When I was young the only sport I cared about and everybody was against that. My father had contemplated boxing but he said that it was Fritzie Zivic's raspy voice- not the flattened nose or cauliflowered ears- that convinced him to try a different trade. He was adamantly against the idea of me boxing, so when a friend's father- he'd won a local tournament years prior- said he'd teach us how to box, I was soaring. Turns out what he meant to say was "I bought these gloves so that when my friends and I get drunk, we can see which of us can make which of you fly the furthest" A few years later a friend was training with his cousin- another ex GGer- and invited me down, said he'd agreed to train me, too. What he meant to say was "You are about 2/3 my size and I'm tired of hitting the bags." Problem was he couldn't hit me to save his life; I'd have sold my souil to know how to use my left hand. So, at the library I found Henry Cooper's book on boxing learned the hook there, the jab in Floyd Patterson's book, From then on I have read every book and seen every video I've come across, and listened to and analyzed every word any 'expert' uttered within my hearing. For years it seemed that in each and every gym I entered seeking sparring, I was seen as a lame old white guy (grey early) and was set up to be target practice, but if they think you are afraid it is so much easier to bring them in , make 'em reach and counter HARD. That was the hardest thing- having such a sincere desire to learn and work hard and trusting (at first) people who had no interest in me beyond my utility as cannon fodder.