A Wolfe in Sweet Clothing
This is one of those essays that I could post in any number of forums on the Democratic Underground. It involves a “big name” in the sport of boxing; spirituality; economics; the media; and even sex and race. But I’ve decided to post it in General Discussion, because I’m hoping that as many friends and associates here will read and enjoy it.
I have a friend named Ann Wolfe …..and most people who know of her, probably know very little about the real her.
Some sports fans may remember seeing her May 8, 2004 bout against the much larger Vonda Ward. If you didn’t see it on live television, you’ve probably seen it on some highlight clip. Ann, standing 5’ 9”, and holding the junior middleweight and super middleweight titles in women’s boxing, challenged the undefeated, 6’ 6” light heavyweight champion, Vonda Ward.
Ward had played college basketball for four years in Tennessee, before taking up the Great Sport. She was widely recognized as one of the two best female fighters in the sport. None of her previous opponents had exposed any faults or weaknesses in her style -- she had solid offensive and defensive skills.
Very few people gave Ann Wolfe any chance in that fight. But I remember my son Darren saying that he had seen Wolfe fight before, and that she had something indefinable about her that made him think she had a very real chance. And after a minute into the first round, Ann landed what is known as the hardest single punch in women’s boxing. She scored a brutal knockout, that sent Ward to the hospital with a serious neck injury.
Soon after winning that third title, Ann would retire. She is now known as the trainer of junior middleweight prospect James Kirkland. His record is 31 - 1, with 27 KO victories. Ann’s intense mental and physical training methods place her slightly outside of the boxing mainstream, much as Cus D’Amato’s had.
The media has a field day with Ann: she’s a strong black woman on the outside of a sport that generates the highest paydays, although it has been marginalized by polite society. And the taped pre-fight interviews with her are always edited to highlight every cuss word she may utter. For polite society fears nothing more than a tough, angry black female who swears.
But that’s not the Ann Wolfe that I’m coming to know. What stands out first and foremost is her absolute love and devotion to her family. And her intelligence. She has her Ph.D. in the streets of hard knocks. Still, when I read a note from Ann yesterday, even I -- as grumpy an old pug as life has ever produced -- was surprised.
Ann was going to pick up a couple items in a store, after spending time in the gym. She was tired, and not particularly pleased to find herself at the end of the long, lone check-out isle. A young man at the counter was a few pennies short of what he needed to pay for his goods, and the cashier was being rude. No one in line offered to give this fellow a few cents, until Ann did. As it turned out, the guy had a wife and small children, and the family was down-on-its-luck broke. This father couldn’t afford to buy his two itty-bitty children the food they needed. Until he encountered Ann Wolfe.
What really stood out -- along with my friend’s big heart -- was her outrage that we live in a society where people are silent when they see a fellow human being in need. That, and the very real concern Ann felt for this family’s future.
My father used to tell me about his great aunt, when our extended family lived in Nutley, NJ. The family worked on the railroads. During the Great Depression, those human beings known as “hobos” would ride the rails, from city to city, town to town, looking for some work, some pay, and a good meal. The hobos used to mark the sidewalks or fences in front of a friendly house with an “X.” My family’s house had such an X.
Dad’s great aunt learned the hobos by name, for she knew they were real people, with real needs. My grandfather and his brothers were not pleased when she gave these hobos their best coats and clothes (while they were at work). Dad told me that she would explain to them that these hobos were actually Jesus in disguise.
I like that. And so I told my friend Ann Wolfe that the man she helped -- and that others ignored -- was Jesus. And I mean it. Not the stained-glass window Jesus, or some carpenter who lived some 2,000 years ago half-way around the globe. But the human Jesus that is homeless, or incarcerated, unfed and ill-clothed in a society of plenty.
My friends from polite society sometimes ask me how I could possibly like boxing? It’s the good people in the sport. And Ann Wolfe is a great example.
= new reply since forum marked as read
Thank you for sharing this story
there is some love out there. 
Great OP Mr. Waterman. As usual.
