In two hours, McNamara, a 31-year-old boxer from the Eastern Shore, will enter the ring to fight somebody from South Carolina. McNamara, still chasing that jabbing dream of a world title, sold 30 tickets to her own fight - eight scheduled minutes on promoter Jake Smith's March 24 Baltimore Pro Boxing card.
"Touch, touch, touch. Touch her all day long, then bam!" says McNamara's new trainer, Robert Crawford. That's right, others in the room concur. Use that long left jab, that stick, on her all day. Touch, touch, touch - then come in with that right hand. "Cool, calm and steady," Crawford tells his fighter. "Keep the stick on her."
McNamara is not alone. She is a good boxer and good boxers are rarely alone. "This is your night," says McNamara's friend and longtime trainer, Jim Saufley. "About now, you wonder why you're doing all this. A month ago, it sounded like a good idea. But you're ready." Promoter Jake Smith, black-suited instead of blue-jeaned given the occasion, tells Angel this isn't playtime. It's time to concentrate, time to clear your head of all this, he says as he looks at others in the supply room.
A dressing room inspector from the Maryland State Athletic Commission initials McNamara's wrapped hands before they are fitted into 10-ounce, candy-apple red boxing gloves. At 7:45 p.m., Crawford rubs Vaseline around his fighter's eyes. "See yourself walking in the ring," he says, as McNamara closes her greased eyes. The boxer ties her dreadlocks back and slips on her silver and black boxing robe. She resembles a lanky Oakland Raider.
Finally, the preliminaries - the wrapping, the breathing, the stretching, the visualization, the visitations - are over. McNamara is second on tonight's card. The first fight ends with a North Carolina boxer unconscious from a punch to the side of the head. McNamara's fight has to wait until the fight doctors and paramedics determine if the man can move. It is, even by boxing standards, a rough beginning.
By 9 p.m., McNamara is finally cleared to enter the ring. She is calm. She is ready. She is not alone - not until the moment that she is in the ring with the undefeated Donna Biggers. Tonight, sooner or later, one fighter will settle the thing.
But what does a fighter do next with this boxing dream? How far do you push yourself, how many more fights or years of selling your own tickets or hoping you don't leave the ring on a stretcher? Fighters want to leave the ring on their own, having settled something for themselves. Making real money wouldn't hurt either.
"This will make or break you - you know it, Angel," Jake Smith says, moments before the bell rings.
She knows.
***
Angel Nicole McNamara first noticed the oversized boxing gloves dangling above the Love Zone adult store in Fells Point in 1999. Fighting and loving - the contrast was too hard to miss or ignore. McNamara, a Taylor's Island native hampered by asthma in childhood but later a scholarship athlete at Morgan State University, was out of college by then. She was drinking, and smoking too many Newport Menthols. Her mind and body were out of shape. She wanted to "restart" her life.
"I was thinking, 'I want to live,' " she says.
McNamara found herself walking up the 27 narrow wooden steps into Jake "The Snake" Smith's boxing club on Broadway. The gym was sweaty, seemingly held together by duct tape, but equipped with speed bags, heavy bags and a boxing ring with Budweiser corner bumpers. The walls were papered in fight posters promoting matches at the Pikesville Armory, Silver Spring Armory Palace, Steelworkers Hall and Martin's West, featuring fighters with nicknames such as "Rocky" and "Cyclone" and "The Persecutor."
That first day in the gym, there was nothing but guys - guys wondering, Who is this girl? The women who came into Smith's gym typically stayed for a day's workout, maybe two. Just getting a bit of exercise, thank you. They were more serious about watching the guys.
McNamara introduced herself to Smith and his friend, Jim Saufley. If she kept coming back, they'd waive the $40 monthly gym fee. "Just don't dress in anything that would turn the guys on," she was told. No problem. Wearing Vaseline-smeared headgear and hawking into the gym's green spit bucket don't necessarily paint a sexy picture.
Smith and Saufley watched her work. "We got an athlete here. She fights like I did," thought Smith, a former boxing champion in Maryland.
McNamara was serious about learning to box, Saufley remembers. Both men made a commitment: They would teach her to box. Maybe she could learn to be what author Norman Mailer called that "one rare psychological item - an ego able to bear huge pain and administer drastic punishment."
At home in Taylor's Island, McNamara's parents were not overcome with joy at the news of Angel's latest sport.
"I didn't think much of it ... because she is a girl," says her mother, Patricia McNamara. The fourth of five McNamara girls, Angel was always playing sports as a child - even football with the boys, then later, stealing many bases while playing softball for Morgan State - but boxing? Well, the girl always did love to watch boxing on TV and always did admire Muhammad Ali.
