Basic Training at Ten Goose: From Hard Knocks to Oatmeal

Let’s play a word game.

If you see the words boxing trainer , what do you think of? An overweight, cigar-chomping, middle-aged man with food stains on his shirt, tobacco stains on his teeth and the ability to talk out of the side of his mouth in an unintelligible manner, right? Kind of like Burgess Meredith in the Rocky movies.

Take a look at Joe Goossen and then think again. He is none of the above.

As a matter of fact, when you look at the baby-faced, 33-year-old Goossen crouched in the corner of a ring, the natural tendency is to ask him to return to his seat before he gets hurt.

That’s understandable. Goossen not only doesn’t look like a trainer, he doesn’t act like one either. His reading material includes a lot more than just Ring magazine, he does the best Johnny Carson impersonation this side of Rich Little, his face is unmarked and he’s in better shape than some of the fighters he’s trained.

So what’s a guy like this doing in a sweaty gym?

Joe Goossen was a football player. A 155-pound linebacker facing 225-pounders, he wasn’t going too far in that sport, but Goossen played at L.A. City College and Pierce.

He knew his future wasn’t in that direction, but he hoped it would be somewhere in the sports world. Sports was in his family’s blood. His brother Greg played major league baseball. His brother Dan was a college basketball player.

“If I was going to do anything with the rest of my life,” Joe says, “I wanted it to be sports related.”

He imagined himself a fighter. Until he got into the ring with one. When Joe was just a 16-year-old student at Grant High, his brother Pat told him about this 15-year-old hotshot at a nearby gym.

“He could kick your behind,” Pat told Joe.

“There’s no way a 15-year-old could do that,” Joe said.

And to prove his point, the younger Goossen went in search of this tough 15-year-old.

When he finally found him--a mild-looking, 115-pound blond kid--Goossen walked up to him and said, simply, “I’m Joe Goossen and I’d like to fight you.”

The kid nodded awkwardly, stuck out his hand and said, “Hi, I’m Randy Shields.”

Shields would go on to become a professional fighter, first as a lightweight, then as a welterweight. He would fight twice for a world title, losing a close decision to World Boxing Assn. champion Pipino Cuevas and, two years later, lasting into the 13th round before being stopped by then-WBA champ Thomas Hearns. Shields also lost a close fight to future champion Sugar Ray Leonard in a non-title fight.

But on that particular day, he was going to face Joe Goossen, who had never been in a ring and had no idea what he was getting into.

The pair went over to Shields’ house where his father, Sonny, kept a ring in the backyard. Sonny gave Goossen some gloves and a mouthpiece and rang an imaginary bell. Goossen and Shields fought three rounds before Joe had enough. He was still standing, but Shields was beginning to land some crushing blows toward the finish.

The fight was over. But a lasting friendship had just begun.

Goossen stayed around for 12 years. He worked in Shields’ corner throughout his career. At first, it was out of friendship for Shields and the excitement of the fight scene. But as time went on, Goossen kept absorbing the activity around him. It not only creeped into his brain, but also his blood.

When Shields retired, Goossen turned to a career as a salesman. He sold office supplies, but he couldn’t get the smell of the ring out of his nostrils. When he, his brother Dan and others members of his family formed the Ten Goose Boxing Club of North Hollywood three years ago, there was no doubt what Joe’s role in the operation would be.

“I felt confident I could prepare fighters,” Joe says. “How I was not really sure.”

Joe Goossen spends six to seven days a week in the Ten Goose gym, which consists of a ring, punching bags and a training area ensconced in a single-room house built specifically for the purpose on a cul-de-sac on a quiet North Hollywood street.

He works with fighters whose experience ranges from novice 15- and 16-year-olds to a Frankie Duarte, who was fighting when Goossen was still in school.

Duarte (39-6-1 overall) is 7-1-1 under the Ten Goose banner and will fight Jesus Salud (20-0) tonight at the Forum for the North American Boxing Federation bantamweight title.

For those who wonder why a veteran of just one amateur fight is telling others how to box, Goossen has an answer.

“I have never been one to dwell on what other people think,” he says. “If someone gives me responsibility for something, I’m going to do it. I feel my family has always been winners. I’ve spent a lot of time in different gyms. I’ve watched and I’ve learned. Someone doesn’t have to tell you to connect dot A to dot C. I’ve got an eye for athletics. I’ve picked this stuff up. Look at Dodger manager Tommy Lasorda. He was never a great ballplayer, but he learned enough by participating to know what it takes to win. He found his niche in coaching and managing. It’s the same for me.”

Duarte posed a unique challenge for Ten Goose. Here was a one-time bona fide contender whose dreams had dissolved into a bottle. Duarte had exchanged his boxing career for a miserable existence as an alcoholic.

