The sport of boxing provokes love, loathing and sometimes lust with equal intensity. It’s a ticket out of poverty, a middle-class fascination and a promoter’s goldmine; it can hook people with a primal burst of adrenaline and clinch them tight, or repel them utterly from the first jab.
In On the Chin Alex McClintock uses his own unlikely progress through the amateur ranks as a springboard to explore the history, culture and contradictions of the sweet science—with detours through some of its notable characters, including: Benny ‘The Ghetto Wizard’ Leonard, ‘The Boxing Barista’ Luigi Coluzzi, the immaculately named Trenton Titsworth, and the great Ruben Olivares, once described as ‘the undisputed champion of the bender and the cabaret’.
Informative, insightful and effortlessly entertaining, On the Chin is your essential guide to the art of hitting and getting hit.
The first thing that impressed me about Fritzy was his collection of boxing maxims, which he deployed continuously and without regard to their relevance: ‘Ya don’t play boxing’, ‘Don’t hook with a hooker’, ‘Kill the body and the head’ll die’, ‘Move ya head or the other guy’ll move it for ya.’
Fritzy was Jake’s trainer. I had got his mobile number from Jake, but put off dialling it for two days, afraid my voice would betray me as soft, privileged and generally unsuitable for instruction. When I did finally work up the nerve to call, I half-hoped nobody would pick up. But on the fifth ring, a voice, broad and rasping, answered: ‘Fritzy here.’
‘G’day,’ I said, affecting the same kind of matey, flat-vowelled intonation my dad uses when talking to his mechanic. ‘I was calling about getting some boxing lessons for me and a mate?’
'Compelling - I was left hooked until the final bell.' David Hunt
'I thought I wasn't interested in boxing, and then I read this book. Completely engrossing, thoughtful and at times touching; you will learn about boxing but you will also learn a little more about the world we live in, and why we can be brought together by people hitting each other. Alex's writing is something to behold.' Bridie Jabour
'The sweet science of boxing has gifted us the best work of some of the finest writers in literature. And now Alex McClintock has deepened that dark, mysterious well of beautiful writing about the most brutal of sports.’ John Birmingham
This is the perfect book for anyone who wants to progress from casual boxing fan to something more. The author blends in honest stories from his own amateur career and progression through the lower level of boxing with relevant tales from boxing’s rich history.
Don’t know where I even learned of this book, but I’m so glad it was on my list for so long, and that I’ve now read it. A masterpiece from start to end, it’s my ideal type of story. Weaving a personal tale of achievement with respectable self-deprecation, and a fond recall of the history and essence of a sport - one that every uninitiated person has an opinion on. Alex doesn’t hide the unflattering and worrying side of boxing. It’s all clearly described with balance, with the added authority of someone who has gone a few rounds, but didn’t need to.
Great read on the boxing scene with a great sense of humour. I found myself relating to the story line of the perseverance and passion of the student striving to become the best he can in this exciting martial art he's found, and all the competitive anxiety that comes along with it. The long training sessions, the stories of inspiration that kept you going thanks to the team around you. This is a great story about that upbringing, in sports in general.
Whether or not you like boxing (it’s probably better if you have some interest), this is perfect balance of history, humour and a compelling personal story. It explores the cultural and moral enigma that is the sweet science. Above all else, it’s just bloody well written.
A primer on boxing for someone (like me) who knows the bare minimum about the sport, including history, philosophy, ethics, and most importantly first hand experience. It’s the latter that keeps you reading, with the former feeling like filler material. Some of its really interesting, a lot of it not. But McClintock’s relating of his first hand experience, although sometimes maybe too deliberately self-deprecating, was honest, deep, reflective, sometimes shocking (“I found that my real joy came from hitting people”) and overall an involving journey of somebody who deliberately takes on something out of his comfort zone, and of unintuitive interest, and turns it into a passion. As we all should.
As a casual boxing fan who has done a fair bit of fitness boxing training but never taken the leap to sparring or a full blown fight, this was an enjoyable read. Alex McClintock switches between descriptions of his own limited boxing career with some interesting anecdotes about the sport of boxing. The best sections are those dealing with his pre-fight preparations and mindset, and later on when he writes quite eloquently about the undeniable brutality of the sport in the context of providing an opinion in a coronial investigation into the death of a young Australian boxer. It’s fairly grim reading as McClintock provides a second-by-second amount of the fateful fight and provides his own thoughts on how he can rationalise being a boxing fan despite the underlying impact on the health and lives of the boxers in question.