"I support her and always have," her mother says. "But I don't watch her fights. I told her I didn't want to see her get beat up."
"Mom," her daughter said, "I'm not going to get beat up."
Her daughter wasn't dreaming of kick boxing, mud wrestling or any "Toughman" competition. Angel McNamara dreamed of becoming a boxer - one of maybe 14 female boxers in Maryland, one of maybe 300 such professionals in the country.
Along the way, she would have to choose a nickname - something that would look good on a fight poster.
***
Female boxers aren't exactly rolling in opportunities; fights can be scarce and paychecks meager. To get a fight, a fighter might have to go up a weight class and risk a painful mismatch. Of the 111 regulated professional bouts in Maryland since last year, only seven featured female boxers. The scarcity of female boxers makes it a tough sell.
"It has not been a priority for local boxing promoters," says Patrick Pannella, executive director of the Maryland State Athletic Commission, which regulates fights in the state. "That's not a reflection of quality but of quantity."
Unlike men's three-minute rounds, female boxers fight two-minute rounds. Four-round fights are common. In Colorado, an amateur fighter named Becky Zerlentes died this month from a head injury received in a Golden Gloves competition, even though she was wearing the required headgear. Professional fighters do not have to wear padded headgear, but female boxers are required to wear chest protectors and abdominal guards. In Maryland, professional female fighters also undergo pregnancy tests to ensure they are not fighting while pregnant.
As in men's boxing, various and often overlapping sanctioning bodies and titles exist. Maryland's championship titles for female fighters are currently vacant.
"I encourage more competitive female bouts," Pannella says. "This sport needs oxygen. This sport needs integrity."
Professional female boxing first gained serious attention in the United States a decade ago, when Christy Martin of Florida won several high-profile bouts and landed on the cover of Sports Illustrated. A coal miner's daughter, Martin became the face of female boxing. Then, Laila "She-Bee Stingin' " Ali made her pro debut in 1999, only six years after the regulatory body USA Boxing recognized the sport. Ali, like her father, the ex-heavyweight champ, commanded attention.
This year, Clint Eastwood's Oscar-winning film Million Dollar Baby certainly brought attention to the fledgling sport. Taking a cue from the movie, boxing promoter Bob Arum has signed Martin and Lucia Rijker (who played Hilary Swank's villainous opponent in the movie) to a July boxing match in Las Vegas. The fight has been dubbed the "Million Dollar Lady," with the winner reportedly to receive $1 million.
Such purses and hype have not yet trickled down to local fighters such as McNamara.
***
At 12:15 p.m. on a Saturday in February, she steps up into Jake Smith's gym. McNamara hasn't had a fight since last August and has ring rust.
"Here's our million-dollar baby!" says Smith. McNamara hasn't seen the movie and doesn't seem in any hurry to do so. She read the book - F.X. Toole's Rope Burns: Stories From the Corner.
"I need a quarter. You got any quarters?" she asks Smith. Metered parking in Fells Point can break any fighter.
She's not alone here. Her girlfriend of nearly three years, Tara Tolbert, helps McNamara on and off with her boxing gloves and thoroughly wipes the sweat off on her jeans. "I know - I'm such a girl," says Tolbert, who brought along something to read - Anne Rice's Beauty's Punishment. Tolbert recoils at watching McNamara fight, but will watch her shadowbox.
"She looks so comfortable. It doesn't look like she's working. Look at her - she can be very dynamic," Tolbert says. "She dreams of boxing. She is boxing."
Saufley trains her today. As McNamara shadowboxes, Saufley tells her to keep her left hand higher. He wants her to turn in circles around her imaginary opponent. She will need to spar soon, but, as always, finding women to spar with will be hard. "She usually spars guys. Basically, that's all we have," Saufley says.
He puts a pair of boxing mitts on and steps into the ring. Time to work combinations: right hand, left hook, repeat. Right hand, left hand, left hook, repeat. "Breathe, come on breathe, Angel," he tells his fighter. She's hitting hard. "She's got man strength," Smith says. "Harder, harder, harder, harder," Saufley continues, as she pounds his mitt with her right hand. The gym's round timer buzzes. The gym's handful of fighters stop to take a 30-second break before the next three-minute round begins.
At 1:05 p.m., McNamara begins working the heavy bag. One punch high, one punch low. Chin down, left hand up. She whistles exhalations with each punch. She hits until the buzzer, then works on it again. Later, her trainer repeatedly drops a medicine ball on her stomach. Smith mentions he's trying to get McNamara a March 24 fight with Donna Biggers out of South Carolina. Probably a four-round fight at Martin's West in Woodlawn. Smith predicts Angel will need two rounds to beat her.
