Australian Penthouse

Forget golf or footy, boxing is the new corporate sport of choice, with mild-mannered businessmen around Australia – and the world – lining up for a crack at the title…and each other.

Story: Denise Mooney
Photos: Andrew K

[Show as slideshow]

[View with PicLens]

123456►

The decibel level gradually increases as the crowd pours into the lunch venue. Suited businessmen and women mix with tradies on their way home from work. But this is no ordinary lunch. A flamboyantly dressed announcer takes to the stage, introducing edgy-looking fighters with names like Nick ‘The Brighton Bomber’ Paton and Robbie ‘The Entertainer’ Williams. Loud music is accompanied by teams of dancing cheerleaders. Welcome to the real fight club, otherwise known as the Fight Fit Boxing Challenge, the second of three ‘white-collar boxing’ events held in Melbourne in 2009.

In the ensuing bouts, several of these first-time fighters are knocked down and there are a few cuts and bruises, but most survive with their dignity intact. It’s impressive, considering none of these guys had come close to a shiny red glove up until three months ago. There may not be any Danny Greens here, but they’re willing to have a go. And the punters love it.

Warren ‘The Hurricane’ Hebbard is one of the first to step up. The 27-year-old advertising account manager is not the type you’d expect to find slugging it out in the squared circle. His workmates laughed in disbelief at first, but soon they were booking a table. He says the organisers didn’t sugar-coat the challenges involved. “Often, it’s more brutal than professional fighting,” says Hebbard. “People get noses broken and black eyes. That’s half the spectacle.”

After a solid performance on the day, Hebbard is pleased to win his bout. “There was a feeling of relief, to tell you the truth,” he confides. “I guess I put a bit of pressure on myself to perform in front of my family and friends.” He says the appeal of the sport goes beyond seeking glory in the ring: “If you looked around the change rooms after that fight, you would have struggled to tell the difference between fighters that won and fighters that lost. I know that sounds a bit corny, but it’s just the way it was.”

The Fight Fit Challenge is the brainchild of Joe Cursio, a boxing promoter who runs the Fight Fit boxing gym in South Melbourne. Hebbard joined the gym a year earlier and was one of 16 fighters selected for the July 2009 bout. So, will he do it again? “I’m not sure about that, but every famous fighter retires and then comes back, so you never know!” he laughs.

White-collar boxing, also known as executive or corporate boxing, originated in New York in the early ’90s, when middle-class professionals like bankers and hedge-fund managers started joining Gleason’s, the working-class gym in Brooklyn that was instrumental in producing world heavyweight champs like Muhammad Ali and George Foreman. The concept took off and has since spread around the world. It has already been labelled ‘the new golf’ in Britain, where office workers are flocking to live out their fight club fantasies. The term ‘white-collar boxing’ has been the subject of a legal stoush in Australia, where the Melbourne-based Australian Academy of Boxing trademarked the term. As a result, event organisers from Fight Fit must avoid the label.

In white-collar boxing, fighters wear 14 or 16-ounce gloves to protect them from head injuries. Bouts of three two-minute rounds are scored on points. There has been some controversy overseas because unlike amateur or professional boxing, there is no upper-age limit and participants don’t have to undergo any health screenings. But Cursio insists his events are safer because opponents are evenly matched. They train at the same gym, so it’s easier to match fighters, unlike in inter-club or charity bouts. “It’s a controlled environment,” he says. Since the first Fight Fit event in March 2009, inquiries to the gym have increased steadily. The 40-year-old former pugilist says people are attracted to boxing because it’s the ultimate solo sport: “There’s no-one that can help you. You’re on your own, and it can all be over in one second.”

In Perth, a charity white-collar boxing tournament held in early 2009 attracted more than 1000 people, including local celebrities, socialites and businessmen. Rivalry between the main combatants was so intense that a rematch was later staged. ‘Marvellous’ Malcolm Day, managing director of AdultShop.com, and luxury car dealer Troy ‘The Sweetest Thing’ Barbagallo went at it hammer-and-tongs. Barbagallo won the first bout, and the rematch was declared a draw. Despite a tough contest, and some even tougher fighting words afterwards, Day reckons the only injury was to his ego.

The 44-year-old ‘porn king’ reckons most competitors were surprised by how tough the fights actually were. Training for a boxing match is no picnic, but it’s crucial to go the distance. “It sounds easy, but it’s like getting chased by a pack of lions with your heart going 80 miles an hour,” says the fit Day. “After a few rounds, most of the businessmen were history, puffing like steam trains.” Day is still bugging Barbagallo, who refused to go two more rounds when the fight was declared a draw, for a rematch. He says white-collar boxing is meant to be entertaining, rather than brutal: “It’s not designed to have businessmen knocked out and beaten up.”

He may be old enough to know better, but 42-year-old Grant Walmsley was “rapt” to be selected for the Fight Fit Challenge. After running the Melbourne Marathon the previous year, he wanted to work on his upper-body strength and core fitness. “It’s a really tough workout, but really rewarding. I’m shitting myself,” he said before the July fight, where he suffered a narrow defeat. Walmsley, a manager for a software company, also had a couple of tables of clients at the gig: “It’s a good corporate day. People are sick of going to the footy.”

Cursio says the boxers don’t have the skills to do any real damage to one another, and because they all train together, there is a lot of support and camaraderie. “The last thing we want is for people to get in the ring and get punched up,” he says. Along with copping the odd cut and bruise, participants are put through a gruelling training program. Over an eight-week period, they will complete three fitness sessions per week plus running and strength work. Sparring is introduced later. “We’re trying to cram into eight weeks what would normally take a professional boxer three to five years,” explains Cursio. “These guys are holding down normal jobs. Most of them are going home and falling asleep. It’s quite a big commitment.”

The harsh regime hasn’t stopped contenders from signing up. “The majority of men have always had a dream in the back of their heads since they watched Rocky fighting in the ring,” says Cursio. “We’ve created an environment to make it accessible for people.” With boxing, the challenge is personal; there’s no-one to pick up the slack: “The boxing ring is the loneliest place in sport, and probably the most unforgiving. If you haven’t done the work, it’s not like a team sport where someone will pick up the mantle and help you out. It’s pretty daunting, but the mental aspect is probably what gets to most people. It really consumes you.”

Related articles

• Gallery: Jasmine
• Gallery: Krystal
• Interview: Australia’s Secret War
• Gallery: Kokko
• Gallery: Janina