by Paul Skyrm

Created on: June 18, 2009   Last Updated: July 08, 2009

Think about prying off a tenacious lid from its immutable threading over a jar of pickles or tomato sauce. The reflex most of us go into is a squatting of the lower body, gathering a balanced and even stead. Without that southerly pinion, our upper body flails; our arms fight against the fury of a body in tumult with itself and the lid remains poised in adherence to capsizing our want of opening a simple jar.

Such is the same predicament for a boxer: unless his lower body is both impugned and mobile on that axis, he is in for a long assault upon his person. What good footwork allows to a boxer is a free and elusive barrage of punches and defenses that keep him one step ahead of his foe.

As was my experience as an amateur boxer, though filled with foibles and illusions itself, I was told countless times to watch film of the greats to see where their power flows from and how they rake it to their arms and fists. So that's what I did: Marciano, Sugar Ray, Ali, Jack Dempsey, Jack Johnson, Ezzard Charles, Jersey Joe Walcott, Gene Tunney to name a few and watch how some of these champions' crazed deficiencies (Dempsey's awkward lean at the waist as if he was waiting for the punches; Tunney holding his paws low, jutting his chin out for the seemingly same effect on the viewer that Dempsey gave) were trumped by their majestic acumen at their base. Though some of the greats' footwork was as nimble as an octopus', (Marciano, LaMotta), their ferocious will, graven ability to take a thousand punches and enact their own pulverizing throws were an exception to a well-stamped mantra that footwork is where the power burns from. The majority of champions had an amazing tenacity to make their legs seem like rubber bands lined with steel that itself with inextricably pliable and fibrous.

Gene Tunney was one of those bucks.

Tunney was heavyweight champion of the world from 1926-1928, defeating Jack Dempsey twice during that span. Dempsey himself was known for unparalleled footwork: a graceful, almost ballet-like mastery of bouncing on his toes, staying alert and mobile so that he could step out of punches and flick off the ropes with hummingbird speed and precision. Gene Tunney though was reputed to have the fastest feet in boxing. His lateral movement may have also been the preeminent weapon in his arsenal; one that is also agreed upon by most cut-men and trainers of his time and present-day as being the polestar all boxers should work from. He was as fast as Ali and Muhammad

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