City Lands Most Punches At 1st ​“Box Off”

Nine-year-old Michael O’Connor lunged forward, working to land a punch on 10-year-old Hector Cruz.

“Use your jab! Use your jab, Michael!” his dad Jerry shouted from one corner of the ring. Across chains rope and a plush, sweat-scented mat, Boxing in Faith coach Luis Rosa cheered Cruz on in Spanish.

Across chains rope and a plush, sweat-scented mat, Boxing in Faith coach Luis Rosa cheered Cruz on in Spanish.

That was the scene early on in the first-ever Elm City Box Off, held Sunday afternoon at Wilbur Cross High School.

Organized by the city’s Department of Youth Services, the Box Off pitted local powerhouses Boxing in Faith Gym, Congress Avenue Ring One, and Elephant in the Room against opponents from New London, Hartford, New Jersey, New York and Massachusetts. Both men and women competed in the event.

Over 16 bouts and around three hours, the event focused on ​“getting the kids out, and putting the three [gyms] together to really represent New Haven,” said co-organizer and Youth Services Assistant Rae Johnson-Boykin. Kids like Cruz, who attends Boxing in Faith. Sunday marked his fourth match in the state, where he competes in the under-100-pound weight class. 

At a little past 4 p.m., Cruz shed a leopard-print jacket and entered the ring with O’Connor, sporting blue gloves as O’Connor suited up in shiny red ones. O’Conner represents the Hook Elite Incorporated Boxing Club in Newburgh, N.Y. As judges perched at tables at all four sides of the ring prepared to ring a gong for the first match, the referee ushered the boxers to the center of the ring, where they got a recap of boxing rules: no shots below the belt, no head-butting, no deep ducks. And especially no holding, wherein one boxer hooks an arm around the other, and continues to punch with his free hand.

The two boxers pounded gloves in an awkward fist-bump. Then, official Lou Pontacoloni brought a hammer down on a handheld bell. Round one had begun. 

The two circled each other for a moment in the ring, each one’s eyes darting to the other’s gloved fists, looking for a first move. Cruz threw a punch just above the belt-line as O’Connor threw a right hook that sailed over Cruz’s head. They moved to upper bodies, O’Connor steadying himself on a bent back leg as he tried a high right punch. It collided with Cruz’s glove. O’Connor landed a punch, Cruz’s white helmet pushed a little to the side.

The crowd screamed in a mix of English and Spanish for Cruz to recover. Just behind one judge, Jerry O’Connor was already yelling suggestions for O’Connor’s next move. 

In the ring, the ref intervened. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. He counted seconds methodically, his fingers sprouting from his palm with each number. Around the ring, judges handed small slips of white paper to the ref; on it was secret information on who they thought had won the round. The bell sounded again.

This time, Cruz was on the prowl. He and O’Connor approached each other from their corners. Cruz threw a punch, landing it squarely.

“You jab, Michael! Use your jab now!” Jerry O’Connor shouted again, this time joined by Michael’s brother Patrick (who later competed against New Havener Jeremy Nieves). O’Connor went for it, swinging and swinging again, freezing with Cruz in a quasi-balletic pose for a moment, before the two backward-walked on the mat, working to untangle themselves.

But they tangled again, Cruz’s head in an odd angle by O’Connor’s shoulder. The referee called in. This time, the two retreated to their corners for advice. Neither knew who was winning — nor did the audience.

O’Connor nodded as his coach, inaudible to all others in the room, gave advice. On the other end of the ring, Cruz tipped his head back as his coach sprayed water into his mouth. Then the two prepared for one last round. They balanced in their respective corners of the ring, eyeing each other. The bell sounded.

Nearing the far edge of the ring with Cruz in a tight corner, O’Connor went for a right jab. Cruz blocked it, landing a left punch on the right side of O’Connor’s helmet. O’Connor recoiled, then recovered, pushing his left arm forward as the two half-waltzed each other to the opposite end of the ring. Cruz blocked him again, stopping his punch at the forearm.

O’Connor wasn’t finished. He steadied his stance and, with his back to his cheering father and brother, started working through that jab they’d been talking about.

O’Connor punched, readjusted, punched again. Cruz threw punches back until the two were so close they appeared knit together, glove on glove, helmet on helmet. A pause, and the referee called it. The two went back to their coaches to de-glove, and then back toward each other to shake hands. An official from the sidelines lifted two identical trophies onto the mat as the boys joined hands with the referee, forming a human chain.

The room fell to a lull. Then the ref called it: The bout had gone to Cruz.

As O’Connor retreated to the edge of the ring, his dad scooped him into his arms. 

New Haven had dominated, announced an official as both O’Connor and Cruz went to be checked by Dr. Tamiko Jackson, a requisite of competing.

Then, as if nothing had happened, the tournament went on.