Diamond ringside

Mexico City, summer 2002: Overlooking the Poncho Rosales group or “stable” of boxers in the heart of the city, a bystander shouts, “El Diamante! El Diamante!” The cramped gym, packed with some 50 athletes and their managers, explodes into cheers and laughter. The methodical Pepe Morales, a two-time Manager and Trainer of the Year, stands ringside: “You’re like an unpolished stone. I will refine you and make you a gem.”

Diamante stuck. But Reno knockout artist Joey “Diamond” Gilbert returned from Mexico with more than some polish and a nickname. Training alongside Morales’ protégé, Strawweight champion José Antonio Aguirre—a commanding presence even at 5 feet 2 inches and 105 pounds—Gilbert’s mindset shifted.

“He’s the prince of Mexico City,” says dark-haired, broad-jawed Gilbert about Aguirre. “Everywhere you go, it’s ‘Hola, campeón!'”

Between dining out, sparring and chauffeur-driven car rides at dawn to the mountains high above the polluted Mexican capital to run, Aguirre kept pointing to Gilbert’s forehead, repeating, “Joey, remember always: champion. Siempre campeón.”

Stateside, Aguirre’s mantra continues to run through Gilbert’s thoughts. The boxing hopeful currently is holed up in the bowels of the University of Nevada, Reno’s library, this time hitting the books for the Nevada Bar exam at the end of the month. To date, his education has taken precedence over his boxing career. Fights have been limited to summers. After this month, however, all bets are on. Gilbert will fight as frequently as possible.

With a 4-0 knockout record in the pros following a stellar amateur career, 160-pound Gilbert is one to watch as he takes a jab at stardom and his first calculated steps toward the world’s Junior Middleweight Championship, a feat that would take at least a 20-0 standing for negotiations even to begin. His first move: Las Vegas, boxing capital of the world.

Reno has a nice ring

On a historical note, boxing was once big in and around Reno. Starting more than 100 years ago, it spread through booming mining towns like fire. Police often broke up fights that rallied crowds by word of mouth. One of the most sensational and controversial fights of old, says Luther Mack, chairman of the Nevada State Athletic Commission, pitted Jack Johnson and Jim Jeffries, black against white, fist to fist on Fourth Street in 1910.

Even 15 and 20 years ago, Reno packed the house with big-name celebrities such as George Foreman, Sugar Ray Leonard and Larry Holmes. But the big fights, the crowds and the bright lights faded like the paparazzi’s aging black-and-white photographs that recorded their snapshot history.

Now Mack, the Eldorado, the Silver Legacy, Harrah’s and Circus Circus hope to bring it all back.

“It’s good for the economy,” says Mack. “And we have the talent and capabilities to put on major boxing events.”

Expect more fights this year like back in the day, says Mack, including an ESPN “cow pasture fight” at Stodick Park in Gardnerville on Aug. 15. The opponents are still to be named.

Approached about jumping on local cards, Gilbert responds: “Hell yeah, I’d love to fight in my hometown.”

Mack describes the up-and-comer as exciting, dedicated and very hard-training. “There’s a lot of opportunity for him if he stays focused.”

Detractors wonder if Gilbert is in the ring to fight as hard as the other guy: Does he really want it as bad? As a lawyer and company head, he does have other options.

“I’m a businessman at heart,” admits the 27-year-old Gilbert, who parlayed the thousands of handshakes after fights into two of his own Las Vegas-based companies—one dealing in political consulting, governmental affairs and communications and the other in sports management. “But, once that bell rings, I’m there. Once that first punch lands, I’m there.”

Of the many forces that drive men to spar, for Gilbert it’s pure competition and love.

Love hurts

Gilbert would be lying if he said boxing didn’t hurt. He describes his transition into the pros as a rude awakening. That very first punch hit like a hammer, snapped his head back and cracked his already fractured nose. As the warm blood trickled down the back of his throat, he thought to himself, “That’s enough of this.”

“I realized that this isn’t a game,” Gilbert remembers of that first fight. “There are no points for second place. There’s no, ‘Great fight, you’ll get them next time, kid.’ This guy’s here for one reason and one reason only—to win.” Gilbert won.

In 2000, he wrapped up his amateur days by winning the Nevada Golden Glove Super Middleweight Championship in Las Vegas. His first title, the NCAA/NCBA National Championships, was the hardest test of all, he says. It found him face to face with not only one of his best competitors, but his best friend. In all, Gilbert took home four straight regional championships, three national championships, was twice named “Outstanding Boxer” of the NCAA tournament and was a four-time All-American.

A technical fighter, Gilbert’s no showboat. His main edge is his mental strength, his uncanny ability to not get rattled in the ring. He doesn’t take risks like throwing a punch out there to see what happens. He sticks to his game plan and listens to his corner.

“To me, boxing is the ultimate chess match,” says Gilbert. “Instead of someone making a move and taking your rook, they want to take your head off. Even as you grimace in pain, you can’t let your mind slip. You have to stay focused. There’s a lot of guys that get out there and muscle through it. They get caught, they get hurt and they don’t last too long in the game.”

Gilbert’s main strategy is shockingly obvious: Don’t get punched. “Some guys get in there and they can bang it out. I know I have a good ‘chin.’ I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t. I don’t like to get hit.”

Always a winner

Gilbert first stepped into the ring at age 19 at UNR. His coach, Greg Rice, says, “He’s a tough kid with a lot of heart. And [he] has the perfect build for a fighter.”

Rice is Gilbert’s hero; he even wrote a poem about him titled “Bastion of the Sport.”

As in other forms of combat, behind the fight is an army: Gilbert’s large Italian family with a mother who hates the bouts, a father who loves them (both support him), the coach who brought him on, the sponsorship of three area businesses and the political pull of one of boxing’s most widely known figures, Sig Rogich.

Rogich—who’s also done time in the political arena as the U.S. ambassador to Iceland and as part of the creative-development team of public events for George Bush the Elder’s administration—is now in negotiations with Bob Arum’s boxing troupe, Top Rank, to get Gilbert on the Oscar De La Hoya undercard.

“It’s all going to depend on how prepared I am,” says Gilbert. “If I can get in shape. If we can do the right negotiations. If we can get the right fight. I haven’t fought in a year, so they’re not just going to throw me in there. I’ve got to be ready to rock ‘n’ roll.”

This fall, Gilbert returns to Mexico and Morales.

“But I did get the ‘go,'” Gilbert adds. “If it’s not this card, it will be on a card coming up.”

Gilbert does not want to be thought of as lawyer who’s just taking a stab at pro boxing.

“I’m much more into it than that. It’s a very calculated, well-thought-out, planned approach that I’m about to take.”

Gilbert says he’s going to do whatever it takes to get there, and he’s going to be smart about it.

“Siempre champion," he thinks.