By Glenn Wilson

One of the greatest thrills I have ever had in my life was seeing my first story appear on BoxingScene. It was a story about Ricky Hatton getting ready to fight in America, while it was just a few lines on my favorite fighter, it made me understand what I had heard a songwriter say years ago, writing a story or a song is just like having a kid, you nurture it and point it in the right direction and hope it can stand on it's own two feet.

And so my story went off and I prepared for the worst, waiting to be rejected and given the old "Don't call us, we'll call you" routine. As I wrote more articles I realized that I really enjoyed the research that I had to put into the pieces. I also realized how much I love writing about my favorite sport and how one day I'd like to make a living doing what I love.

The writing and the research are the easy parts, the hard part is choosing the subject matter. I could possibly write page after page on my all-time favorite fighters, which by the way are Duran, Mancini, Frazier, Hatton and Tszyu, but I hope I can go in a different direction once in awhile.

I read all the articles that the other writers write and sometimes it puts pressure on you, does Mr. Reeno or anyone else want to read another Lacy-Calzaghe story, yes I also wrote one, so shoot me.

Sometimes when I would like to write about a major fight, I hear a nagging voice telling me, "Why don't anyone ever write about Vernon Forrest?", and so as much as I try to concentrate on the next big event I can't, if I don't get the bug out of my ear (that's another story), I'll never be able to concentrate on the job at hand.

And so here it goes, for better or worse, the thing that has been tugging at me to write, the reason that I love boxing, always have and always will, my Dad, Vernon Wilson.

My Dad is one of the fairest, if not the fairest men, I have ever known and yes it has been a privilege and an honor to know him. And before I go any further let me give a shout out to his beautiful wife, my Mom, Sue Wilson, two of the nicest and without a doubt funniest people you could ever meet.

I played eleven years of baseball, from tee shirt(yes they didn't use hitting tees yet) to playing third base for Manor High School in Portsmouth, Virginia and his lessions were as prevalent then as they are now, play hard, play fair and enjoy yourself.Why mention baseball, because I started playing at seven, boxing didn't come till much later, when I was nine.

I remember it was probably just as it was when I was older, my Dad just off the cuff saying he was going to watch the fight and if I wanted to I could stay up and watch it, and I was hooked.

I grew up in the seventies when big fights would come on regular television, sometimes even on a Wednesday or Thursday night. Ninety percent of the time it was an Ali fight, sorry I was never big on Ali, I wanted to see a fight, not a marathon of grabbing opponents behind the head.

But no matter how mad or upset I got, there was always the voice of reason, my Dad. Even though he didn't usually pull for Ali he always instilled in me a sense of fair play, he would point out the positives, "You got to give him credit, there's never been a faster big man", or "He's smart and he takes a great shot."

We would watch the Saturday fights on CBS or ABC's Wide World Of Sports and later we would watch ESPN's Thursday Night Fights with Al Berstein or Randy Gordon. And the fairness was always there, even if he didn't like a fighter but that fighter was ripped off by a bad decision, there was Dad to voice his displeasure, even telling my Mom when she came into the living room, although I don't think she was quite as offended as we were.

My Dad made me the boxing guy I am today, we could see a man get the living hell beat out of him for nine rounds and there was Dad saying, "It would be a shame to see him get knocked out now after all he has been through", and now I find myself saying that, no matter if it's a four round or twelve round fight.

Even today when we talk, it is guaranteed that somewhere during the conversation one of us will say,"Did you see the fight the other night?"

Why is this so special to me, because this is a special bond that I wish everyone had with their dad. My brother Steve is the smart, successful, good looking brother, while my parents can talk finance and grandkids with Steve, I have my Dad and boxing.

This is the man who took me to my first live boxing card at the old Norfolk Arena, to see the blood and sweat and hear the leather being traded and to do it all in the company of my Dad, yes sir it was pretty sweet, and yes I still have the Zeroxed, single sheet program they passed out at the door, one of my treasures.

This man bought us the Holmes-Cooney pay per view and allowed me to go to various gyms to work out and spar.

I heard stories of my Dad and his Dad going to the store to listen to or watch the fights, even today that sounds so cool to me, you see my Dad grew up on a farm in North Carolina in the 40's and 50's. Nobody can relate to what he experienced while enjoying the fights with his Dad, I'm proud to say that I can.

And now we're all getting older, sad to say.

On Saturday, November 6,2004, I was a little nervous, Kostya Tszyu was returning from a long layoff to fight Sharmba Mitchell, I love seeing Tszyu fight but like most I figured that Tszyu was going to be a shell of his former self.

But six hours before the fight I got a call telling me that my Dad was in the hospital, he had suffered a massive heart attack. When me and Michelle arrived at the emergency room, I was full of emotions and not sure which one would surface. When we were allowed to see him it was really scary, there were doctors and nurses moving back and forth, taking readings and barking out orders.

Dr. Goldstein, who we are eternally grateful was on duty that day, told us that Dad was having a massive heart attack and was still having it at that moment.

The thing that is forever etched in my mind is that among all the commotion, right in the center of things, was the eye of the hurricane-my Dad, while in excurciating pain he reassured us and even joked with us about his situation.

At 5'6 my Dad is mentally and physically the strongest person I know, this is the man who put gloves on with me and hit me harder than any of my sparring partners ever did, so it shouldn't have been a surprise he was the strongest person in the room that night.

After he was stabilized and moved into ICU we went home, which by the way thank whoever was watching over my Mom that night and helped her get through it also. I settled down with some beers, trying my best not to cry and telling myself that Dad would want me to watch the fight.

When Kostya Tszyu stopped Mitchell I actually jumped off the couch and pumped my fist in the air, something I never do and when I settled back down it dawned on me that that was the second best fight I had seen that night.

Thanks for everything Dad.