Joe Calzaghe, 35, has been the World Boxing Organization super-middleweight
champion for 10 years, since beating Chris Eubank in 1997. Undefeated after
43 professional fights, he has not lost a bout since he was 18. He is
divorced and has two sons: Joe, 13, and Connor, 10. His Sardinian-born
father, Enzo, 58, has trained Joe since his late teens, and in 2006 helped
him to a career-defining victory over America’s “next Tyson”, Jeff
Lacy. Enzo and his wife, Jackie, live one mile from Joe in south Wales
Enzo: I was brought up in Sardinia, and Sardinian culture is very
simple: you’re either a football player, a boxer, a waiter or a cook. That’s
about it. I wanted Joe to be a soccer player, but he wasn’t picked for this
and that, and then, when he was eight, I gave him a punchball and he was
pretty good. I took him to a gym, aged 10, and the trainer said: “You have
an open-class kid.” I said: “What does that mean?” He said: “It means he’s
very, very good.”
Now I’m not stupid. I know class. People say don’t push your kid. But I’m
completely the opposite. If you’ve got a kid with class — whether it’s in
tennis, studying or whatever — they’ve got to be pushed, because the day
they don’t make it, they will say: “It’s because of my old man. He didn’t
give me no encouragement.” But then, if it all goes wrong and you did push
them, it’ll be: “Dad ruined my life.” I’ve never been scared of pushing Joe,
because my son is not a run-of-the-mill talent. He’s a genius. I noticed
that, and I was not going to let him live a normal life of socialising and
destroy what I’d spotted. There was something unique there. Obviously, he
wanted to play with other kids, but I was trying to make him understand his
ability. Encouragement became an order.
I pushed Joe to do the Lacy fight. He said: “I’m not fighting.” I said: “Joe,
you’re losing belief in yourself. You’re thinking too much about him. You’re the
one who holds 19 records. You’re the one who’s got an immaculate ability.”
I said: “Joe, trust me, you will make this guy look like a fool.” I felt his
whole career would be down the pan for one silly move if he didn’t fight. I
had to take charge of that choice, knowing Joe’s ability would prevail.
I’m a dad only to the door of the gym. Then we’re purely fighter and trainer.
We switch off. Moody in the gym? Joe’s a psycho. That helps me because it
doesn’t kill the love but it pares it down. I’ll give him two fingers and
he’ll say: “Dad, piss off!” That works for us. That chemistry is exactly
what we need in order for me to push him, and him to want to be pushed.
That’s the beauty of it. In the lead-up to a fight, I call him a chameleon,
a snake of different colours. He changes all the time. His eyes go from
passionate and warm to cold as ice. I don’t get no conversation out of him.
He’s what you’d call arrogant and psyched up. That’s what I want to see.
I never think of the danger. At the end of the day, boxing is a sport, no
worse than car-driving. I’ve got no reason to be anxious or stressed. It’s
his job and he does it well. Because I’ve trained him, I know he’s better
than the other guy, so I’ve never had the eyes of a father in the ring. It
sounds as if I’m a sadist, but we love each other to bits. I would never be
training Joe if I didn’t have the ability to do it. A few years ago, there
were some selfish remarks in a newspaper. They were saying he wasn’t
performing, even though he won. They were going: “Change your father as
trainer.”
That hurt me, not because they wanted Joe to leave me, but because I had a
victory — what was the problem? It didn’t please some television pundits? It really
pissed me off big time. I said to Joe: “If you want to go, go. I don’t give
a shit. But I don’t deserve this.” But we rode that storm.
I don’t know why Joe has never got the recognition he deserves. The problem in
Britain is they love a set of losers. Tim Henman: front three pages? It’s a
joke. Andrew Murray being put forward for Sports Personality of the Year?
Tell me why. They like damn losers here and Joe has never had the respect.
He’s too good for his own good — that’s the bottom line.