Jake Smith, 39, is really Jay Smith. As a boy, he met his hero, quarterback Johnny Unitas, and the Colts legend misheard the name and called him Jake. That's all it took. Jay became Jake, who would become Maryland's super-middleweight champion and then an owner of a boxing club and fight promoter.
From Smith's "Baltimore Boxing & Fitness" Web site:
When you take a stance, put up your fists, and deliver a punch, the message is: I am accountable for my intent, my fears, and my desire to be strong and to express myself with courage, skill and awareness.
Courage, skill and awareness. Accountable for your fears.
"We all suppress the beast within," says McNamara. One of her tattoos is an African saying, "Accept God. Fear No Man." Another simply says, "Good Girl."
Boxers will say they do not fear getting hurt. There is something worse than getting hurt. Maybe it's the fear of being a bum, if you listen to all those old Rocky movies rerun seemingly every night on TV. Or maybe fans are glued to Stallone's The Contender reality TV show to discover what makes people fight, such a singular and unforgiving act between two humans.
McNamara says she does not fear getting hurt or being a bum. So what then?
"I fear success."
Success?
"The pressures of it. I don't want to lose my focus."
Still, McNamara wants to get her own Web site up and running. She is hunting for a manager. She wants a sponsor. She's been in touch with ex-heavyweight champ George Foreman's brother; maybe he can do something for her. People say a lot of things to boxers who show promise. They get in your ear. "One thing to talk it up," as she says. "It's another thing to put up."
With a month to go before her fight, finding a female sparring partner would also help.
***
About Angel McNamara, boxer:
She is 129 pounds, a junior lightweight. By contrast, Laila Ali is a solid 30 pounds heavier and is a super middleweight. Ali is also 20-0 and ranked No. 1 in the world. She has endorsements and can make a living fighting. Her pedigree doesn't hurt - nor does that of Jacqui "Sister Smoke" Frazier. Her father is ex-heavyweight champ Joe Frazier.
McNamara is 5 feet 10, tall for a female boxer. She's right-handed, but she likes her Ali-like left jab. During her amateur career (she went 14-3), the boxer would win on punches, literally counting her own. As a pro (2-1-1), McNamara learned the judges don't care so much for the number of punches. They look for power, for knockout punches. She learned she wasn't mean enough. Her trainers' refrain: Be more aggressive.
"I was told to destroy that person in the ring," she says. "I couldn't quite adopt that frame of mind."
She stopped one fight herself after her nose was broken. She was working at a bank at the time and "didn't want to scare off the customers." She wore shades for a while. She hasn't had her nose fixed yet - it just might get broken again.
With only four professional fights, she is acutely aware of how hard it is for women boxers to get fights - especially women boxers with no management or endorsements. McNamara needs every fight she can get. She needs Smith, once her trainer, now her promoter. He's no longer in her corner, but is the guy setting up her Maryland fights. If they have breakdowns in communication or trust, that's the price of doing business.
"It can be a greasy business," as she says.
Fights get pulled from her; opponents reportedly have ducked her. And there's the business of a day job. McNamara lives in Silver Spring, where she works as a warehouse manager. Training in Baltimore during the week became impractical this year, so she found a gym in Laurel. She still wants a title fight, and that fight still probably has to go through Smith. It doesn't hurt to show herself in his gym on the weekends.
"I gotta make Jake happy."
Beyond any scheduling or driving hassles, though, the 31-year-old McNamara knows her career is running out of time.
"The window is starting to close a little bit," says her trainer, Saufley. "But she can still go as far in boxing as she wants."
***
On Oscar Sunday, Feb. 27, McNamara finally saw Million Dollar Baby - hours before it won the Academy Award for Best Picture.
Did she cry?
"Of course. I couldn't hold that in."
Didn't think boxers cried.
"Well, we're not supposed to."
***
On a weekend in mid-March, Ed and Brittnay Inkrote wait in Jake Smith's gym for McNamara. Brittnay, 17, is a fighter from York, Pa. McNamara calls Smith on her cell to say she's caught in Baltimore's St. Patrick's Day parade traffic. Brittnay, a southpaw, is excited about sparring a pro. "I can't find girls who punch," she says.
A half-hour later, McNamara steps up into the gym.
"There's my million-dollar baby!" Smith says.
"No one told me about the parade," McNamara says. Her usual down-to-business expression suggests mild aggravation. McNamara seemingly doesn't do anger - an occupational hazard perhaps.
