Eddie Alvarez No Longer Boston’s Best-Kept Boxing Secret

Eddie Alvarez was one of the best-kept secrets amongst the Boston boxing community – until now. A former amateur boxer-turned coach and trainer, Alvarez has taken fighters to the next level through his academic mastery of the sport.

His brightest pupil, local UFC rising Bantamweight star Rob Font will make his hometown debut on the UFC Fight Night: Dillashaw vs. Cruz card at the TD Garden on January 17th, 2016. Originally scheduled to face Patrick Williams (8-4), Font is now scheduled to face UFC rookie Joey Gomez (6-0) on the UFC Fight Pass Early Prelims portion of the second UFC card of 2016.

A high-level boxer combined with a strong wrestling base, Font credits Alvarez for his successful implementation of boxing – evidenced by his UFC debut in July 2014. Font knocked out UFC veteran George Roop (15-12) in the first round, earning Performance of the Night honors in the process.

“He’s pretty much showed me a way of training. Since I got with him, I hate when I hear a guy say, “Let’s get back to the basics.” Working with him, it’s like you never leave the basics. I hate hearing that: “back to the basics.” We never left the basics. We’ll do the same thing over and over and over. We’ll go over different things and have fun, but at the end be like, “Ok, back to your jab. Right hand, uppercuts.” Even in life: he really showed me a path to training; a schedule. I used to never do that before. Keep sharpening.” – Rob Font

In a city rich with fighting and boxing history, Alvarez has become one of the select go-to trainers in the area for fighters looking to get to the next level of competition. Alvarez maintains a prosperous full-time job while simultaneously training prospects simply out of the pure love for boxing.

On a Sunday night after training Font for his second UFC match, Alvarez took the time to speak about his love for Boston, his Latino heritage, preparing Font, his opinion on the Olympic games and his encyclopedic knowledge of the sport of boxing.

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When I started training guys, I actually transitioned off of stepping into a strength and conditioning gym, and I had just finished fighting amateur. I was just looking to stay in shape, and one of the guys recognized me from one of my amateur fights.

He was like, “Hey, I remember you from this tournament; you still fighting?” I was like, “Nah, maybe I’ll fight again, but…” And he said, “Well, we teach boxing here.” So I was like, “Alright, cool. One day I’ll come check it out.”

They ended up leaving the gym, and the owner approached me like, “Please – can you just fill in for this one thing?” And I was like, “Ahhh, I’m not a trainer; I don’t know how to do any of this stuff. I’ve just been around the sport. I love boxing, but I don’t know the in’s and out’s of being a coach.” I was only twenty-five.

One week became two; two weeks became three and then three weeks having jammed classes; figuring it out a little more for myself. Learned how to really hold mitts just from trial-and-error, and the kinds of things I used to do when I fought and what my trainer did.

My dad’s from the West Coast, so I used to go to California all the time. The boxing gyms out there are kind of a different level. Boxing in the cold here, and how I like to say the gyms are very hidden here. You had to know somebody that knew somebody. You’d make a phone call and meet Joe Knuckles in the back of this door, knock three times and you walk in like, “Wow.”

I originally trained in Somerville boxing when it was in this abandoned church in the back of the building. And we’d always be running from paying rent in different places – all that stuff.

East Coast is cool; it gave me the knowledge of loving the in’s and out’s of the sport. West Coast was more the flashier stuff I’d see. When I’d go out there I’d be like, “Oh, this is where De La Hoya’s from. This is where Andre Ward’s from.” All these big names and big people who are from there.

My Dad was such a boxing fan: Julio Cesar Chavez, Salvador Sánchez. The old-school guys, the Latin guys. He schooled me pretty well in all that stuff. So pretty good position indeed being here in Boston.

He’s good, man. I went to go see him down in Mohegan. Good, long. Abel Sanchez, his trainer – they just met at the right time; he just took him to the rise. Like Triple G in the Olympics: flattening Lucian Bute and beating Andre Dirrell. And those are high-level middleweights back then.

I’m a big fan of Olympic boxing, as well. I’ve trained a lot of amateurs, a lot of pros and Triple G is the mix of both: he’s very smart, very vicious. Veryvicious. You hear him punching – sounds like a bat breaking. Very, very smart.

I was training this dude Eddie Lee – shout out Eddie Lee, our homeboy. He came down for a little while – he’s from an MMA gym, from Sityodtong. He came down, and I remember this dude just hanging out at the gym before I was teaching class. And I was like, “Who the hell is this guy, man? This guy’s always coming around, hanging out.”

And then one day he came up to me like, “Hey, what’s up Eddie? My name’s Eddie, too. I know you from around the area, and I just want to get into boxing.” And I’m like, “Yeah, come down. Hang out; let’s do this.”

