Enter Eddie Chambers

ENTER EDDIE CHAMBERS On March 20th, Eddie Chambers will enter enemy territory to fight for the heavyweight title. To beat Wladimir Klitschko, the reigning WBO and IBF champion, Chambers will have to execute a three-pronged attack. First, he’ll have to get into Klitschko’s turf, a piece of canvas the long-armed Ukrainian diligently protects with stiff, straight jabs. Second, he’ll have to stun Klitschko with enough power to earn the giant’s respect. And if Eddie Chambers can achieve these two necessary goals, the third will just happen: Chambers will own Klitschko’s head and, when the fight is over, he’ll also own Klitschko’s crown. You don’t have to be a five-star general to come up with this battle plan. Any fight fan knows exactly what must be done to wrest Klitschko’s belts. So far, only three men have beaten Wladimir and no one has beaten him in the last six years. Klitschko is not an exciting fighter, but he is big and he is strong and he does train hard and he looks the part, which is a compliment in this division where weigh-ins are a formality and flesh too often spills over trunks. Whenever I watch Wladimir Klitschko fight, I’m frustrated—frustrated at the champion for fighting so methodically and frustrated at his opponents for not executing any sort of plan. Instead of taking chances, today’s heavyweight challengers have accepted jab after jab after jab until they’re so busted up they can’t continue or they’re so demoralized they wilt. That’s when Klitschko’s PhD kicks in. Once Dr. Steelhammer recognizes his opponent can’t hurt him, he turns brave, releases his cocked right hand and it’s show over. Enter “Fast” Eddie Chambers. He’s a small heavyweight. He’s also a skilled heavyweight. And he’s been a frustrating heavyweight in his own right. Too many post-fight interviews have begun with Eddie apologizing to his fans for not working hard enough or steadily enough. Eddie Chambers has only lost once, and in that loss to tough gold-medalist Alexander Povetkin, Chambers, who won the first few rounds, stopped fighting. In his victories, Chambers stops fighting during portions of each round, thus the post-fight apologies. His boxing skills have carried him past decent opposition to a 35 and 1 record, but Eddie Chambers will have to work harder and steadier to get in on Klitschko, to hurt Klitschko, to break Klitschko’s mind. Fans of Chambers, and I’m one of them, look at Eddie Chambers’ last fight as a gauge by which to judge the emergence of this tweny-seven year old from Philadelphia as a true contender. Fighting the then-undefeated Alexander Dimitrenko, whose height, reach and weight are very close to Wladimir Klitschko’s, Chambers won handily. He worked hard during most of the fight, steadily attacking the bigger man and, surprise, surprise, by fight’s end Chambers owned Dimitrenko’s head. Suddenly, we saw the fighter Eddie Chambers promised we’d see, a new and improved boxer/puncher who didn’t punch out until the final bell rang. Also new and improved was Eddie Chambers’ physique. Gone was the layer of soft baby fat that once hid his muscle. He wasn’t ripped in the tradition of Evander Holyfield, few men are, but he looked like a professional. Eddie Chambers didn’t have to apologize for anything that mid- summer night. He was excited and confident and seven months later that confidence remains. I believe that Eddie Chambers believes he can beat Wladimir Klitschko. That’s a good start. Four weeks away from his title shot and Eddie Chambers is fifteen days into his training camp at the Fernwood Resort in the Poconos. Kids on winter holiday are running wild through the resort’s lobby, but across the lot and up the stairs it’s peaceful. There, set up in a converted warehouse, is a simple, functional gym with two heavy bags, two speed bags and a single ring. When my brother and I walk in, no one’s there, but the prep work’s been done. Wraps are lined on a table. Pieces of tape have already been cut. Gloves are arranged in a row, laces loosened. Two chairs face each other, waiting for fighter and trainer to conduct their pre-sparring ritual where trainer prepares his fighter’s hands. It’s an interesting boxing still life, a picture of a man’s world before the men enter. One of these absent men hopes to be the next heavyweight champion of the world. The first men to