She's not alone. Leron Wilmer, who works security in Laila Ali's camp, is shadowing McNamara today. He's a hometown friend who has joined McNamara's camp. He wants to help her find sponsors, maybe get her to Vegas to fight, get her some real money so she doesn't have to worry about working. Just focus on boxing.
"I wish I had met her five years ago," Wilmer says. "What's it called? Martin?" He means Martin's West, the site of Angel's next fight. "I don't think that's anybody's dream," Wilmer says.
Smith is having his fighters spar today. His stable includes Mike "The Persecutor" Paschall and Mike "Rocky" Dietrich, a Tyson-built heavyweight who Smith calls his billion-dollar baby. They are on the March 24 card, too. The fight posters from Budweiser have come in.
Under her picture, McNamara's hometown is mistakenly listed as Cumberland rather than Cambridge. Then there's the business of the nickname she's chosen: "Saumnice." It's country grammar for "something nice," she says. One of the fight posters lists her as "The Female Angel McNamara." No mention of "Saumnice." What boxer wants to be known as nice?
After the men spar, McNamara and the high school junior get in the ring. Angel works on her footwork and seems both tentative and protective of this kid from York, who looks as fearless and hungry as Hilary Swank's character. Wilmer yells at Angel to keep her left hand up and back the kid off with the left jab. "I got to get her out of here," he says, not meaning the gym but her situation. "No disrespect to anyone who has helped her along the way."
Both fighters work a few rounds until the buzzer and several boxers come over to congratulate Brittnay. Smith exchanges phone numbers with her father. The fighters exchange phone numbers; they want to spar again. "She actually punches!" Brittnay says.
Angel unwraps her taped hand. A nosebleed has dotted her shirt. She's a bleeder.
"It sells," she says.
She introduces Wilmer to Smith, and mentions the fact that he works in Ali's camp. The fact is not lost on Smith. The subject of the fight poster comes up.
"Whose ass do I need to whup about that?" McNamara says.
"Budweiser's," Smith says.
Everyone is sort of not laughing.
***
An important weekend of work: On Saturday, March 19, McNamara and Brittnay sparred again. Sunday, Angel went six solid rounds with a male fighter in the Laurel gym. On Wednesday, the day before the fight, McNamara fasted. Her contract calls for her to be 131 pounds, give or take a pound. She spent the day spitting to lose water weight. She made sure to avoid her arch-enemy: chocolate.
The next night, she will fight second on Jake Smith's Baltimore Pro Boxing card: "The Female Angel McNamara of Cumberland " vs. "Donna 'Nature Girl' Biggers of South Carolina" in a scheduled four-round bout. Robert Crawford of Laurel - Smith's former trainer - will be McNamara's corner man. Jim Saufley will be what they call her second.
"I have to prove myself," McNamara says, "then maybe a serious person will step up to manage me."
It's make or break.
***
The bell rings in the buzzing ballroom of Martin's West. Angel McNamara spends the first round feeling out the shorter, stockier Biggers. McNamara's left jab gets in easily and often. Donna Biggers might be a bigger puncher but can't get within range. Her opponent is fast. That jab, that 31-inch reach, keeps her away.
"Angel, get on her! Let's go!" her corner hollers.
The first round is hers, as a "Ring Card Girl" from Dreamers nightclub of Dundalk circles with a "Round Two" sign. She will not be needed again. In the second, Biggers is more aggressive and lands her first punch of the night, which seems to anger McNamara. She keeps using her jab - touch, touch, touch, then bam! A straight right staggers Biggers, knocking her into the ropes. She bounces off, limply, and into another McNamara flurry, which settles the thing.
The fight is stopped, a technical knockout at 1 minute, 40 seconds of the second round.
"Yeah! Yeah!" she hollers, more to herself than anyone. Jake Smith then hoists his million-dollar baby into the air. McNamara earned $700 for the fight. A few people at Martin's West boo the decision, believing the fight was stopped too soon. Most of the people cheer. McNamara and Biggers embrace, with the losing fighter saying she wants a rematch.
"Why not?" McNamara says back in the dressing room, "I can use the fights." Her trainer, Crawford, is asked about McNamara's performance. "More work, more work," he says. There's always something to work on.
For now, McNamara just wants to get out of her boxing gloves and hug her girlfriend, who did sneak a peek at the knockout. Both re-enter the ballroom, mingling with friends and ticket buyers, as two new fighters step into the ring.
Angel "Saumnice" McNamara is 3-1-1, and tonight, doesn't look at all like a fighter afraid of success.
