Fury proves to be Calgary boxer’s salvation

CALGARY – For a boxer, being sprawled out on the canvas is an awful thing.

It represents the ultimate nightmare. It signifies failure. It is the worst.

And there was Steve Claggett, suffering that very indignity on a regular basis.

What put the kid there, what had laid him out, was not a single punch. Nor a combination of blows.

Instead, it had been a stubborn streak – scraps with peers, spats with parents – that left the teenager spending his nights at a Calgary boxing club, sleeping in the ring.

Jobless. Penniless. Near homeless. On the fast track to hopeless.

In the evenings, Claggett would let himself into the Teofista Gym where he trained, crawl between the ropes and curl up on the gritty canvas. He used boxing gloves as a pillow.

Sometimes, he’d crash on the couch in the back room. Or doze on the floor.

Not a pleasant time.

"You’re feeling pretty low," recalls Claggett. "You’re sleeping in a gym. On the hardwood floor, on the concrete. So you’ve got to get your ass up, do something with your life – ‘Let’s do something. I’m not going to be a homeless kid. I need some goals, I need some structure, I need a life. Don’t be a bum.’ "

The answer, of course, happened to be right in front of him.

Claggett informed Eric de Guzman – his longtime trainer and owner of the boxing club – that he wanted to join the ranks of professional boxers.

De Guzman remembers the moment.

"Probably only the second time I’d ever seen him cry. He was, like, ‘You know, I’ve got nothing,’ " says de Guzman. "I told Steve, ‘I know you have the passion for it. If you want to start fighting for money, turn pro.’ Boom – it gave him direction."

Now – a little more than two years after those lonely naps in the ring – Claggett, dignity fully restored, is standing tall.

The 21-year-old made peace with his folks, Greg and Cynthia. He’s back in his bedroom in their Calgary home.

And there’s more – he’s undefeated as a pro (8-0-1), one of the top-ranked lightweights in the country.

Claggett headlines an Aug. 19 fight card at a Calgary casino, with another main event planned for September. A Canadian title fight is around the corner.

"There was a point when I was totally going the wrong way," says the 135-pounder. "I hung out with some rough kids, some bad influences, but so does everybody. It’s up to you to make your own decisions. I turned around and I haven’t looked back since. Why would I?"

Dad, like everyone else, noticed a difference as soon as his son turned pro.

"Absolutely, it gave him focus – huge focus," says Greg, recently named the Hockey Calgary coach of the year for his diligent work – 21 teams in 15 years. "It got him pointed in the right direction and everything changes."

So what kind of fighter is Claggett?

According to de Guzman, he is a lot of things. Fast. Ferocious. Fit. And fearless.

"I’ve been in so many situations – because of my stupid mindset when I was younger – that I’m not scared," says Claggett. "How can you beat someone if you’re terrified? Some guys might be tough as nails. But I’m tough as nails."

Boxing may end up being the young man’s salvation.

For years, though, it served as his accomplice.

Claggett felt he could survive any scuffle, no matter the odds, because he had skills to go with his mean streak.

That meant scraps were common in high school. Greg, who made more than one trip to the principal’s office, insists his boy was simply defending himself or sticking up for mates.

But, despite a baby face and that slender five-foot-eight frame, Claggett clearly had an appetite for it. And not just in the schoolyard.

"Two guys would come up to fight me. I loved it – ‘You want to fight? Yes? Let’s fight. I’ll show you what I know,’ " he says, grinning. "One time I fought four guys and it worked out in my best interests. I don’t know if I should be saying it, but I’ve probably been in a hundred street fights. Maybe more. I’ve never lost a one-on-one street fight. Ever. I’ve never been whupped and left on the street."

There had been close calls.

There was a brass-knuckled sucker punch that ripped open his lip. Another time, a knife was pulled.

"He needed some guidance," says de Guzman. "I would always tell him, ‘You punch one guy wrong and put him in a coma. Court case. Do some time. Can’t travel to the United States. You can’t be hitting people.’ I expect he’s better now . . . not out there doing stupid (crap)."

Claggett maintains that he hasn’t bare-knuckled since turning pro. Hard to believe.

"No point. Nothing in it for me," says Claggett. "I’d rather walk away. He calls you a name, so what? Deal with it."

He couldn’t always turn the cheek.

One time, a guy issuing a playground taunt was left-hooked into the emergency ward. Claggett calls the incident an "eye-opener," but it was a life lesson ignored.

The bad-boy ways continued. Brawling. Carousing. Partying.

Brushes with the law? "Lots, but just little things," says Claggett, politely declining to elaborate.

Curfews were blown. So were stacks.

"Was it rocky? Sure. Anything out of the ordinary? No," says Greg. "I told him, ‘Stephen, nothing good ever happens after midnight. Trust me, believe me, understand what I’m saying.’ And any time he was in trouble, guess what time it was?"

The message, though awfully slow in taking hold, appears to have sunk in. Finally.

"Now? Me and my parents? Awesome," says Claggett. "I’ve got my life straight. No more stupid mistakes. I’m not being a dumb kid. I’m going to progress and excel. I’m not going to worry about these little fights outside or arguing with my parents. Why? There’s no point, right?"

