Hundred Dollar Babies

Last Thursday night 17-year-old Jose Guzman, Jr. crouched in a neutral corner of the ring for a brief prayer before crossing himself with his gloved right hand. He returned to his corner, where Jose Guzman,  Sr., his father and trainer, gave him a few last inspirational words over the roaring crowd that filled the Theater at Madison Square for the finals of the 79th Annual Daily News Golden Gloves. In the stands his mother, younger brother, and two older sisters looked on in anticipation  

Neither Guzman nor his family are strangers to the ring or the path that leads to it. His father competed in Puerto Rico as a young man and began grooming him at an early age. "With my father as my trainer it means I have to work twice as hard," said Guzman. Every morning his father wakes him at 7 a.m. for a jog through the Bronx. Afterwards, Guzman returns home to the Castle Hill Projects, eats his mom's breakfast and catches the bus for school. In the afternoon, his father, who trains other fighters for a living, takes him for a three-hour workout at the gym. "I'm used to all of it. The gym is like another home to me," he said.  

Guzman's story embodies New York City's most prestigious amateur boxing competition. In a city fueled by hype and in a sport than thrives on it, the Golden Gloves provide a pure competitive environment unhampered by the business of boxing. Absent are talks of big money purses or the slick spin of promoters. Instead fights are set up on a single elimination system, and only the deserving fighter advances to the next round.  

Conducted over nine-weeks and consisting of more than 600 boxers, the Golden Gloves has no room for inflated egos or flashy introductions. Rather, the tournament turns everyday men and women into heroes. Victories are supported by little more than hours spent in the gym either before work or after school. The same fans who fill the stands are also close to the fighters. They understand their personal sacrifices first hand.

Last year, the Guzman father-son duo made a bold leap when they entered the Golden Gloves' open weight class much to his mother's dismay. "She liked me boxing much earlier, but now she's worried that I get in there with grown men," explained Guzman. 

His first foray into older and tougher opponents ended quickly. Guzman was stopped in the second round of his first match last year by Orlando Fontanez, who would go on to win the championship. In the center of the ring Guzman fought back tears, pushing off a comforting hug from his father. 

Yet a little more than a year later, Guzman had packed on 20 pounds of muscle and molded himself into a more composed fighter. Coming into the finals, he had already dispatched a trio of tough 132-pound fighters. In his quarter-finals match, he exacted revenge on Michael Brooks, who had beat him only a few months earlier in the Metro Championships. "He was my main reason for fighting at 132-pounds," he said. Guzman followed that fight with a victory against Roberto Zapata, 30, a former Golden Gloves champion. 

With his last matches in the past, Guzman set his icy stare across the ring on Kristian Vazquez, the 26-year-old defending champion. When the bell rang, Vasquez charged forward and began a relentless pursuit that would continue for four rounds. Ducking under Guzman's long jabs, the more compact fighter peppered Guzman with body shots and hooks to the head. Guzman continued to look for his own openings. In the beginning of the third round, Guzman threw a powerful left hook that staggered Vasquez on his feet. 

At the final bell the fighters returned to their corners and awaited the judges' decision. Guzman knelt once more for another prayer, then let his father remove the gloves from his taped hands. The referee ushered the two competitors back to the center of the ring, Guzman closed his eyes, lowered his head, and held a one hand with a single finger raised above his head in anticipation of the decision. 

When Vazquez was announced the winner, Guzman offered him a congratulatory hug and exited the ring with his father, his head held high. "If I'm going to lose, I still want to go down fighting," he said.  

Guzman is already looking forward to next year's competition, when he hopes his younger brother will fare better than he did.  "He's a tough fighter. He likes to bully people around in the ring," he said. Guzman expects to share training duties with his father and work his brothers corner as well. "He sleeps too much now, but I can change that," he said. "We're going to keep it all in the family and next year bring it all home together."  

Fighting throughout the five boroughs, the path to the finals is invigorated by the cheers of a hometown crowd and by the boos of rival camps equally. Ushered to their respective blue or gold corners on the heels of the last decision, fighters are only given their time inside the ring to shine. They fight with a unique intensity that comes from a pure desire to win and a personal pride to collect the accolades of the audience. 

In the end, their hard work is rewarded by a small medallion and the inclusion into a winners' list. Yet the greatest moment of the Golden Gloves is when a boxer's hand is raised to the approval of a raucous crowd made up of their family, friends, neighbors, coworkers and fellow gym rats.