Violence is a language, and like all languages it is neutral up until such a time as it is used. It’s a universal language, a common language that requires no skill; you can be articulate with a fist, a finger, or an AK 47. It’s a necessary language because it’s clear, and it is an abused language, because it’s easy for the lazy.
Panga Management is of the opinion that there are two strategies to learning anything of value. The first follows that it’s foolish to learn from your own experience and efficient to learn from the experience of others, cause trust PM you aint so special, there is always somebody who has been in a similar position and it’s easy enough to see if their choices walked them to ba(r)nality or to adventure. The second makes it clear that in order to understand the sensualities and textures of life you need to experience them with your own body. Now PM is big into efficiency, and aint going to re invent the wheel for no one, at the same time PM is that kid in the class with their hand so high in the air that their arm is stretched almost out of its socket saying, “Pick me! Pick me! I want to understand how that feels”.
So when it comes to violence, this reliable, unfortunately common and abused language, PM wants to understand it but PM does not want to speak it. So that’s were boxing comes into the picture. Boxing is the art of attack and defence with the fists, it’s the love child of a bar fight and a chess match. Boxing is where the language of violence becomes poetry.
During PM first lesson at the East City Boxing Club in Harrington Street, PM felt as faint as a Victorian duchess running the Argus in a corset. One of great things about ECB (there are many) is that you are supported but nobody gets up in your grill. Its got the classic back to basics balance between nobody giving a shit about what you’re wearing but you feel secure that your fitness and technique are being supported. The two days that followed PM’s first lesson were spent dragging PM’s body from place to place like a two-legged dog. Oh my Gward! PM was stiff in places PM did not even know PM had muscles. However lesson three has come and gone and so has Panga Managements food baby, and PM’s has started to learn the poetry of violence, it reads a bit like ….. Pawn, pawn, Check Mate!