DG Boxing is a place for dreaming, but not with your eyes closed

PHOTO by RUSS ROCA

Sometimes during a rare confluence of silence in the 49er Tavern—when there’s a lull in the games on TV, a break between songs on the jukebox, and the traffic at Bellflower Boulevard and PCH dies at the very moment a pool player sizes up his shot—you can hear what’s happening in the boxy little storefront next door. And you wince.

The staccato rhythm that could be an industrial sewing machine is the steady flapping of a speed bag. The less-regular slaps and more explosive thuds are leather-wrapped fists poking and pounding into a heavy dangling bag—or somebody’s naked skin. The heavy breathing and the intermittent yelps and groans, well, they’re what they are: a couple dozen men doing their damnedest to master the art of dishing out pain, one fistful at a time.

Oh, and dreaming. DG Boxing is definitely a place for dreaming—although not with your eyes closed; that could get you killed—beginning with the one that David Gonzalez first had more years ago than he can remember.

That’s how long he’s loved boxing.

“It’s all I know,” he says. “Coaches and boxers were my heroes.” In 2000, DG Boxing gym—after David Gonzalez’s initials and his nickname—became a reality.

It began as a small dream: Give the little guy a chance to defend himself, teach kids how to stand up to that bully down the street, help people to get in shape. But as time went on, and the gym grew, the thinking got bigger. A few of the fighters under DG’s tutelage wanted more than just sparring. They wanted real competition, against real opponents. Now DG trains fighters with a plan to take their fists on the road, to the top. Fighters like Reggie Verduzco, Anthony Wheaton and John Crispo. No, you haven’t heard of them yet.

It’s a Wednesday night, and the place is still busy. One at a time, during breaks in their training, DG introduces them.

What do you say at a moment like that? What do you ask? The obvious: Why?

“I used to play football, but I got hurt,” says Verduzco, 20, pointing to his shoulder, where he insists there’s a lump of some sort. All you see is thick muscle. “After the injury,” he continues, “football was out.”

Still feeling the itch for competition, Verduzco fell in love with boxing. He loves it a lot. He makes the commute from Compton several times a week. “This is my second home,” he says with sincerity. “When I’m not here, I miss it.”

Verduzco gets into the ring and starts moving. The shoulder doesn’t seem to be a problem. He can still slip a punch and drive a hook in tight circles, quick and hard. He’s got eight fights, with more on the way.

Wheaton is older, a former semipro soccer player and lifelong martial artist who at 28 still hungers for big-time competition. Less than two years and 13 fights after he started, he took his chances at the Olympic tryouts last year. He didn’t win the bout, but went the distance. Now he’s looking at the pros.

With his background, the burgeoning mixed martial arts (MMA) circuit might have been an option, too. Wheaton says he thought about it, and some of his friends have made a run at cage fighting. “Most of those guys end up hurt long before they get anywhere,” he says, explaining why he didn’t follow them. “It’s just too much risk without enough reward. MMA is a great sport, and it’s hit the mainstream, but boxing is a better match for my goals.”

Crispo is the phenom of the trio. Lanky and fast, DG says he’s got a natural feel for moving inside the ring, knowing just where to put himself. Watching him spar, you can see the precision of his punches, despite less than two years experience. But he’s got some bruises on his face, souvenirs from bouts in the Golden Gloves competition in Los Angeles. “Second place,” he reports.

DG offers a demonstration, and Crispo and Verduzco head toward the ring. Crispo looks a little battered, but he laces his gloves eagerly, ready for another dance between the ropes. DG says such enthusiasm is common here. He insists he’s careful to make sure a fighter is physically prepared to put on his gloves, but notes there’s no substitute for experience.

“I want to have the safest gym around,” says DG. “But a lot of these kids need to rock and roll as much as they can. They’re hungry, and they want to train hard.”

Verduzco is an aggressive fighter with a 25-pound weight advantage. He angles his way forward and unloads wicked body shots whenever he can. Crispo uses quick combinations and constant movement to hold his own. The boxers are wearing headgear and large training gloves, but the punches still communicate pain. The force of every clean shot is obvious, and it’s accompanied by a deep wet thud that echoes through the room.

Despite the enthusiastic way they’ve been digging hooks into the ribs, or sticking the jab into the face, when they’re done, everyone’s as nice as can be. Outside the ring they trade tips and techniques, and offer friendly advice to anyone who asks.

“Classy” is a word DG uses a lot. He says it’s a catchall term for a kind of sportsmanship based on respect, not malice. Boxing might be a matter of physical aggression, but DG believes in old-school pugilism with honor. That attitude, which has led doctors, lawyers, and other nontraditional clients through DG’s door, also helps to weed out kids looking for tough-guy cred. “If you’re looking for a place that’ll teach you how to hurt people, find another gym,” he says.

It’s a stereotype, but sometimes boxing can help pull a kid from the brink. “If I didn’t have boxing,” begins DG, beginning to dream again. But this would be a bad one, so he stops himself and finishes with an anecdote about somebody else, instead—about one of his fighters who used to run with a pretty tough crowd.

“One night, they all went out to shoot someone—but he stayed here to train,” says DG. “All his friends went to jail that night, but we kept him safe.”

Next on the DG’s menu is an evening of exhibition matches pitting his stable of fighters against one another in front of what he hopes will be a large crowd. Such multi-billed shows used to be common in boxing’s heyday.

“There are still plenty of shows out there, but most of them are in small rooms,” says DG. “Nobody knows about them. I want to give my fighters a chance to perform in a big room, where everyone can see them.’’

It sounds like DG is dreaming again, but he disagrees. It’s a plan, he says. “We’ve already rented out the Walter Pyramid,” he continues assertively. “September 21.”

Tags: boxing, david gonzalez, dg boxing, john crispo, Long Beach, Sports