We’ve never been tempted to leave Wales. When you’ve got enough, you’ve got
enough, and the warmth we have as a family — you couldn’t get that if you
were a billionaire. You can’t buy love. The family’s the most
important thing.
If the fighting finished tomorrow, my job’s done. I’ve been rewarded as a
father and as a trainer. I’m happy — absolutely over the moon with myself.
Joe: My earliest memories of my dad are of him coming home from the pub
on a Saturday night. He was a musician. Mum used to send us to bed early,
but I knew I could stay up and watch Sportsnight or boxing when Dad came
home. He’d have these big boots on, with metal tacks, and I could hear him
coming from a quarter of a mile away.
Football was my first love. I’d cry if I got left out of the side. Then Dad
took me to a gym. I started with another trainer, but my dad took over when
I was 17 and I won three consecutive ABAs [Amateur Boxing Association
titles] with him in my corner. Dad is not just my dad; he’s my best friend.
We are very, very close and I want that in my relationship with my sons. I’m
relaxed with them, even if they do things wrong. I’m not a person who
believes in being hard on kids. I think that can work the opposite way. My
dad was probably a bit too hard on me, because I lost out on my childhood.
Even simple things like sleepovers would be difficult. I wasn’t allowed to
do things like that. I was made to train. When you’re a kid and it’s raining
or snowing and you’re told to go out for a run, you don’t like it. I used to
rebel. When I was 15 or 16, I’d say: “I’m going to quit. I don’t want to
box.” He’d say: “Then don’t box.” And after a day or two I’d be back in the
gym.
I’m a very proud fighter. The fights I’ve been in, even when I broke my hand,
I’ve always found a way to win. Dad always says the right thing in the
corner. He’ll tell me if I’m having a bad run. He’ll give me a clip around
the ear. He makes things a bit worse than they are to ensure that in the
next round I lift my game. It’s great having him there, but at the end of
the day you have to fight yourself. A lot of the time, he’s telling me what
to do and I’m not listening.
Before the Lacy fight, I injured my wrist in sparring and didn’t spar for a
week. To be honest, it was like I was trying to find a way out of the fight,
because I was getting stressed out.
I wasn’t scared of the guy but I didn’t want to fight him with one hand. But Dad
said: “If you pull out of the fight, people are going to be calling you a
chicken.” He made me put things into perspective. Thank God he pushed me,
because I managed to fight the best fight I ever fought.
When I win, Dad always gives me a big sloppy kiss on the lips. He’s the first
guy in the ring and tries to lift me on his shoulders. That makes me more
nervous than fighting because I’m sure he’s going to drop me one of these
days. Afterwards we’ll go for a pint or something to eat. Nothing
extravagant. I don’t go for the high life. And I don’t need people telling
me I’m great. I’ve got my family and that’s what matters.
I had a lot of injury problems in 2000 and 2001, and people were saying: “Get
rid of your dad.” And it really upset him. He sat me down and said, listen,
he’s done his best for me and if I feel I need another trainer, that’s okay.
A couple of names were mentioned and there were a few phone calls, but I
stuck with my dad and it’s worked for me.
I see Dad every day of the year. He’s a pain in the arse sometimes, but I love
him. Every morning I get up and he’s going: “Come on, Joe. Get down to the
gym.” And I think: “I don’t want to train. I’ve got a bit of a hangover.” A
lot of fathers and sons don’t work, especially in boxing. But we get on. We
have similar personalities, because we don’t hold grudges. We’ll have a row
and then it’s forgotten. Ten minutes later we’ll have a cup of tea. I’ve
never resented my dad for pushing me, because he’s always thinking of me
first and foremost. I owe everything to him. He started me boxing. He needed
to push me the way he did to get the best out of me. What else would I be
doing? Working in a factory? So, looking back, I’m really happy that he
kicked me up the arse.
No Ordinary Joe: The Autobiography of the Greatest British Boxer of Our Time
(Century, £18.99) is out now
Interviews: Lauren St John.Photograph by Ivor Prickett
