Ryan Phillis watches from the corner of the Tyndall Armory in Indianapolis as his teammate Josh McRoberts is knocked down for the second time. The crowd erupts as his body drops.
The 6-foot-3 Phillis punches his gloves together four times. Moments earlier, he said he was calm. Now he is pacing back and forth with a worked-up vigor.
McRoberts, the defending 132-pound champ, was being dominated in front of this year’s Golden Gloves crowd. Phillis, a former three-year starting defensive lineman for IU, is about to compete in his first fight.
It won’t be a warm-up fight, either. Phillis will be matching up with three-time Indiana Golden Gloves champ Willie Jake Jr. The son of a former boxer who won 12 professional bouts, Jake had competed in Nationals and the Olympic trials.
And he is not worried about Phillis.
How much does he know about his opponent?
“Not much,” Jake says stoically with Beats headphones on. “Here to work.”
***
Phillis wasn’t supposed to be here.
A Boardman, Ohio, native, he received some looks from Big Ten powers such as Ohio State and Penn State before coming to IU. He was hanging around on some NFL Draft boards as a defensive line prospect and was a three-time Academic All-Big Ten selection. He had started 28 ?consecutive games for IU.
But football was taken from him.
Seven. That’s how many surgeries Phillis underwent during his IU career.
A Lisfranc surgery on his left foot. Another one to get a screw removed. A navicular stress fracture in his right foot with two screws. Two surgeries for hernias. Another one on his abdomen and groin. And a last one for internal bleeding because of a hematoma.
He had to quit — his body couldn’t do it ?anymore.
“It was tough,” he said. “But that was just a part of my life that I had to push through.”
After he recovered, he was offered a job with the IU ?football strength and ?conditioning staff.
But how does someone go from committing his life to competition to taking a day job? His life once revolved around football, and now something was ?missing.
“I think it kind of scared him,” said David Blackwell, a former IU running back and Phillis’ roommate.
Considering Phillis’ NFL aspirations, Blackwell said, the transition hit him hard.
Phillis longed for ?adrenaline.
He used to box in high school and trained from time to time at the IU football complexes. Then, Phillis saw that the local gym, B-Town Boxing, had trained Josh McRoberts to a Golden Gloves title in 2014.
It was a faith-based organization, which he appreciated. So he reached out to its coach, Rob Scardina, who is McRoberts’ stepfather.
His body couldn’t withstand the torque on the body that comes with football. The full speed collisions were no longer sustainable. Boxing, on the other hand, is based on punches to the face and stomach. His surgeries were primarily below the waist.
Scardina said Phillis was a natural. His defensive line background provided him with tremendous skills, including quick hands and feet. Phillis credited Scardina’s training.
In terms of preparation for Golden Gloves, Phillis kept comparing boxing to Big Ten football. The rush of a boxing match, in his mind, would be no different than facing off against Ohio State.
“I’m not going to approach it any different than I would lining up across from the best offensive tackle in the league.”
Phillis wasn’t chasing the adrenaline because he wanted it — he needed it.
***
This is where you start if you want to make it in boxing, a crowded, old, musty armory in downtown ?Indianapolis.
People are settling in for the fourth weekend of the Indiana Golden Gloves tournament.
Golden Gloves is the premier amateur boxing circuit in America. The winner of the state tournament advances to nationals. Most Olympians and professionals can trace the beginnings of their careers back to their Golden Gloves days.
The Indianapolis crowd didn’t even quiet down during a tribute to a member of the Golden Gloves community who died recently. Drinks were still being spilled and conversations ensued while the woman on stage choked up as she said, “Rest in peace.”
During the fights, the coaches are as captivating as the boxing.
Sugar Ray Seales, a 1972 Olympic Gold medal winner, is coaching one team. He is legally blind, but his loud, deep mid-fight instructions can be heard from the furthest rows of the balcony.
Another is Sarge Johnson. Sarge is fun, the combination of a drill sergeant and motivational football coach.
Phillis is the last fight of the night.
Former long-time ?Indianapolis Star sports writer John Bansch, who knew of Phillis during his football prime, reads the lineup card.
“Ryan Phillis,” he says, perplexed. “Boxer?”
***
Phillis weighs in and is evaluated by a doctor. He receives a pair of blue shorts.
“The blue corner has been cleaning up lately,” says Jeremy, a middle-aged member of the team with a blonde Mohawk and a strip of facial hair hanging several inches from his chin.
Emmett Dillon, a teammate boxing at 152 pounds, walks back first.
“I got the pretty lady doctor,” Dillon said with a grin.
Phillis was stuck with the 20-something overweight man that just barely squeezed into his scrubs. The man would waddle with each ensuing task.
Scardina sits in the corner as he interacts with ?Jeremy.
“Waiting is the hardest part,” Scardina says.
Phillis doesn’t fight for another five hours.
Scardina’s wife, who works in the gym with him, goes to get a hot dog. She needs to eat when she is nervous. Scardina can’t until the day is done.
“It’s a big risk, what we’re doing,” Scardina said.
The risk is having Phillis’ first fight be against one of the most experienced and talented boxers in the ?tournament.
“He’s passed every test so far,” Scardina said. “ I got a hunch.”
***
Willie Jake Jr. never looked worried for a moment. Phillis did from ?the start.
Phillis turned to put his head down in his corner and closed his eyes. Jake walked around the ring, placing an authoritative stomp on each end of the ropes. This was his ring.
With his parents in from Ohio and a balcony full of at least 20 friends and former teammates cheering, Phillis looked hesitant. He wasn’t attacking; the first round was him trying to find his comfort zone. The first time he made an aggressive move, he slipped and fell on both of his knees.
In the second round, punches were flying arcade-style like a “Fight Night” video game. But Jake was in control. From time to time, he would lean in, ?unamused.
After a short stoppage by the referee, Jake tossed in a cheap shot before the fight had fully resumed. The crowd was up in arms.
Phillis was clearly the fan favorite. But it didn’t matter. Jake controlled the fight.
The judges decided five-to-zero. Jake advanced.
Jake walked around the ring again and placed another series of stomps around the corners.
It was his ring.
***
Phillis stood in the same corner of the armory that he watched McRoberts lose in.
His pale face was covered with the assorted cliché combination of blood, sweat and tears.
“I’ll be back,” Phillis said. “I’ll be back in the gym Monday.”
He had no regrets, he said, it was a humbling experience. He was more embarrassed than angry. All of these people had come out to support him, and he fell in his first fight.
“Coming off of what football had and my disappointment in it, and my disappointment here, I’m winning at life,” Phillis said.
He said he had been raised on the mentality that he had to be the strongest and toughest. He called his parents, Jim and Kelly, hard-nosed, tough people. But maybe Phillis didn’t need to be the strongest and toughest. He seemed content.
As he walked back to his corner after the loss, he looked up to a standing ovation from the balcony populated by those who wanted to come support him. He had lost, but he was going to keep going.
