Today we return with the second episode of our feature “The Coach’s Word.” After hearing from Maestro Meo Gordini, we now give the floor to another great figure in Italian boxing: Gino Freo. He recently celebrated the 40th anniversary of his historic Boxe Piovese gym in Piove di Sacco (Padua), a true factory of champions — from former World Champion Cristian Sanavia to former European champions Devis Boschiero and Luca Rigoldi. But that’s not all. Let’s take a journey into the world of a man deeply passionate about this discipline, a strong role model for his fighters and for all of Italian boxing.
Where does Gino’s boxing story begin?
It began in 1968, when my older brother Benito took me to the gym. He had done some boxing in Padua and decided to bring me along because I was a very shy, introverted, quiet boy. He took me to Via San Giovanni da Verdara, to a deconsecrated church where the famous Padova Ring GBC trained — a well-organized amateur club. That’s where my adventure as a boxer began, and I fell in love with a sport I didn’t even know before!
A brief summary of my career, which was “nothing remarkable”: in 1969 I won the regional novice title, then fought the national championships in Cecina, reaching the semifinals. The following year I became a full amateur, competing in the first division regional championships in Veneto. The middleweight category was tough, with strong boxers like Marzio, the Italian champion, so despite being combative, I took my share of punches.
In 1972, even though I never became Italian champion, I was called three times to national training camps in Fiuggi with Natalino Rea and Armando Poggi, two great coaches. I wore the Italian jersey once, in 1973, in Treviso for Italy vs France, and won on points against a boxer named Martein.
In 1974, encouraged by Luciano Sarti, I turned professional. As an amateur I fought at 75 kg, but since the professional middleweight limit was 72.5 kg, I boxed as a light heavyweight, giving up some weight. I won a tournament and twice challenged for the Italian light heavyweight title — first in 1978 against Ennio Cometti in Piove di Sacco, in a bout I organized myself (that’s when I learned how much a boxer needs beyond training and coaching — real organizational support!). We fought in a warehouse because there was no sports hall, and the whole town showed up — but I lost. The second shot came in 1981 in Padua against Cristiano Cavina. I was ahead after ten rounds (the title fight was 12), with two official warnings in my favor, but then one punch literally sent me through the ropes, and I lost again.
I retired in 1984, after one last semifinal against my friend Luciano Di Giacomo from Abruzzo. I trained well, but lost on points, and that’s when I said enough. I worked full-time, so boxing was always a part-time passion — a hobby, really.
How and when did the desire to teach come about?
After retiring, I wanted to open a gym here in Piove di Sacco. That’s how the desire to teach was born — from wanting to create a boxing school in an area that had never had one. I immediately fell in love with coaching. I wanted to pass on my experience — old and new — everything I learned by studying, attending seminars, and observing.
When I took the assistant coach course in Padua, with Toni Caneo and Armando Poggi, I remember them saying: “This guy surely has something good in mind.” Maybe because my passion and drive were already shining through.
What do you like most and least about being a coach?
It’s never really been a job for me — always a hobby. I worked 40 years at Telecom, and the gym always came after work. What I love most is sharing the passion, getting kids to fall in love with boxing, showing them that it’s a sport of sacrifice and contact, but not necessarily more dangerous than others — if practiced correctly, with discipline and respect.
What I like least is when a student quits overnight, and it happens often, without giving me the chance to understand or help. We welcome people from all walks of life, and it hurts when you realize you could have helped someone continue, but didn’t get the chance.
Is there a boxer who particularly stayed in your heart? And has anyone ever disappointed you?
They all stay in my heart, honestly. Of course, Cristian Sanavia comes to mind, for his achievements — even though I was disappointed when he left for a while. He started at 10, left at 27, and with me he won the Italian amateur title, the Italian professional title, the European title — we even drew 6–7,000 people to a public square in 2001. But I also cherish Devis Boschiero, Alessandro Giraldo, and many others who gave their all even without making it big.
Disappointments? Sure — when boxers you’ve trained for years leave suddenly. But I’ve learned to cope. Many fighters came to me from other gyms — Paolo Vidoz came from Gorizia, Luca Rigoldi chose to train in Piove di Sacco and achieved great success, Antonio Brancalion, and many from Trissino like Andrea Fracca, Nicola Fasolo, Marchi, Bevilacqua, Festosi. They all came with full clearance from their coaches because I always called their gyms first. Some, like Cristian and Devis, left and later came back to win again.
Has the way of training boxers changed over the years?
Of course. I don’t train today the way I did 5, 10, or 20 years ago. The philosophy remains the same, but everything evolves — sports included. I’ve trained over 40 Italian and European champions, but the workouts have changed.
A key quality for a good coach is adapting training to each boxer — you can’t train everyone the same way. I’ve always tried to “tailor the suit” to each athlete and learned from other sports as well.
I came up during a time of transition, under Franco Falcinelli, who introduced new training methods — circuits, intervals — that we never did in my day. But we shouldn’t abandon the old fundamentals either, like focusing on technique.
The coach’s role is crucial, even if some doubt it. As I like to say: “You need flour to make polenta — the flour is the boxer. But you can cook polenta in many ways.”
Training the mind and motivation is key. Every boxer needs his own “custom suit,” and the coach must be skilled enough to find it. Repetition is essential — even for talented fighters. Mastery comes from repeating the same movement countless times.
Boxing used to be one of Italy’s most popular sports. What caused its decline, in your view?
Decades ago, maybe there was more poverty — or perhaps more hunger for social redemption. That hunger could still exist today, given the challenges young people face. But what’s missing now are boxing clubs — 90% of Italian gyms are one-man operations, run by a single coach.
If you have to make a living off your gym, you end up focusing on amateurs who pay fees — but if you only train amateurs, it’s hard to develop real fighters, who require time and investment.
The same goes for the boxers: when I could offer small reimbursements or bonuses, it helped retain them. Not being able to reward fighters for matches is something that’s really missing today.
In the 1970s and 80s, the professional scene also had more sponsors and patrons, entrepreneurs who invested in boxers — and that made a difference. I experienced that firsthand.
What achievement makes you proudest as a coach?
Several things. Often, when I walk through Piove di Sacco, I hear “Maestro!” or “Gino!” from men in their 30s or 40s who tell me: “I didn’t go far, but those few matches taught me a lot — I still remember those days and what you and boxing taught me.” Those moments make me proud.
I’m also proud of having believed in and guided a Sinti boy with incredible talent. He won Italian titles in multiple youth categories and even the European Under-19 championship. I did everything I could for him, but he eventually chose a different path outside of sport. I would have loved to see more talented boxers like him fulfill their potential, because this sport demands sacrifice and deserves reward.