Ennyman's Territory: Punch-Drunk and Forgotten: Boxing's Dark Side

Monday, April 20, 2026

Punch-Drunk and Forgotten: Boxing's Dark Side

Many years ago I picked up a hitchhiker in need of a lift over the bridge from Superior into Duluth. (Fwiw, it was not the Lift. Bridge that cross over to Park Point but rather the High Bridge, officially named as the Blatnik.) We struck up a conversation and I quickly learned he was a pro boxer and he looked the part. He had a compact build and a distinctive, somewhat cloudy way of talking that indicated he had taken quite a few blows to the head in his career. I asked for a few more details and learned that his record at that point was 8 wins, 11 losses, or something along those lines.

It seemed to me that he had some hard decisions to make. It's always hard to know when to quit something you have been passionate about. Still, there's no point in ignoring the obvious. He was never going to be a Cinderella Man, and to continue this route would only leave his brain more addled than it already was.

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On 6 June 2021 the Wall Street Journal published a review about Tris Dixon's powerful assessment of the sport of boxing titled Damage. The title of the piece succinctly sums it up: Damage Review: Boxing's Moral Quandary. Its subhead reads, "To remain a fan of the sport--to cheer on the punishment and ignore its consequences--constitutes a cruel form of enabling."

The book's subtitle is "The Untold Story of Brain Trauma in Boxing."

I grew up watching the career of Muhammed Ali from his first knockout of Sonny Liston as Cassius Clay. Audacious, fast and slippery he could indeed fly like a bird and sting like a bee. But time took its toll. They said it was Parkinsons Disease that made him so feeble later, but we were never told that Parkinsons is just one of the side effects of chronic traumatic encephalopathy (CTE).

For decades the NFL prided itself on its hard hits and "action" on the field, turning a blind eye on the data that revealed how detrimental the sport was to the health of its players. Broken bones and torn ligaments are one thing, but CTE is a wholly different animal.

Dixon's book goes back to early medical studies (e.g., Dr. Harrison Martland's 1928 paper on "punch drunk" fighters). It compiles neurological research linking repeated head trauma in boxing to CTE, cognitive decline, Parkinson's-like symptoms, and other irreversible damage. Every boxer sustains some level of brain injury, with effects that can appear years or decades later.

Dixon includes firsthand accounts from affected fighters and their families, such as the well-documented deterioration of Muhammad Ali and interviews with others like Micky Ward. It portrays former champions and journeymen alike as "scrapyard" figures—once-vibrant athletes reduced by cumulative trauma.

One notable element is how the introduction of padded gloves (intended to reduce cuts and acute injuries) paradoxically enabled longer fights, more head punches, and greater rotational force on the brain, potentially worsening long-term damage compared to bare-knuckle eras, which must have been brutal in their own way.

What's tragic is the sport's unwillingness or inability to seriously confront these issues—through better medical oversight, rule changes, or honest education for fighters. This is the book's most damning critique. It notes a culture of denial among some insiders who fear it harms the sport's image.

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Here are some additional links pertaining to boxing and ethics.