The Ghost of Johnny Tapia. Paul Zanon

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      Foreword

      My father boxed at bantamweight, featherweight, and lightweight, fighting under a variety of names, including Bobby Hagar, Bobby Burns, and Cotton Burns. He was always taking fights at the last minute, getting in trouble for being drunk in the ring and getting banned. He needed the money and would change his name every time he went to a new town to get a fight. When he started he was really good and had a strong punch, but he kept going downhill because he was an alcoholic.

      As for me, from as young as I can remember, my dad would call me “Champ” and introduce me as that, telling everyone I was going to be champion of the world. He had a little gym set up in the garage, and I boxed all over the neighborhood. I was pretty much thinking that was what I was going to do with my life, although I do remember seeing Elvis Presley on TV and watching my older teenage sisters going crazy over him and thinking, “Maybe I'm going to be that.”

The turning point came when I was fifteen and a half. My dad took me to Los Angeles to the Main Street Gym, where Johnny Flores was training Jerry Quarry. We walked in and my dad said, “He's gonna be a fighter,” and Johnny said, “Let's see what he can do.” He put me in the ring with some Mexican guy, who'd had about thirty pro fights, and moments later this guy hit me. The moment it landed, I thought, “Man. I have never been hit like that in my life and I don't ever wanna be hit like that again!”

      My dad had already applied for my professional boxing license and even lied about my age to get me the forms. After that sparring session, I went home and I was filling everything out, and my mom was crying as she watched. “You're not going to do that. You're not going to be like your father.” I stopped and said, “You know what. You're right.” My head was still ringing from that freakin’ left hook I took from this Mexican dude. That was it. I don't think I ever put on a set of gloves again.

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      Roll the clock forward to the 1990s and I'm at a