Minutes before stepping into a boxing ring for his first competitive match, John Yoon’s boyish face bears a stern demeanor. The 22-year-old traverses the stands where friends and fans have gathered, moving to and fro, keeping his body loose, swiveling at the waist, swinging shoulders, and working his arms like silent pistons. His weight shifts from his heels to the balls of his feet in a barely perceptible bounce while pacing the length of the gymnasium, then turning and repeating.
Although he’s trying to stay limber and focused, the severity of his countenance belies a nervousness. About 250 people crowd the second floor of the Los Angeles Oriental Mission Church’s sports complex where a basketball court serves as a makeshift arena for the Fifth Multiracial Boxing Exhibition, which is sanctioned by United States Amateur Boxing, Inc., Southern California Association, and co-sponsored by Friendship Boxing Club, the Korean Boxing Association and Nanoom Christian Fellowship.
Twenty-one matches are scheduled on this torrid Saturday in early August, drawing extended families from across Southern California’s 100 amateur boxing clubs. Their names hint at the history and diversity of fighters ranging from age 8 to the late 20s who are here to represent: Pride and Glory, Outlaws, High Desert, Challenger, Lion Power, Long Beach Police Athletic League, Lompoc PAL, Gaucho’s, Jackie Robinson, Old School, Westside, Mongoose.
John’s Friendship Boxing Club is the lone Korean American outfit which also happens to serve as a co-organizer for the day’s fighting. So when his club mates and supporters arrive in force, he grows anxious. He doesn’t want to let them down.
Match No. 9 sets the squarely built Korean American versus Hector Castro, who at 28 is the day’s eldest competitor and by appearances the line-up’s most seasoned veteran. His scowling mien atop a jawline slightly ajar, broad shoulders, long reach and weathered body tattoos suggest a formidable opponent.
The opening bell sounds and within 13 unlucky seconds, Hector unsurreptitiously rears back his gloved fist from halfway across the ring and lets fly, landing a haymaker squarely on the bridge of John’s nose. Face slightly flushed but expression unchanged and still standing, John doesn’t seemed fazed at first by the punch. The referee, however, separates the fighters and administers a mandatory eight-count, giving both a moment to take stock of their situation.
[a bell rings]
It seems as though John’s perpetually severe expression comes from thinking a lot. A broken family life and past forays into drug abuse weigh heavily on him. To confront these issues, he took to training three years ago through a program offered at his drug rehabilitation residency. John does not really view boxing as a career. But during workouts it is clear from the way he gives himself over completely to the tasks before him that he relishes the conditioning, the structure it gives his days. And as he trains his eyes on the shadow his body casts, monitoring his fighting form as if he is looking at his most elusive opponent, boxing, it seems, is a way of searching.
