There is one hell of a difference between fighting in the ring and going to war in Vietnam.
Fifty years old, 212 fights, and I'm still pretty.
There's nothing stressful about turning 50 except people reminding you about it.
A black, a Puerto Rican and a Mexican are in a car. Who's driving? The police.
My toughest opponent has always been me.
My trainer don't tell me nothing between rounds. I don't allow him to. I fight the fight. All I want to know is did I win the round. It's too late for advice.