Eddie Tofa keeps a close eye on Mike Tweed and Majre Apiata-Cook. Photo / Bevan Conley
Over the summer Chronicle reporters have been trying something new, under the supervision of experts.
In the final instalment of our series called I'm New to This, Mike Tweed gets off the couch and into the boxing ring for the first time.
Growing up, my go-to sport had always been cricket, and it wasn't until I was restlessly flicking the channels a few years ago that I stumbled across the theatre that was a professional boxing match.
Two medium-sized Englishmen, Carl Froch and George Groves, were beating each other up, before the fight was stopped after Froch began to hit Groves more effectively than Groves was hitting him. An uproar ensued, and I was informed by the commentators that the stoppage was premature, criminal even.
Even though I had no clue about any of it, I was outraged at Froch's win, exclaiming something like "that's a ridiculous decision, what a robbery".
Before long my couch had become a boxing commentary hotspot, and, unbeknownst to these world champion fighters, I was offering them brilliant advice on what they should be doing.
"Hit him, hit him."
"Stop dancing around and fight."
Or my personal favourite, "he's there for the taking, what are you waiting for?"
My crowning commentary moment came in a bar in Berlin, where I watched a heavyweight dust up between Anthony Joshua and Vladimir Klitschko, surrounded by at least two dozen Brits. They were gunning for Joshua to win, but I was screaming for Klitschko, aided in my belligerence by a generous helping of beer.
After a few rounds of howling instructions at my old friend Vladimir, one of the Brits put down his drink, turned to me, and asked a very reasonable question.
"What the f**k do you know, you little p***k?"
The answer? Well, when it came to boxing, very little. Even less if it involved actually doing it myself. The only sparring session I'd had in my life involved me getting battered by my younger brother in our Mum's back garden a couple of months previously.
"Stop running away, Mike," John Henry had hissed.
"I'm not even punching very hard. Look, just stand your ground and try and hit me, okay?"
Fast forward to the present day, and the time had finally come to really see what it was like to be a boxer. Real training, and a real sparring session. Really.
Enter Eddie Tofa, who runs the River City Boxing Club in Springvale. Tofa generously offered to give me a quick training session, before throwing me in the ring with one of his "best guys".
I arrived at the gym the following week, and Eddie and I got straight down to business. With a mitt on each hand and a wide grin on his face, he implored me to start throwing jabs, hooks, and straight left hands.
"One, two. One, two, three. One, two, one."
Within seconds, pain shot through my hands and wrists, and I began to dread the impact of each punch. It was quickly dawning on me that boxing wasn't as easy as it appeared on TV.
After a short, brutal, training session it felt like I'd already gone 12 rounds. Eddie, generous with his encouragement and advice, said the time had come for me to step into the ring with 17-year-old Majre Apiata-Cook, Whanganui's 70 kilogram champion.
While I had at least a 14kg weight advantage on him, Majre held the upper hand in every other department - speed, skills, fitness, experience, youth, pain tolerance, and most importantly, power.
Our bout was scheduled for three two minute rounds, which seemed fairly reasonable. Six minutes of boxing, how hard could that be? I was fitted with a helmet, and Eddie offered some final instructions.
While this was technically a sparring session, there was very little chance of me getting seriously hurt. Eddie was quick to point out that safety came first at all times, and that Majre wouldn't be throwing any of his trademark bombs at his nervous and slightly pudgy opponent across the ring.
Majre and I touched gloves, and we were off. Eddie bellowed instructions and urged me on, but Majre's defences proved difficult to breach. I hammered away wildly, landing a couple of body shots, and, well, that was about it. Fatigue quickly set in and I was shocked to discover that being jabbed in the nose hurt quite a bit.
Over the next two rounds I managed to land a couple of head shots on Majre, both of which I quickly apologised for.
"It's all good, bro," Majre said with a grin.
It was obvious that if he so desired, Majre could have ended my resistance in a matter of seconds. Instead, he lent on the ropes and let me swing away, occasionally popping me with a jab to keep me at bay.
Between each round I was on my hands and knees, gasping for air, while my opponent stood nonchalantly in a corner.
Eddie informed me that the third round was where I needed to "step on the gas". I was running on fumes that point, but somehow I managed to bounce on my toes and stalk Majre like a lion stalks its prey.
I threw at least a hundred punches over that six minutes but only managed to land a handful. Majre, on the other hand, threw far less but landed with pretty much all of them.
He said he had been boxing for the past seven years and had competed in 20 official bouts so far, mostly against people from the Wellington and Taranaki areas.
"My dad wanted me to know how to fight, so he brought me down here [River City Boxing Gym] when I was 10," Majre said.
"There's the Golden Gloves that are held in Taupo, and if you win there then you're the best in your division in the North Island. Then you've got North Island versus South Island, and then you've got nationals."
Despite his obvious talent, Majre said pursuing boxing into the professional ranks wasn't something he planned on doing.
"For me, I don't think so. I'm planning on going into the army next year."
His advice for Mike 'The Nightmare' Tweed?
"Keep your guard up."
"I was quite surprised with the amount of punches you threw, and that you lasted the whole three rounds."
Tofa said he and his wife Sandra had taken over the running of the Rivercity Boxing Club seven years ago. Before that it was under the guidance of Jipsy and Ivan Lacey, and the gym had been at the Hatrick Raceway complex.
With the help of Mike Paul from Total Span Steel Buildings and several successful grant applications, a new gym was built at the Kairau Rugby Club in May 2016.
Tofa has been coaching there ever since, and despite boxing's violent reputation, he maintains that sports such as rugby and league are far more dangerous.
"The number one priority for the coach is the safety of the boxer," Tofa said.
"Right from the minute you start you learn to keep your hands up, and to protect yourself at all times. My first instruction to a new kid? Always listen to your coach."
Fitness was a huge part of boxing, Tofa said, as was having the right "mentality".
"We teach the kids the physical side of things, but it's all in the head, the mentality is very important. We should take a win as a bonus, because if you win you don't learn anything. When you lose, you can learn from it.
"Even if you're not going to do the real thing, by training and getting some skills, it can equip you for the rest of your life."
The River City Boxing Association will be hosting the 2021 New Zealand National Boxing Championships, the first time it has been held in Whanganui for 68 years.
In March, the club will host its first ever corporate boxing night, with members of the public being offered a three month training camp before entering the ring to do battle.
For more information on the River City Boxing Gym, call Eddie and Sandra Tofa on (06) 3448341 or 0273682306.
I'm New to This: Learning to fly with a Wanganui Aero Club pilot
I'm new to this: Laurel Stowell rows on the Whanganui River
I'm new to this: Renowned Whanganui potter Ivan Vostinar shows a newbie the ropes
I'm New to This: Boxing with Eddie Tofa and Majre Apiata-Cook
He lost an arm and a leg in a crash that killed three friends.