In fact, he owes his mom a debt of gratitude. Cynthia, one day at aerobics class, had noticed a boxing-lesson flyer and made an appointment.

Claggett, then 13, soon embraced the sport.

He has vivid memories of his first fight. Ten seconds in, he got drilled with an overhand right.

"Square on the nose. Like, dead on," Claggett recalls. "Bleeding like crazy. I was stunned for a second. I went back at him and he hit me with the same punch. Again."

Claggett could hear his opponent’s pals hooting for a first-round knockout.

"Quitting never crossed my mind – like, never ever," he says. "I came back to win a unanimous decision. I remember it really well."

Sonny’s furious comeback put his parents at ease – "He got mad," says Greg. "I knew then he’d be OK in boxing."

Post-bout, Claggett had been a mess. Near barfing. Rubber legs. Stiff neck. Headache. Dehydrated.

"Even through all that? I was so happy that I’d won," says Claggett. "To take those punches right in the nose, to get busted up, his friends are saying to knock me out, beat me, and I silenced them. I beat them."

Going 30-3 record as an amateur, his highlight was capturing the 2008 Alberta Golden Gloves in Edmonton, earning the prestigious Golden Boy honours.

What stands out to his trainer, though, is his first loss.

After rattling off eight victories, the kid stared down a boxer with 60 bouts to his credit, but dropped the decision. That he’d kept it close was commendable. Still, Claggett freaked out.

"Just seeing how angry Steve was when he lost . . . he threw his medal down the hallway," de Guzman says. "He was, basically, in tears. For Steve, who doesn’t show a lot of emotion, I could see his eyes watering.

"He’s obviously got the drive to win."

Channelling that drive, obviously, turned out to be the challenge.

The pro game appears to have cured that – "The turning point," he calls it – with his first punch-for-pay match arriving in September 2008.

Tom Petty and Bob Marley blaring on the car stereo, he drove to Edmonton for the weigh-in. "The whole time, I’m thinking, ‘I’m going to win. I’m going to be driving back on this road and I’ll be smiling because I won the fight.’ I kept going over it in my head."

Against his bigger opponent, Claggett unleashed an early flurry – firing morethan 100 punches in each of the first two rounds, by his dad’s count – before running out of steam.

"I totally dominated him," says Claggett, who picked up a majority decision. "I could’ve done a lot better, but that was the nerves. First fight. Big venue, Shaw Conference Centre, big crowd, TV. But I was like, ‘When am I fighting again? Get me in there tomorrow.’ "

The education continues.

In May, Claggett and de Guzman made a pilgrimage south, dropping into famous sweatshops such as the Hit Factory in Las Vegas, the Wild Card and Maywood gyms in California.

Claggett had the privilege of a few informal jousts – including one with Manny Pacquiao’s sparring partner, Raymund Beltran (22-4). All of which whet his appetite for the life. ("He came back like this," chuckles Greg, drawing an exaggerated smile on his face.) "It seems really close. Go and grab it," says Claggett. "That’s why I loved going out there. That dream is right there."

Guiding that dream are his father and his trainer, co-managers.

People have told de Guzman to get something down in writing, a contract. After all, he and the boy have only a handshake agreement.

De Guzman, old school beyond his 29 years, ain’t interested in signatures.

"I want to prove to myself that there are still good people in the world," he says. "Boxing, it’s a dirty, dirty business. He’s been my little brother since 2002. I want to make sure I look after him."

Beside, there already is commitment in ink.

On Claggett’s chest, over his heart, is a tattoo spelling out Teofista, the name of de Guzman’s gym – a touching (and unprompted) gesture by the kid.

"He’s the reason I am where I am," says Claggett. "A mentor. An adviser. Wherever my career takes me, he’s coming along."

De Guzman plans to enjoy the ride. Because, in his mind, Claggett does possess a bright future.

"World-class chin . . . hit him with a sledgehammer and he’ll walk through it," he says. "Fight him, you feel like you’re getting suffocated, like you’re drowning in water, like your feet are in sand, because he punches so much. Want to run? He’ll track you down."

There are naysayers, too. Claggett reads their online critiques and shrugs. "What does it do? Does it make me sad? Make me want to quit boxing? Never."

Nor does he worry about recognition – although he is named after Steve Yzerman. He’s a quality athlete with nearly no profile in his hometown.

"I’ll be patient. I just turned 21. Why rush it?" says Claggett, who takes the same approach to nicknames – when he finds a suitable moniker, he’ll use it. "I’d love to sign autographs. I’d love the fame. But you don’t want to push it. If you deserve it, it’ll come. If you didn’t deserve it, then you should’ve done something different."

Claggett, though, appears to have finally found his happy place.

But suppose his mom had never signed him up for lessons, suppose Claggett had never immersed himself in the sweet science, what would he be doing right now?

"I’d be doing . . . ."

Pauses. Considers.

". . . . nothing, right."

The likable lad finishes his answer.

"This is what I feel is right for me," Claggett says. "When I was young, I always felt that I had a calling, something I’ve got to be doing. People are going to see me. They’re going to watch me. I’ve always known that – that I was going to be doing something that I would be remembered for.

"If I wasn’t boxing? Who knows? I could be in trouble. I could be living a plain, boring life."