The Rumble in the Rectory

I officially disapprove of all non-sanctioned, un-official boxing events. Too dangerous, and mostly against the law. Nonetheless, if a fight breaks out in a bar I jostle for a view of the action. If it lasts long enough, I take notes. So I’m not one to quibble over a church fundraiser, and whenever Father Joe steps into the ring, it’s for a good cause. This appeared in the CyberBoxingZone.com on November 7, 2006.

Some religious scholars want boxing banned, but the five hundred or so cheerful parents, kids, and other parishioners who crammed into the gleaming old wooden gym of Holy Redeemer Catholic School in North Portland last Saturday night, were delighted with what went on in the ring. I’m not altogether sure the bout was legal, but it was fun.

Dramatic posters billed this fund-raiser as “The Rumble In The Rectory” and announced the heavyweight main event as “The Priest vs. The Seminarian.” The priest, photographed with a demonic twist to his eyebrows, was Father Joe “Judgement Day” Corpora, the pastor of Holy Redeemer Parish. Father Joe is a blocky guy in his 40’s, a little over five feet tall and carrying a wide but solid 247 lbs. The Seminarian, shown looking worried and wearing a T-shirt reading, “Got Prayer?” was Jim “Whom Shall I Fear?” Gallagher, a fit six-footer in his 20’s, who is pursuing his Masters in Divinity at Notre Dame University.

The crowd was warm and noisy by the time the main event began. Hot dogs, popcorn, soda pop, and homemade brownies and cookies flew out of the concession stand. Two preliminary bouts—inflatable fat-suit quasi Sumo matches—sparked plenty of laughter. Then the lights went down leaving only the big brights over the ring and the real shazzam started.

First out was “Whom Shall I Fear?” Gallagher. This may be the first time in history that the word “whom” was etched on a boxer’s ring garb, and it was richly gratifying to the grammarians in the room. The line is the title and refrain of Psalm 27, as in:

“The Lord is my Light, my Salvation … Whom Shall I Fear?”

Gallagher rolled out of the dressing area surrounded by a screaming entourage of college girls in purple sweatshirts with the “Whom Shall I Fear?” logo. Apparently Gallagher’s chief second was his younger sister and her pals came along as a cheering section.

Once “Whom Shall I Fear?” was in his corner and properly welcomed by the crowd, “Whom” appeared. The music was “We Will Rock You” and the entire crowd roared along as Father Joe “Judgement Day” Corpora jogged to the ring. Crass secular types may have risked metaphorical reference to silver-tipped grizzlies when Father Joe took off his robe, but the faithful were holding their collective breath.

The bell was the lid of a cooking pot but referee Brian Walsh seemed to know what he was doing and the ringside physician was attentive. Both boxers wore headgear and the rounds were two minutes long.

The boxers quickly adopted roles befitting their respective physiques. Gallagher flapped out a jab and then side-stepped to get out of the way. His occasional hook and right hand were mere distractions. Father Joe marched forward with busy combinations to the body. Occasionally, Father Joe would catch Gallagher on the ropes for a hectic moment as the crowd chanted “Go Father, Go!”

Between rounds Gallagher’s pretty corner girl could be seen demonstrating the upper cuts she wanted him to throw. It was good advice but “Whom Shall I Fear” didn’t take it. One can’t help but suspect that Gallagher was reluctant to inflict actual damage on Father Joe.

The padre’s intentions didn’t appear so benevolent, but I have seen Father Joe work out at the Knott Street Boxing Gym and can testify that his hook and right cross pack a soul-shuddering wallop. He did not choose to shatter Gallagher’s ribs. Enough said.

To lighten the atmosphere in the sixth round, Father Joe pretended to bite off Gallagher’s left ear and spit it out onto the deck. Gallagher staggered back clutching that side of his headgear. The ref leaped in to make sure Gallagher could continue, and docked Father Joe points for the fiendish foul. The crowd loved this, naturally. Come to think of it, my hat would fly off in surprise if, in fifteen years or so, Mike Tyson could equal what Father Joe did on Saturday night—ten busy 2 minute rounds, with the action hottest in the 9th and 10th.

The judges gave a unanimous and well-deserved decision to Father Joe. The crowd cheered mightily. “Whom Shall I fear?” took it with grace. The proceeds went to benefit Hurricane Katrina victims and the scholarship fund for Holy Redeemer School. We all went home happy.

I kept thinking, though, about Father Joe waking up early the next morning for Sunday Mass. Hard to elevate the Host when your arms ache like Billy Blue Blazes. That’s one tough priest.