Joel Quenby

Panda with a punch

 

He says he was relieved to discover he had cancer. He gets in the ring with men half his age – and surprises himself by sometimes winning. They call him the "crazy foreigner" but, as his coach, doctor and others testify, there's method – and much heart – in this expat boxer's madness.

 

A temple fair, Chaiyaphum province, and the early-evening crowds are distracted from the hawkers' stalls by the spectacle of a farang furiously exchanging blows with a local. Standing toe to toe, sporting the padded headgear used by amateur boxers, the pair punctuates the evening's muay Thai schedule with a heated slugfest that has the throng hooting with excitement.

 

Midway through the final round, the young Thai fighter seems incensed. When his Caucasian opponent moves in close, he shoves him away and launches a flurry of wild hooks clearly designed to effect an abrupt stoppage. Luckily for the farang, though, none of the punches connects, and he counters with a combination that sends the Thai boxer stumbling back onto the ropes.

 

The bell sounds and the glistening combatants embrace and return to their corners. The 200-strong horde surrounding the temporary ring awaits the verdict. The referee hoists the farang's arm. His Thai opponent drops to his knees to elaborately wai his bemused vanquisher, who looks faintly embarrassed by the gesture.

 

The muttering crowd falls silent as the victor's trainer removes his charge's headgear; the foreigner looks twice the age of his challenger. Brushing perspiration from his bald pate, he makes a little bow to the amazed audience.

 

"I was pretty surprised when the referee raised my hand. It's a good feeling,'' says American expat Wilson shortly afterwards.

 

The 46-year-old is an unusual addition to any fight bill, particularly one in a small village in northeastern Thailand.  "I'm routinely the only foreigner in sight and it doesn't faze me -- I don't even think about it.''

 

The vivid Thai script adorning his boxing shorts proudly announces that Wilson is "farang ba'' (crazy white foreigner). The nickname was coined by Wilson's trainer and has stuck ever since.

 

"It's a title which I wear with honour,'' he says.  "It's a very strange sport for me to have selected, I admit. I do it because it's a challenge every time I climb into the ring.''

 

New York-based film-maker John Sullivan seized upon the self-deprecating nickname for the title of his documentary about Wilson, which recently completed its rounds on the international film-festival circuit. I ask Sullivan about Wilson when we meet at a Bangkok Film Festival screening of Farang Ba. He shakes his head, rolls his eyes and confirms: "He's crazy. The film is his story told through his words.'' And a memorable tale it makes too.

 

Wilson says he was a bit of a wimp at school, preferring the library to the sports field. While he rarely exercised, hitting the books won him prestigious slots in America's finest schools -- Yale and Harvard law school. This eventually set him up for a job with White & Case, a law firm in his hometown of Washington, DC. But when an opportunity arose with the Asian Development Bank in the Philippines, Wilson, fancying a change, grabbed it.

 

Shortly after he'd departed for Manila, his overweight father died of a sudden heart attack. After the funeral, Wilson took a good look at his paunch and decided to change his sedentary lifestyle. "I thought, `I'm on that same path. I've got to do something about this'.''

 

Seeking a gym, Wilson studiously avoided the obvious choices: plush hotel facilities and expat health clubs. Instead, hoping to meet some local characters, he found a gym called the Elorde Sports Centre in the Manila suburbs. A boxing gym formed the heart of the complex, which made Wilson wonder whether this was the right place for an unfit lawyer. But the trainer there encouraged him, saying: "We're not going to make you into a fighter, but the workout would be really good for you.''

 

Wilson takes up the story: "So the trainers had me jumping rope, doing sit-ups, and learning the basic punches -- and it was indeed a good workout. So the day finally came when William [Develos, Wilson's trainer] said, 'Well, you've learned all the basics, it's time for you to start sparring.' I didn't want to look like a coward, so I said, 'OK, I'll try it.' He put me in the ring with a professional. I was no threat to him so he just played with me. I lasted one three-minute round; I don't think I've ever been so tired in my whole life. But I climbed out of the ring and I was smiling. I said, 'Can I do it next time?'

