After the ninth round of the IBF light flyweight title fight between Hector Flores and Sivenathi Nontshinga, the latter returned to his corner looking dazed, dragging the wobbly feet of someone completely exhausted, and slumped on his stool.
For nine rounds, Nontshinga and Flores went toe-to-toe with almost no break in action. Nontshinga had dropped Flores in the second round with a well-timed overhand right. It would be one of the last long shots he would find the rest of the night, as the knockdown seemed to embolden Flores rather than endanger him. Flores imposed an otherworldly pace on his opponent, and Nontshinga was willing to match him against his earlier wishes. Nontshinga’s corner had specifically told him “don’t go into the trenches” and warned him about the dangers of fighting Flores inside throughout the camp, but Nontshinga now had no choice.
The pace took its toll. Flores’ face was bleeding profusely from a clash of heads that opened a horrible gash on his forehead. The red gush was accentuated by bumps and abrasions around her eyes. But it was Nontshinga’s face that caused most concern. His was one of immense fatigue, mouth open, eyes bright and empty. The kind of fatigue that no electrolyte drink allowed by the local commission could fix in a sixty-second window. One that could only be fought with pure adrenaline.
So when Nontshinga coach Colin Nathan saw him flop onto his stool, butt hitting the seat in front of his feet, wide open in front of him, and could even hit the mat, he no doubt understood that he needed change from coach to motivator. .
“You’re under. You have nine minutes to change your life,” she said. “Do you want to change your life?”
Nontshinga answered in the affirmative, perking up in her seat as she did so. It was a moving moment. Nathan’s question had a distinctive warmth about it. Trainers often use motivational tactics to irritate their fighters, but too often the tone is harsh and aggressive, even if the intentions are the best for the fighters. Nathan was harsh on Nontshinga early in the fight, but now he was tapping into the compassionate core at the center of the better fighter-trainer relationships.
As a young fighter, Nontshinga dreamed of being able to train with Nathan. One of the most celebrated trainers in the country, his camp consisted of a South African Boxing All-Star team, Moruti Mthalane, Hekkie Budler, Deejay Kriel, Simphiwe Khonco and more. In January, he was invited to train with Nathan, and the cast of former champions and title hopefuls at the HotBox gym came together to help teach the 23-year-old his ways as well. Preparing for the fight with Flores, Nontshinga didn’t have the typical fight arrangement of younger or lesser fighters being hired to test him a bit but ultimately make him feel good. Rather, Nathan says, he wanted Nontshinga to be taken to “dark places” in sparring, against fighters even more successful than his next opponent so he would know how to navigate the dark on fight night.
That callousness of the soul was vital on this night. Nontshinga was dragged into the darkest place by an opponent who wanted to change his life as much as he did. Nontshinga comes from a community of chicken farmers in the Eastern Cape and saw boxing as a path to a more fruitful life. Flores works as a merchant with his wife to this day, selling everything from vegetables to clothing, depending on the occasion.
Opportunities like the one Nontshinga and Flores were given, one at a world title, are particularly urgent for fighters at 108 pounds and in neighboring weight classes. Even the purses for world title fights don’t match non-title fights at higher weights. It’s extremely unlikely, and maybe impossible, to be a mediocre light flyweight full-time. Getting off the farm, getting off the market, being able to get ahead in life with these weights, it’s often a world title or a knockdown.
The sad reality of Nathan’s query, “do you want to change your life?” it’s that for Nontshinga to change her life he had to be willing to risk it. To change the circumstances of his life situation, he had to be willing to allow himself to be altered, physically and neurologically, forever. The currency of the fighters, like all workers but in a more explicit way than most, is their body. Trainers are the brokers they go to, hoping they will invest their currency correctly. At a time when the fight was potentially fading, Nathan could have berated Nontshinga for not being able to follow the initial game plan and implored him to try to move and box in the later rounds. Some other coaches might have done it, blinded by ego. If Nathan had done that, he would have led to Nontshinga’s death. He had neither the energy nor the opponent tied to the boxing convention that would have allowed it.
The only way out was through Flores, meeting him on his terms and getting over him. Nathan had to make the tortuous but correct decision to send his fighter, one he cares so much about that he was almost moved to tears talking about him in a pre-fight interview, into the trenches from which he desperately I wanted to keep it out. Send your fighter into danger because the investment would be worth it.
Nontshinga found a reservoir of stamina and courage somewhere, and outboxed Flores in at least two of the last three rounds. Facing each other they crouched down, some exchanges reminiscent of Bobby Chacon vs. Cornelius Boza-Edwards, two exhausted and plucky fighters seemingly moving their arms on instinct, occasionally bursting into waves of more forceful blows.
When the scores were read, a split decision in favor of Nontshinga, his expression bordered on relief and barely suppressed emotion. His shoulders softened as referee Mark Calo-oy raised his hand; He was finally able to stop throwing it, he lifted his cheeks and narrowed his eyes, smiling and pinching back tears at the same time.
His life changed forever. Perhaps in ways we never wanted to acknowledge, but also in ways he always longed for. His investment had paid off: his trainer had made sure of it.
Corey Erdman is a boxing writer and commentator based in Toronto, ON, Canada. Follow him on Twitter @corey_erdman
