to bet.”

In other words, the science of boxing is only a factor in the equation.  Such elements as experience and physical abilities are often more determinative than theory. And whereas it is often true that it is not the size of the boxer in the fight but the size of the fight in the boxer that matters, it is also true that heart alone may not be enough.

Such was the case with our young protagonist, Ray Stallings, from Burnt Prairie, Illinois, in his match against Calvin Brock in 1996.  Should you have read this column last week, you may recall that we left Ray all alone in the ring with one of the best amateur heavyweight boxers in America.

In round one, the left-handed Brock came out confident that the gawky, red headed Ray was just there to validate Brock’s status as champion.  From my position in Ray’s corner I thought Brock was almost indolent as he kept Ray off balance with his powerful right jab, then occasionally came back with a straight left to Ray’s head.  This display went on for about the first two minutes of the round until Ray’s nose was bloodied and his back was bleeding from being forced into the ropes.

 But with about a minute to go, Ray, who is also left-handed, came up from his position doubled over in a corner with an awkward looping left hand that caught Brock square on the chin.  Even with the protective headgear, I could see Brock’s eyes roll up for a brief second as his knees slightly buckled.  From that point on, Ray’s character and Brock’s experience were at war.

When Ray returned to our corner after the first round, Peg, who was working the corner for the first time, could not bear to look at Ray’s bloody nose or his back and arms that matched his red hair.  She handed me the spit bucket and water bottle with her eyes locked on the canvas of the ring.  Peg later told me she was wondering what we were going to tell his parents, who were also our good friends, if Ray got seriously hurt.

Ray was gasping for breath and pleading for me to pour water on his head.  It took the first half of the one-minute break just to stop the bleeding.  When Ray could finally talk, he said, “Jim, he is really good.”  I almost said the truth that was on my tongue, “You’re darn right he’s really good!”  Instead I said, “You got his attention with that straight left.  From now on just keep throwing it as much as you can.”

Round two was a coming of age for Ray and an awakening for Brock.  I could see the puzzlement in Brock’s eyes and the hesitancy in his punches.  I could almost hear him thinking, “Who is this kid?”  Ray pounded his straight left for the whole three minutes and the spectators who had gathered to watch Brock’s coronation begin to yell for Ray.

When Ray struggled back to our corner after round two, I sneaked a peak at Brock’s corner and saw his trainer giving him a tongue-lashing.  Peg and I could only pour more water on Ray as I told him to double up on his right jab and keep throwing that overhand left.  Ray could barely breathe and he could not talk.  As the bell for round three rang, it was anybody’s guess as to who would win.

Brock came out firing and Ray was too tired to block the blows.  At first it looked like Brock’s superior skills were just too much for the skinny red head from Burnt Prairie. But about halfway through the final round, Ray figured out how to move to his left, which was away from the left-handed Brock’s power.  Then Ray figured out how to throw his left straight into the taller Brock’s solar plexus.  Brock began to wilt and Ray’s new found fans began to chant: “Red, red, red.”

When the final bell sounded, Ray had nothing left, but that was more than Brock who had to be helped to his corner by his worried trainer who caught my eye and put his thumbs up: “Great fight!”

Well, you remember that amateur boxing is scored by the number of proper blows, not the stuff that dreams are made of, and the judges gave the razor thin decision to Brock.  But the seeds of Ray’s current quest to be an Olympic champion were sown that night in 1996.

Next week if you are available, I’ll bring you up to date on where that odyssey stands. For as you may recall, Ray had that little inconvenience of thyroid cancer to deal with between 1996 and October, 2006. That is when he climbs back into the ring in Oxnard, California, once again against the best amateur heavyweights in America to win the right to compete for the honor of representing his country in the Olympics.

After Ray got sick, but before he knew why he tired so easily after the first round, he kept trying to box but kept losing.  Many of Ray’s friends and some of his family were more afraid he would get hurt than get to the Olympics.  But as Rudyard Kipling wrote in his poem, “If”: “If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you…you’ll be a man, my son!”  Ray did, and Ray is.”

 

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Filed Under: Friends, Gavel Gamut, Personal Fun, Sports Tagged With: amateur boxing, Burnt Prairie, Calvin Brock, If, James M. Redwine, Jim Redwine, Ray Stallings, Rudyard Kipling, the sweet science

To Those Who Dare And Care

November 9, 2018 by Peg Leave a Comment

As with much of our philosophy we can thank the ancient Greeks for the concept of the Phoenix, something (or someone) who rises from the ashes of defeat to be even better than before. Or as we all remember our parents attempting to convince us, we learn more from defeat than victory. This provides scant solace at the time of a loss or an embarrassment but most of us eventually see the validity of wisdom born of hardship and the shallowness of temporary acclaim.

It is likely you are already aware that Rudyard Kipling (1865-1936) and Teddy Roosevelt (1858-1919) among many others have already written about these concepts and certainly more presciently than I. Kipling in his poem If advised his son and the rest of us:

“If you can dream and not make dreams your master,
If you can think and not make thoughts your aim,
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster and
Treat those two imposters just the same, ….
Then you will be a man my son.”

Teddy Roosevelt in his thesis, The Man in the Arena, wrote of greatness born of failure:

“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.”

Naturally, winners of elections are justly elated and losers are hurt and depressed. I have lost an election and have won some. What I discovered was my loss and my victories had less to do with me than with the vicissitudes of a fickle electorate. Most voters had no idea who I was and both the victories and the loss were mostly happenstance.

On the other hand, for our democracy to endure someone has to be willing to suffer the slings, arrows, and expense of running for office. So, to all those who cared enough and dared enough to seek to serve the rest of us, both winners and others, I say, Thank You!

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Filed Under: America, Democracy, Elections, Gavel Gamut, Patriotism Tagged With: ancient Greeks, defeat, election, greatness born of failure, If, James M. Redwine, Jim Redwine, Phoenix, Rudyard Kipling, Teddy Roosevelt, The Man in the Arena, to those who dare and care, victory

© 2026 James M. Redwine

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