 

Wilson began to steadily acclimatise to the ring.

 

"The day came when I went back to my corner and William wiped me off and there was blood on the towel. And he said, 'You have a bloody nose. Do you want to stop?' And I said, 'No, I want to give him a bloody nose.' That's when we realised we had created this monster.''

 

Wilson began boxing as an amateur middleweight when he was 32, an age when most fighters are considering retirement. His first serious bout took him to an open-air ring in a Manila slum to fight a policeman. Wilson decked his opponent twice in one round; it was enough to secure his first victory.

 

"And I think it was probably the happiest moment of my whole life. I don't think I've ever felt that completely on top of the world.''

 

Wilson continued competing every couple of months and began immersing himself in the sport. He befriended the Filipino national boxing team, even serving as their honorary manager at the Barcelona and Atlanta Olympics.

 

He returned to the States in 1991 to rejoin White & Case, unaware that the fight of his life was imminent: He was diagnosed with ulcerative colitis, an incurable bowel syndrome which renders the sufferer weak and anaemic due to internal bleeding and constant diarrhoea.

 

Although he was initially able to manage the disorder, his condition deteriorated after he transferred to Bangkok in 1994. The unpredictability of his bowel movements began to seriously disrupt his life.

 

"For the four years I had colitis, my ability to do sports decreased over time. The last two years I wasn't able to do anything. How can you do road work when you have to rush to the bathroom 20 times a day?''

 

Then doctors discovered a cancerous tumour and told Wilson he'd have to have his colon removed. Languishing in hospital as he underwent chemotherapy, Wilson was certain his boxing days were over. But he was determined to focus his mind on achieving a full recovery.

 

"I needed a goal to get back in shape, although I wasn't sure I'd be able to do much of anything again. Because boxing seemed so unlikely at that point, my goal was to run a marathon. I set myself two goals: I would run the entire distance; and I wanted to break five hours.

 

"I succeeded in both: I crossed the New York City marathon finishing line in four hours, 56 minutes and 22 seconds, having run the entire 26 miles [41.8 kilometres]. Even crossing the line, gasping for breath, [the thought] clicked in my mind, `If you can run the marathon, you've beaten cancer'.''

 

But the tumour had left a permanent legacy: he had to be fitted with a colostomy bag. A jarring scene from John Sullivan's film graphically illustrates Wilson's routine of changing the small plastic pouch inserted into his abdomen. Said Dr Bruce Orkin, Wilson's surgeon: "The major issues these people deal with are body image and the feeling that they're chronically ill because they have a colostomy. This can be devastating to many people.''

 

But a testament to what John Sullivan calls Wilson's ``indomitable spirit'' was his ability to see the positive.

 

"I'm probably the only person, maybe in history, who was relieved to discover he had cancer. I know that sounds really strange, but the colitis was out of control and I had lost hope of ever getting it under control. Having the pouch meant that I no longer had to run to the bathroom every five minutes on a sudden overwhelming urge; I could begin to lead a more normal life again.''

 

Wilson returned to training about six months after his operation. "It just felt so good to get back in the ring. I felt as if I'd found a long-lost friend.''

 

But how dangerous is boxing with a colostomy bag? Wilson had discussed the risks of direct trauma to the area with his surgeon. "I'm sure he takes some precautions but you can't limit your life too much,'' said Dr Orkin. "You have to do the things you want to do; and Craig is a great example of that.''

 

Before stepping into the ring, Wilson tapes the colostomy bag to his body, and keeps it snug against his skin with cycling shorts and a foul protector designed to protect against low blows. Even so, he concedes: "If I lived in the US and wanted to participate as an amateur boxer, I don't think I would be allowed to at all, given my medical history and the fact that I have a colostomy.''

