We’ll What do you know? Father George Rutler is a boxer. Not just was, but is. Catholic, pugilistic aficionados will love his article in Crisis magazine here. In my limited experience, I especially related to what Father says about the “physically demanding” part of the sport. Just lifting one’s arms after a few rounds is an acheivement — and I’m speaking about those who are in good shape.
Having been pummeled a number of times in my youth, I do wish I had taken up the sport, just as Father did, for self-defense. My brother, on the other hand, was a legend, not necessarily in the sport as an art, but on the street, on what was our slice of turf in the late sixties in North Jersey. As far as I know, he never started a fight, but he had to finish many. I would know he had been in contention when he’d come home at night with bloodied knuckles. In fact, his reputation was such that Two-Ton Tony Galento, the great heavy weight, approached him once offering to train him for the golden gloves. Richie wisely declined the offer. Galento owned a bar in the next town, Orange, appropriately named “The Nut Club.” Why do I say “appropriately?” Well, just read a bit from Wikipedia about Galento’s illicit ring antics and pre-fight razzing of Joe Louis (to whom he lost in 1939) and you’ll see why. Ironically, my brother hates boxing today. Having been to a professional bout or two (that’s what it took), he told me that there’s nothing artistic or beautiful about what Father Rutler calls the “sweet science” except the ugly spilling of facial blood. Cut the opponent’s eyebrow wide enough and, short of a KO, you win. “It’s sickening,” Richie said.
Well, there’s a spiritual lesson to be learned from Father Rutler’s article, which makes it well worth a read.