Early in 1984, he came to the Ten Goose gym at age 29. He hadn’t had a drink in 1 1/2 years. But, except for one dismal outing in Hawaii which he took for the money, he hadn’t had a fight in almost five years.

Practically at the opening bell of his career as a trainer, Goossen was faced with a huge challenge. Could he put the genie back in the bottle? Could he undo much of the damage Duarte had done to himself?

Goossen wasn’t worried about whether Duarte was truly reformed.

“To me, he was innocent until proven guilty,” Goossen says. “The first thing I asked myself was, how much more can I teach a Frankie Duarte? The most important thing was to not turn him from something he is into something he can’t be. One area I helped him in was moving his head more in the ring, but we basically worked on conditioning.”

There was plenty to do. Normally a 118-pounder, Duarte had ballooned up to 138. Never mind running around the ring. He found it hard just running to the refrigerator. He developed shin splints. He had pain in his Achilles tendon and puffiness in his ankles.

And he wasn’t even sure he had come to the right place to cure his ills.

“The Ten Goose gym is not your standard, everyday gym,” Duarte says. “I’m used to a place where everybody has a somber look on their face and is serious all the time. These guys were all loose and kidding. I didn’t know if it was for me. It didn’t look like the eye of the tiger. But it became really enjoyable. People at Ten Goose socialize and make you feel comfortable. The Ten Goose gym has been my rehabilitation center.”

So under Goossen’s guidance, Duarte gritted his teeth and went to work.

“I knew what was at the end of the rainbow,” Duarte says. “And the closer I got to my goal, the more I became strengthened. I couldn’t go into the ring right away against guys who would try to knock my head off. I had to come along slowly. I knew I had to put up with the pain because it was here to stay and it was something I would have to live with to get back the glory.

“But little by little, the pain disappeared. The shin splints were gone and so was the pain in my Achilles. Before I knew it, I was 22 years old again.

“Joe gave me confidence. He’s just a natural-born coach. He knows how to talk to you. When you have a bad day, he doesn’t give you the impression it’s the end of the world. A lot of trainers, if you talk back, they will finally see your way. Not Joe. He sticks to what he knows is right. Fighters need that. It really gets tough in there and you often need a push.”

Not too much these days. The one thing most of Duarte’s opponents mention now before they fight him is that they expect to be facing an old man at 31. None of them say that when the final bell has rung. In many of his recent fights, Duarte seems to have gotten stronger in the later rounds.

“Before, I thought I was in great shape, but I didn’t know I was dying inside,” Duarte says. “Before, I had negative thoughts about boxing because, win or not, I knew what was in store for me and that was a lot of pain. Now I feel a little tiredness around the fourth round but, after that, it’s a breeze. I know I won’t get tired and die at the end so I can set my own pace.”

Duarte may have beaten the bottle, along with the fatigue factor, but he still has two vices he must be constantly steered clear of--cold cereal and Mexican food. He has an insatiable appetite for both.

The day before one of his fights, Duarte, along with Goossen and a friend, passed by a Mexican restaurant. Goossen decided to go in for lunch. Duarte was forced to sit there as the food came. Tacos, enchiladas and chili all passed before his desperate face.

“At least let me have a chip,” Duarte begged.

“No,” Goossen said, “this is just going to make you meaner.”

Goossen is not one to just let the chips fall where they may. He not only advises Duarte and his other fighters on proper foods to eat, he also cooks them. Whether it’s soft-boiled eggs, fruit passed through a blender, or oatmeal, Goossen personally prepares his fighter’s food in the final days before a bout. Either they move into a hotel near his house or they move right in with him.

The needs of his fighters are not always so simple.

Michael Nunn is another Ten Goose fighter. An alternate on the 1984 U.S. Olympic team, Nunn has won all of his 16 professional fights, 11 by knockout. But not without some criticism. His ability to put opponents away has been questioned as has his punching power.

In Goossen’s mind, those criticisms are also directed at Nunn’s corner.

“Anything he does is a direct reflection on me,” Goossen says. “People forget, though, that he has had two serious hand injuries.

“But I don’t claim to know it all. I get a lot of advice on Michael. What makes sense, I try. What is not practical, I don’t use. I also watch a lot of film on him. I watch as much fight film as my wife watches soap operas. And that’s most of the day.”

Goossen tried to show Nunn how to get more of his body into his punches. He found an activity that would best illustrate his point--chopping wood. The next day, Nunn was out in front of the Ten Goose gym, ax in hand.

So if you happen to be at the Forum tonight and see a guy in one corner who looks like he got lost on his way to the snack bar, don’t worry.

It’s just Joe Goossen, trying to put a new face on an old profession.