There are things about a fight that only the two men who fought it will ever understand.
We might have seen them sweat, bleed and dig heroically deep against one another, but there were only ever two people in that conversation.
Everyone else was a bit part, their voices muted by their lack of proximity to what actually happened.
Even if they were there, they weren’t really there.
Two people, aside from the referee, were there. They spoke through their leather-encased fists and shared tales of their drive, ambition, trauma and desperation as they battled through pain, fatigue and exhaustion.
This morning, I bumped into Juan Laporte and ended up talking for 30 minutes about his life, his recent knee replacement and the huge nights he had.
