BY PHILIP H. ANSELMO, Boxinginsider.com A trained; composed; skilled fist can strike out at an opponent for only so long before it connects directly into the hearts of loved ones closest. A pugilistic dementia reaction of habit with a system in slow motion. Done by thirty-three and bitter about it. What could have been! Not a single promise kept. No limelight. Golden gloves trophies, colorless ribbons and lost timelines… gather dust next to a stack of unopened mail; forgotten for months. Or years. Bloodstains on a battle tested brain. A warrior fed back to the cruel streets unwanted and left to cope alone with predictable failure lying await in ambush ticking like a time bomb inside of himself. Whether it be nerve-damaged ticks violent, abrupt outbursts fists through framed family photos or bottom shelf tequila— this man is but a trapped, wounded hero with torn pride inside. A sad baggage to heave around with nowhere to put it, nor knowledge of how to. The Retired Journeyman will be remembered as the portrayal of a man that left his mark as the loser of boxing matches by those of us who lived through his losses and have scorned his name because of them. But let us take a moment to allot compassion for him because to remember his name is to know the unparalleled and oft-misguided courage it takes to climb through the ropes, and into the ring with nothing left. For every champion, they must first meet The Journeyman… who’s scarred face serves its purpose and with every punch it receives, it only serves as a detriment to this man’s health and further distances him, from him. Woe to The Journeyman— a hollow young man with only directionless; puzzled memories of combat left on his head. Bereft of family or friends sitting quietly in his lonely squat— uninvited, yet familiar company is kept and can always be found seated in an opposing corner of the house in a dimly lit smoker waiting for the bell to ring in The retired Journeyman’s aspiration-dead imagination. Read this article HERE...