I grew up in Beaufort, South Carolina, in a six-room farmhouse with a couple of leaning posts to keep it from fallin'. I came up in a time when men were men.

I got a burlap sack, put a brick in the middle, and filled it with rags, corncobs, some Spanish moss, and sand. I hung that sack off the branch of an oak tree. I'd wrap my hands with a necktie of my daddy's and punch at it. My mom gave me an hour a day. My brothers and sisters said, "Nah." I said, "You'll see."

The boxing game has been good, so we need to give back. We have to teach young men how to be men.

His mouth made him feel like he was gonna win. Not his hands, I had my hand. He had his lips.

When I go out there, I have no pity on my brother. I am out there to win.

Boxing is the only sport you can get your brain shook, your money took and your name in the undertaker book.

I don't think a man has to go around shouting and play-acting to prove he is something. And a real man don't go around putting other guys down, trampling their feelings in the dirt, making out they're nothing.