BOSTON -- In the blue corner, having just weighed in at 45 pounds, stood Ryan Hosea, a sandy-haired 4-year-old pugilist whose padded helmet kept sliding down over his eyes.
Across the ring was his similarly pint-size opponent, Benjamin O'Brien, with clenched fists stuffed into red boxing gloves larger than his head.
Ryan Hosea, 4, left, spars with Benjamin O'Brien, 6, at the South Boston Boxing Club, which the city opened in October.
(Photos Jonathan Finer -- The Washington Post)
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As the two circled each other and threw the occasional, impotent punch one recent weekend morning, the South Boston Boxing Club was packed with a few dozen kids of all ages, jumping rope, doing push-ups and taking frantic swings at the speed bag.
The facility was a long time coming, promised to this Irish Catholic enclave with a rich boxing tradition by Mayor Thomas M. Menino (D) in 1997, after Southie, as South Boston is called here, endured a spate of six suicides by young people in seven months.
In the tradition of Midnight Basketball programs that gained popularity in cities across the country throughout the 1980s and 1990s, it was envisioned as a diversion to keep kids off the streets and out of trouble.
Heroin and methamphetamine addiction became more prevalent in recent years, as the city sought an appropriate venue. Finally, after two other potential sites were ruled out, a room opened up at the Curley Community Center, a giant civic landmark on the waterfront.
Since the boxing club opened in October, about 100 children and teenagers have come, many of them to prepare for the annual St. Patrick's Day boxing show, a major event on the community calendar this month.
"For a long time this has been a sport in South Boston that would take people off the street and get them into a more constructive environment," said Joe Rull, who looks after Southie for Menino's office of neighborhood services. "Prior to this place, all they had was a basketball court to train on. It's made a big difference to a lot of people already."
The walls of the facility are plastered with photos and posters of boxing superstars, from Joe Louis to Oscar De La Hoya, and a few local legends such as "Irish" Danny Long, a former professional fighter who grew up in South Boston and now teaches at the club on weekends.
The city spent $50,000 on new equipment, including a pair of miniature rings, heavy bags and dozens of sets of helmets and boxing gloves of all sizes.
Run by a crew of volunteers drawn mainly from the law enforcement community -- police and correction officers make up most of the coaches -- the club is focused on instilling commitment and self-discipline, rather than cultivating a crop of future title contenders.
"We're here to save kids' lives. If we can keep a kid off the street and out of the [criminal justice] system, we do our job," said Jimmy Gifford, 32, a boxing trainer who works with prizefighters and volunteers at the club. "The top 1 percent may make a million bucks. Maybe one in a hundred will ever get a chance at a pro fight. The vast majority of these kids are not gonna get rich doing this. We just want them to have productive lives."
Although most of the participants are boys, a growing number of girls are signing up, trainers here said, encouraged by the growth of women's professional boxing and by the success of the Oscar-winning film "Million Dollar Baby," about a female fighter.
In the recent sparring sessions, combatants were paired off with those of about equal size and experience, but referee Tommy Connors, another former professional fighter, stopped the action regularly to give pointers.
"You've been showing great defense," he told one youngster who seemed content to use his gloves as a shield not a weapon. "Now this round, let's see how you do on offense."
After most bouts, he raised both kids' hands in victory and made them shake hands. At the St. Patrick's Day show, every child who fought received a trophy.
Joey O'Brien, 7, darted around the gym with the energy of a water bug, while his mother, Christine, watched proudly.
Asked what he likes about boxing, he quickly replied, "It's a lot of fun, and you get to beat people up," drawing a stern look from his mother. Small for his age, he used to be picked on a lot at school, she said.
"It's been great for his self-confidence. And I like having all the guy figures around him. They are good role models," Christine said as she struggled to pull a glove over Joey's taped hand. "A lot of the other places for kids to go around here have been closed. The only problem is I don't like watching him fight. I don't like to see him get hit, and I don't like to see him hit people."
