ANNAPOLIS, Md. — Went to Washington last weekend for Syracuse-Georgetown. Entertaining as it was, the best shot I saw all weekend belonged not to Billy Edelin or Gerry McNamara but to Amir Shareef.

A little after 9 p.m. Friday in Halsey Field House at the U.S. Naval Academy, the chiseled righthander from Brooklyn caught a sophomore from Alabama named Brian Harp with an explosive left hand. The punch, the first exchanged in a bout between the 165-pound pugilists, sent a surge of electricity through the 4,000 fans, among them plebes (freshmen), friends, faculty and locals. For 15 to 20 seconds, the methodical breather and puncher who headlined Navy’s Brigade Boxing Championships — an academy ritual since 1941 — combined lefts and rights, driving Harp to the ropes.

This sight — boxing on a college campus — is almost unheard of because the NCAA cut the sport in 1961 following a 1960 bout that led to the death of a Wisconsin fighter. Syracuse shut down the sport in 1957 following a successful run that included a national championship in 1936 and seven individual NCAA champions under Roy Simmons Sr.

Its absence is rarely noted because the sport is fledgling at all levels. Professionally, it is often despicable (witness: Mike Tyson) and unfulfilling (see: $24.95 for 49 seconds of Tyson vs. Clifford Etienne).

Yet here at Navy, boxing remains not only a tremendous source of pride but a prime teaching tool. All sophomores are required to enroll in a boxing class. That made me wonder: Why not bring back boxing as an intramural or club sport at Syracuse?

Navy coach Jim McNally said Air Force, Army and Notre Dame host tournaments similar to the brigades. At Notre Dame, interested students take conditioning and boxing classes during the fall, then train for six weeks beginning in January for the Bengal Bouts. The 72-year tradition drew 125 boxers this year and raised $70,000 for Red Cross missions in Bangladesh.

Clearly, I cannot challenge the notion that boxing is primitive, masochistic and brutal. What I can do is demonstrate the lessons and opportunities it offered the midshipmen Friday night that would be of great benefit on any campus.

Fighters wore headgear and padded, thumbless gloves, scoring points not by knockdowns but by landing clean punches to designated scoring areas. Academy boxing, you must understand, is not a celebration of violence but a measure of composure, control and execution.

‘One of the reasons we teach boxing,’ McNally said, ‘is it’s a situation of controlled stress where the midshipmen have to think and react under fire. Boxing has carryover effects to leadership.’

Take Billy Coakley, a 112-pound plebe from South Carolina who looked more likely to be a freshman in high school than college. Coakley entered the ring terrified, his gloves seemingly wearing him, yet managed to knock his opponent’s mouthpiece out in the opening round and win by decision.

Two fights later, in the 125-pound class, a fluent plebe named Jeremy Biggs sent sophomore Matt Gallery to a standing eight count in Round One. The fight ended prematurely with Biggs taking it to Gallery. The victory will bring Biggs much more than the plaque he received at night’s end.

‘If you win as a plebe,’ said senior Adrian Rawn, a squad leader, ‘the rest of your year is cake. In the halls, you get so much respect. No one (screws) with you.’

Rick Weil, a 156-pound senior from Huntington Beach, Calif., understands that well. He won as a plebe and every year thereafter. This year, he became the academy’s 10th four-time champ. Named after an uncle who was a Marine and died in Vietnam, Weil is the first member of his family to go to college. He plans to become a Marine.

‘Some people do it for respect,’ he said. ‘I just love boxing. The neatest compliment I get is when people say, ‘Wow, you box?’ ‘

Frank Parisi, at 132 pounds, carried into the brigades the distinction of being a reigning individual national champ. Parisi’s fight with Bryan Kendris typified a brigade bout — one dominant boxer and one overmatched opponent who, out of will, takes punishment until the final bell. In Round 3, Parisi ripped an uppercut that landed clean, and Kendris, beaten but unwilling to wilt, banged his gloves on his chest, pleading with the ref not to stop the fight. At the end, while waiting for the inevitable decision, Kendris smiled like a child with the remains of a chocolate sundae pooling around his mouth, except in this case, the residue was blood.

For Bobby Villanueva, the victor at 147, boxing is bliss compared to the summer that lies ahead. Upon graduation, he will attempt to become a Navy SEAL.

‘Navy SEAL is the most dangerous option,’ assistant coach Jon Carriglitto said. ‘It’s the most likely to result in bodily harm.’

The attrition rate at Basic Underwater Demolition School — the SEAL training program — is ridiculously high, about 80 percent, McNally said. But Villanueva thinks four years at the academy combined with boxing should help.

‘This is a warrior culture,’ he said. ‘The toughest part is living up to what people expect of you.’

Between the ropes, the people expect the most of Shareef, who hits so hard that McNally asked him not to punch his brigade semifinal opponent in the face. In the finals, Shareef encountered Harp, who happens to be best friends with Shareef’s roommate.

‘We train together, we go to class together, we live together, we could even die together,’ Shareef said. ‘But this is a hurt business. You have to try to eliminate the peripherals and go out there and fight.’

Shareef did, and despite the downpour of blows Harp absorbed, he stood ringside for the following fight, cheering on a teammate and shadowboxing in sync.

The heavyweight bout featured a classic encounter — 6-foot-4, 272-pound Grant Moody, a senior who started at left guard on the football team this year, vs. hulking junior Nehemiah Katz. (Really, that’s his name.) When the football season ended, Moody sought a regular means of exercise and took up boxing just five weeks before the brigades. In lieu of boxing shoes, he fought in white, triple-tied New Balance running sneakers. Katz won by decision, but Moody, who interviewed for a Rhodes Scholarship earlier this year, took great pride in his three rounds.

Boxing, after all — its evils and risks set aside — is about pride, a commodity the sport and the academy do well to embrace.

‘Army-Navy football speaks for itself,’ Moody said. ‘It’s the biggest deal every year. But the brigades, everyone is ringside, and it’s just one on one up there. You’re just throwing.’

What could possibly beat that?

Chris Snow is a staff writer at The Daily Orange, where his column appears on Thursdays. E-mail him at [email protected].

Published on March 5, 2003 at 12:00 pm