come through the door are not the day’s featured subject. They’re the sparring partners, a heavyweight named Shawn McLean, and a bigger heavyweight, seven-footer Marcellus Brown. They sit at opposite corners of the gym, open their bags and start to untangle their wraps before re-rolling them. McLean, whose most notable win is a knockout against overly-handled and once 38-0 prospect Faruq Saleem, understands that the room belongs to the man he’s paid to hit and he seems happy to talk about “Fast” Eddie. “He’s like a magician. In boxing he’s the master of deception. You think you can break him and it’s a set up. You can’t relax in there with him. And he has a particular pop, a certain kind of pop. Not a Tyson pop. A stun pop. Three or four of those and you’re wobbling.” More men enter the gym. Ex light-middle champion Robert “Bam” Hines, trainer Robert Murray’s two sons, current welterweight Steve Upsher Chambers, and finally big Rob Murray, Chambers’ trainer, who has known Eddie since he was a kid. All of these men have been with Chambers for years and immediately the room takes on a warmth, a looseness, without any tough-guy posturing. Hands are shaken all around, introductions made and then Eddie Chambers enters the room. He’s by no means the biggest man here, by no means the toughest looking, but on closer inspection his eyes take the room’s focus. They are young, alert, alive eyes that have the super-clarity of a winner. His torso looks strong. His arms defined and his chest tight. And his legs are muscled, the legs of an elite sprinter, or a man who has danced the canvas for thousands of rounds. Chambers begins to stretch and Rob Murray begins to talk about his fighter and the upcoming fight. “No one will outwork Eddie. People say he’s too small. Louis weighed 190 and he stopped freight trains. When we fought Peter we were 223. We didn’t like 223. We wanted to get sleeker. The Klitschko brothers fight like cavemen. Eddie’s a Lear Jet and they’re prop planes. They have such a strong boxing fan base that people bought into it. It’s a pity HBO didn’t buy into Eddie. This kid has character. You can’t go around with a needle and say it’s time for a character shot. He’s the best fighter, the best athlete I’ve ever worked with. What we do here, we’ll bring to the dance. This guy is going to go back to Emanuel Steward and say, I can’t hit this motherfucker. And then Manny Steward will have to earn his pay.” Chambers finishes jumping rope, a good four-rounds’ worth with no one-minute breaks, and he’s not even breathing. He wears a black T-shirt with the outline of the top half of a face, two eyes peering out, red. Across the T-shirt, two words: Fight Angry. Chambers shadowboxes for a few minutes, watching his moves in the mirror. I watch his feet. He’s a pro. Balanced. Super-quick. Chambers sits down in one of the empty chairs. Rob Murray sits in the other, across from his fighter. The still life takes on movement. It’s time for this trainer to earn his pay. Murray wraps Chambers’ hands methodically. Careful and slow seem to be the beat of the pre-sparring work here and even the hip hop music, coming from a portable radio by the door, is more about slow rhythms than frenetic riffs. It’s a beautiful wrap-job, even and smooth, three vertical lines of raised tape on each hand turning potentially lethal fists into almost- delicate sculptures. Steve Upsher Chambers, no blood-relation to Eddie but a best friend and fellow fighter, turns on the round buzzer and 3:00 flashes in red. It’s time to spar. First up is Shawn McLean. McLean weighs 220, stands 6’ 2” but it’s not even close. Eddie’s jabs are fast and crisp. His hooks are textbook. The pop of leather against flesh indeed leaves McLean wobbly. At one point Rob Murray asks McLean to get busy with the jab. “Double it up,” he yells at McClean. “Double it up,” Chambers echoes. The contender wants to work. When the third round ends McLean has a badly bloodied nose, and his breathing is labored and heavy. To his credit, the sparring partner wants to go one more round, but Murray waves him off. Next up is the giant Marcellus Brown. Brown is 26 and 17, but the way he spars, his record is deceiving. This super- heavyweight is a towering man, wide-backed, thick-shouldered, mighty-armed and he fights like his afternoon’s shift is more than a payday.

Load more