HOW TO WATCH BOXING: CUTTING OFF THE RING
they were able to read you and do the things that they wanted to do. Unfortunately, Orlin wasn’t the biggest puncher, but he was so intelligent that he was able to capitalize on that with the mistakes that he created. “That’s something that not every fighter can do. Just because you’re a great fighter, doesn’t mean you’re a good reader.” The reading process is what commentators in recent years have taken to calling “downloading,” as popularized during the career of Vasiliy Lomachenko and carried over to fighters like Terence Crawford, who is known for slow starts in which he pokes at his victims and watches how they react. It’s no sadistic game, though. Most fights – excuse the understatement – aren’t Hagler-Hearns, and studying is a crucial part of cutting off the ring: identifying a fighter’s patterns, picking out the strengths to neutralize and the vulnerabilities to exploit, learning the way they think. Among the very best, it can extend even further by reacting to the opponent’s reaction and watching how they react to that. “We call it counterpunching the counterpuncher,” says Sanchez. “It’s two or three moves ahead. But again, it takes an intelligent individual. Anyone who puts the gloves on can throw punches; you just gotta be able to throw them when it’s to your advantage.” And none of this is to lose sight of the goal: Cutting off the ring is not just a battle of wits; it’s a battle for control, and the object of that control is to land damaging punches. It’s a tool for aggressive pressure fighters who aren’t interested in hearing the opinions of ringside judges. It’s the art of turning a large ring that seems like an open field of possibilities into a narrow hallway with a dead end. By design, there’s a horror- movie feel. It’s unnerving, having an attacker predict your intentions and remain in front of you no matter which way you go, keeping you off-balance and uncertain, all the while creeping closer for the attack. The psychological imbalance can easily disrupt the game plan of a fighter who isn’t both physically and mentally prepared. Adding to that situation is the imbalance of effort that good ring-cutters create. Mirroring the movements of an opponent is certainly part of the process, but that opponent will then be the one dictating the direction and the one who decides when to stop. To be able to throw punches effectively, a fighter has to be grounded, and whoever gets there first is the one who can plant their feet. That doesn’t happen by following. Cutting off the ring needs to be proactive rather than reactive. So instead of a mirror, a fighter who cuts off the ring well is more like a searchlight with legs – they make short moves sideways and forward, but basically they stay more planted and rotate their attention, scanning back and forth as their target has to cover more distance and expend more energy by moving side to side. The cutter slices the ring up into triangles, not squares, staying put at the vertex and projecting their intentions more subtly. And that’s where what Sanchez calls “presence” comes into play. The opponent has to know that the cutter already sees
least and dictate what happens next). Using adept, stable footwork, he then pressures Rosario backward into the ropes or into a corner, where he unloads with combinations. He controls where Rosario goes by varying his angles and position in relation to the ropes, and he knows how Rosario’s reaction to one punch will set up the next. And there are so many punches. The pressure never lets up. The proud but overwhelmed Rosario, his left eye blinded by swelling, is finally saved when his corner surrenders in the final seconds of the 11th round. Sanchez also mentions a prime Mike Tyson as an excellent practitioner of cutting off the ring “because of his speed and aggression.” Canelo Alvarez is another, though the trainer admits that the fight against William Scull proved that even a world-class cutter can only do so much. He recalls being extremely impressed by the skills, especially the footwork, of Venezuelan compatriots Jorge Linares and Edwin Valero when they trained in the Los Angeles area. Lomachenko also, because of the otherworldly mobility that sometimes resembled teleportation more than boxing: “He wasn’t an aggressive mover like I like to teach, but his feet were always in great, great position. He was cutting off the ring without cutting off the ring. He was putting himself in position to where you couldn’t go anywhere. Probably the best, actually. Really better than anything I’ve ever trained.” When Sanchez first started working with Golovkin, he imagined creating another Chavez from the ground up, emphasizing the importance of footwork that would always result in the correct punching position and a solid foundation. For this, he turned to an unusual teaching aid. “I showed him ‘cutting horses’ in the rodeo,” said Sanchez. It was an idea that first came to him while on a ranch owned by Terry Norris’ management team. He saw the way cowboys would use specially trained horses to separate calves from a herd and realized that the concept was exactly what fighters do to cut off the ring. With little to no input from the rider, the horses show the ability to read, the intelligence to anticipate, the footwork to be in position and a presence that clearly broadcasts who is in charge. “When the horse quits cowing, the cow feels that,” says horse trainer Kory Pounds in 6 Keys to Cow Smarts, by Ross Hecox. “They feel the pressure, or the lack of.” And the last thing you want in a boxing ring is a cow that doesn’t respect you. It was certainly never a problem for Golovkin, who embraced Sanchez’s teachings and perfected a brand of tenacity that made him synonymous with ring generalship. Much of that was just his presence, the panic- inducing aura he projected while cutting off the ring. “Doesn’t mean you’re throwing punches, doesn’t mean that you’re going crazy. It just means that you’re there,” says Sanchez. “You’re the one controlling the situation. You’re the one who’s demanding a reaction. You’re the one who’s providing an opportunity for yourself. You’re not waiting for them to do something.”
An impassive Julio Cesar Chavez zeroes in on Edwin Rosario, leaving him with nowhere to run.
where they’re going and know that if they continue in that direction, they’ll be walking into danger. Thus they reverse direction, and while they’re in motion, the cutter inches forward and ratchets up the pressure even further. Eventually they’ll get close enough to strike. “I watch how [the cutter’s] feet are moving – how they’re not crossing their feet, one,” says Sanchez. “Two, how they’re not really jumping; they’re stepping and sliding their feet. They’re stepping with their front with the direction they’re going in and sliding with the other one. They’re not getting off the canvas, and they’re taking minimal steps. “You can just shuffle. Within three moves, you’ve already moved a foot, and that’s all you really need to be able to have a different angle.” The reward for this patient pressure is the final angle, the proximity and the containment to unleash the power
punches of choice. He cites the lightweight title fight between Edwin Rosario and Julio Cesar Chavez in 1987, particularly the sixth round onward, as a virtuoso demonstration of how to take control of a fight – a perfect example of intelligence and skills in the hands of an aggressive fighter whose goal is to dominate. The fight is such a high-level, high-volume, fast-paced affair, and there’s a lot more going on than just cutting off the ring, but what you see time and again is Chavez setting himself up at the beginning of each round in the center of the ring (the place where he can survey everything, move the
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