Introductory note: The following reportage was produced in the summer of 2019.
Cuba may not exactly resemble the characteristics of Peter Pan’s island, but it still holds a charm and uniqueness that few countries in the world can boast. Wrapped in a magical atmosphere, with unmistakable rhythms and harmonies, immortal traditions, and still tangible effects of a Revolution that, after 60 years, continues to influence its social and political evolution, the land of Teofilo Stevenson continues to produce immensely talented athletes in various sports disciplines, with a special focus on boxing: 6 medals at the last Olympics, of which 3 were the most precious metal. I walked through the streets of Havana, and what follows is the reportage of what I saw and heard in two gyms in the capital.
Coach Carlos Miranda and his small great kingdom
Anyone who even marginally deals with boxing in Havana knows the name of the boxing coach Carlos Miranda and speaks of him with immense respect. Stronger than the stroke that struck him a few years ago, the elderly Cuban trainer has gradually regained his shine and, despite a paresis on one side of his face, he appears today in excellent shape, mentally sharper and more acute than ever. A reference point for many years at the historic Rafael Trejo gym, located in the oldest neighborhood of the city, Miranda packed up and left when the pressures from the management to make his athletes fight became unbearable. “I must be able to train a boy for a year and a half if I deem it necessary. When they are ready with me, they are ready to face anyone.”
His new kingdom, the Gymnasio Centro Habana, located in a particularly poor area of the capital, is nothing more than a courtyard wedged between dilapidated houses. Near the entrance, a mural depicts Felix Savon, recently gone from hero to outcast after being arrested for molesting a minor. Cubans talk about it calmly, and Miranda sums up the issue with a simple yet truthful phrase: “Not always great champions are great people.” The asphalt is worn out. A single dilapidated bag hangs melancholy from an iron hook while the ring, paved in wood and covered with tarpaulins, is enclosed by ropes so thin that they could be torn off sharply by a child. Pieces of plaster and small debris fall from the left wall as some workers work diligently, but the athletes don’t care, just avoiding the affected area during warm-up. The heat is unbearable, and the competitive season is now over, yet nine boxers or aspiring boxers move under the guidance of Carlos and his assistant Michel Miranda, whose relationship with the coach remains a mystery to me: when asked, “Are you Carlos’s son?” he replies, “Almost!” accompanied by a laugh.
Miranda points to a boy of about 15 and states confidently, “That boy is excellent.” His name is Marcos Peña, and it will be interesting to see what milestones he will achieve as he grows older. Among the athletes stands out the statuesque figure of Gabriel Richards, a southpaw heavyweight of Cuban mother and Gambian father, born and raised in Sweden where he now lives and works in security. From the ultra-modern multifunctional halls of his home country to the decadent courtyard of Centro Habana, all to glean the secrets of coach Miranda and try to qualify for the next Olympics.
While his boys engage in a sort of simulated sparring, made up of feints, movements, and barely hinted blows, Carlos Miranda, asked how many times a week he makes his athletes spar hard, shakes his head and explains his philosophy on the matter: “I make them do it a little, for me sparring is nothing more than an ‘assessment.’ If I made them do it three times a week, the mistakes made on Monday would be repeated on Wednesday and then again on Friday. And on the intermediate days, their bodies would need recovery, so when would I teach? I prefer conditioned sparring and other types of exercises: for the first three weeks of the month, I work to make my boxers better, then the last week I dedicate to sparring to see what they have learned and what defects remain. Here (he opens his agenda – Ed.): for each boxer, I write down the main defects, for each defect, I indicate the work strategy to solve it. The blank space that remains will be used for analysis when I have seen them in action. Now begins the last week of the month, in fact, tomorrow we will go to Trejo for sparring.” Of course, I’m going too.
Fiery sparring at the Rafael Trejo Gym
Miranda’s boys arrive at Trejo shortly before 10 in the morning and prepare to wait for the host athletes. Here the structure is more ambitious: much more space, a raised ring bearing the Everlast brand, stands on both sides for the audience of big occasions, and a tin roof that protects from the sun but not from the rain judging by the puddles present between the 16 ropes. The dilapidated bags this time are three. Punctuality in Cuba is not exactly a founding value, and for about an hour almost no one shows up, then little by little the gym fills up, and among others, the 33-year-old Emilio Correa appears, silver medalist in the 75 kg category at the Beijing 2008 Olympics, defeated only in the final by the Englishman James DeGale. Now Correa weighs about 90 kilos, strong with a powerful musculature, but still wears a faded tank top from the glorious days of the national team. After a substantial warm-up, the athletes are paired off, and the sparring can begin: at least seven pairs of boxers move between the ring and the space in front, but the eyes of all external observers are naturally focused on Gabriel Richards and Emilio Correa.
The first round is a warm-up, the two warriors study and observe each other, loosening muscles and joints without forcing. From the second, the battle unleashes. The two styles at play are poles apart: Correa is relaxed and cocky, keeps his hands low, defends himself with the help of his shoulders and with rapid trunk flexions, and when hit hard, he smiles boldly. Richards is extremely focused, with a high left-handed guard, a traditional stance, and distance control. The former lives on rushes, the latter throws repeated straight punches without respite. The third round opens with a bang: Correa lands four heavy consecutive blows shouting “Eso es!” (“That’s it!”) that shake Richards, but the latter, loudly encouraged by coach Miranda to impose the long distance, does not give up and closes in crescendo. The last round sees the athletes at the end of their strength: the heat is now apocalyptic, sweat splashes in every direction, the boxers continue to tread the fiery asphalt, oblivious to the accidental impacts between different sparring pairs. The punches of Correa and Richards progressively lose explosiveness, the two nullify the distances, giving rise to an exciting in-fighting in the last minute available while masters and spectators surround them inciting them loudly and counting down the remaining time every ten seconds. The session ends with hugs, handshakes, and mutual compliments. Another small paragraph of the immense history of Cuban boxing has been written.