 

Back in Thailand, Wilson boxes competitively and works out every day. At the end of today's workout, his trainer, Decha Boonkamnerd, puts on a glove and Wilson leans back against the ropes. It's time for what Wilson calls his "punishment''. The immense Thai ruefully smiles and then proceeds to deliver 20 rapid, punishing blows to Wilson's stomach. It's an extraordinary spectacle, particularly if one is aware of Wilson's condition. After enduring two more series of punches, Wilson exhales hard, nods to his trainer and says, "sabaii!'' (I'm ok).

 

Later, he explains that this "punishment'' is an essential part of his regime.  "The way I make sure my opponent doesn't hurt me is by making my stomach strong enough that I don't worry about getting hit there.''

 

Says Decha, Wilson's trainer since 1998: "Craig is 46 years old but he trains like a 20-year-old. He'd be able to compete in national tournaments but he's over the age limit.''

 

Wilson explains that the relationship between a boxer and his trainer is a tremendously close and dependent one. For his part, Decha says: "I've never met another American like him. I'm not just his coach; not just his friend. It's like we are family.''

 

Wilson says the best aspect of boxing is the friendships it has brought him.

 

"I've met some wonderful people in Thailand from poor backgrounds, from agricultural parts of the country, whom I'd never have crossed paths with [otherwise]. The Thais are delightful; they're one of the most gracious, hospitable, friendly people I've ever met.

 

"I've learned a lot about Buddhist culture, a lot about the way Thai people look at life. Our backgrounds are very different, but that doesn't mean you can't have a very nice friendship.''

 

One of Wilson's best friends is local TV star Maytee Amornuittikul.

 

The pair began sparring together after Wilson spotted Maytee at the warm-up gym at the International Stadium in Chachoengsao and noted that the actor was of a similar weight.

 

Maytee initially dismissed Wilson's pugilistic proposition. "I thought that he was just joking or something. The fact is he's a good fighter. He works very hard and he's damn good. A normal guy would never do that, so he's unique -- and very crazy.''

 

A wise-cracking camaraderie developed, with Maytee nicknaming Wilson "Panda'' after gracing him with two black eyes. Prior to fighting each other in an exhibition bout in Bangkok's Bang Khun Thian district on HM the King's birthday two years back, the pair exchanged gifts. Wilson gave Maytee a stuffed toy _ a chicken. In return, the actor presented him with a pillow and the warning that he was going to need it. Maytee then proceeded to deck Wilson in the fourth round.

 

"I wasn't hurt,'' says the expat. "I was ready to keep going, but the referee decided that maybe that was enough for a 45-year-old.

 

"Maytee is a much better boxer than I am. Fighting guys half my age, I don't expect to win. I want to win, but to me success is being able to climb in the ring and do my best. Whether I'm the one who wins at the end or not, ultimately doesn't matter.''

 

Dr Orkin thinks Wilson is an remarkable individual.  "He's conquered cancer and here he is boxing, travelling all over the world, interacting with all kinds of people, working full-time. I take my hat off to him.''

 

John Sullivan is similarly impressed: "I've known a lot of professional boxers who've sparred with him, and they say that he has more heart than anybody they've ever faced in the ring. He's really an amazing man.''

 

Wilson's now pushing half a century; for how much longer can he keep boxing? Decha, whose judgement he trusts implicitly, has promised to tell him when the time comes to hang up his gloves.

 

Says Wilson: "I've promised him in return that when he does tell me that, I'll accept it. I won't argue with him. I won't try and ignore him.''

 

Part-owner of the Sports and Martial Arts Centre in Bangkok, Wilson supports the Thai national boxing team and plans to help create a sporting programme for youngsters. Sullivan says Wilson's involvement in community activities is typical of the man's selfless attitude.

 

When he finished editing Farang Ba in New York, the film-maker mailed a copy of it to Wilson and waited anxiously for his friend's reaction.

 

"I could hear the joy in his voice when he called me from Thailand,'' Sullivan recalls. "And he said, 'If I could get one person to get up off the couch and do something that they felt they couldn't do because they had to overcome something, then it's all worth it to me'.''

 

-- Published in The Bangkok Post, 2002