Started training him for a while, trained him to do the Golden Gloves – and his boxing was sharp. He was getting good; I think he was going back to Sityodtong. His footwork was getting nice, his head movement; his hands were getting clean. And he told me one day, “Is it cool if I invite some of the guys down?” And I’m like, “Do it. I’m here to teach: I want to give whatever I can give.”

Rob came down one day, and I think it was just instantaneously we clicked. One of those things were he came up, said what’s up and we kind of fed off each other our first meeting. So I hit him up on Facebook like, “Yo, man. You could be this guy. I can see it. I’m not stupid: I see this a million miles away. You put in this work, I know you can be this fighter with your capabilities. You got these long arms, you got a good frame.”

And by that time, I had watched his fights. We kind of had a base, and I just knew he listened. He started coming down, and then one day Fridays…Fridays…Fridays – he started beating the guys they were putting to beat him. Then finally when he got the call for the strap as CES, I told him, “What do we got to do? We got to start knocking guys out. Let’s knock this guy out. Sit on your punches; let’s move our feet a little bit better, try not to get hit as much.” Just consistency.

Consistency, consistency, consistency.

Training is more on my free time – my passion. I’m actually a data base guy, so the technical aspect of putting a program together is what I do for work. And then it translated directly to boxing.

When I started training Rob, I was like, “No, no. We got to start at the bottom: your feet, your frame. Don’t move: start tilting this way, start feeling this way. Feel your own body and how it goes through to the finished product.” The cleanest way possible to his hands, his feet, his hand-eye coordination. His slip, his head movement, his block. Whatever it is, it’s very much like a program.

So it was pretty easy; it was kind of like day and night. I guess I was a natural teacher. Kind of weird.

It’s just like anything else: you can teach anybody to box “amateur-style” or a point system-style of fighting, but… It’s in the relationship between the trainer and the fighter. As much as Rob wanted to learn is what pushed me to the limit to really search for every answer that we could possibly find in anything.

If you look at the guys he matched up with – from Almeida to Lucas Cruz to Foster – they’re very different; very different styles. Finally leading up the George Roop, we got a more aggressive style. He was just finding different ways of the same answer. How to hang, how to relax. There’s never a limit to what you can do with it. And I just think with what we’ve all done with Rob, a lot of me emulates with him – just with the footwork, the hands, the hand-eye coordination. All that stuff.

A point-system is very, very tricky. And you can get caught up in that and it will be your downfall. You need to have a foundation: to not get hit, and to hit back.

That’s my philosophy with everything: hit him once, don’t let him hit you. And I think that’s the one thing he has that we do have together as a team.

People always ask me: “Who’re your favorite boxers in MMA?” I loved Gray Maynard. When that boy was mean, he was mean. He would just light guys up. Same thing: like, “We got to be like Gray Maynard. We got to be putting these guys down; really clipping these guys.”

But it’s funny – you see Conor (McGregor): much more of a longer style, more of a Triple G; very lengthy. Gray: very short, cutting in on the stye. Very different styles.

We master everything. Rob jabs lefty and righty. He’s an Orthodox and a Southpaw, and he’s dangerous on both sides. If people are training guys for for any fights in the future: master every option.

Throw your jab low, throw it high, throw it lefty, throw it righty. Throw everything. Throw everything from a perfect position. Just throw it; train, train, train your body.

Your jab is your sword; that’s your way in, that’s your way out. There’s nothing more in MMA or in boxing in general: that’s your money, that’s your million dollars right there.

Many a nights after training, I’ll be sending this guy videos of the old-school guys. They have that Dillashaw puzzle, the Dominick Cruz puzzle – I tell people: I’ve seen this a million years ago. I saw Jersey Joe Walcott do this in the ’40’s and the ’50’s, man.

There’s an answer for everything. Nothing gets too far away. Your past is much more important than your future: if you don’t have your foundation in your mind and your heart and your body… If you don’t do the miles, if you don’t do the heavy bag, if you don’t throw your million jabs – all that other stuff is pointless. I’m a firm believer in that. You’ve got to be consistent.

Know your enemies – they’re your best friends. Those are your best friends right there.

It’s different with everybody. With Rob: we get together, I warm up his knuckles, wrap them up. And depending on the day, it changes. But usually it could be an hour; it could be three; it could be four. It’s usually two, two-and-a-half hours, but some days we just feel it. We feel, “No, no: this is a defense day. Let’s work on the defense. Let’s work on our footwork. Let’s work on this angle.”

There’s no real ‘foundation’, but at the beginning of a camp we do have a month of heavy-duty foundation work. Hands stay high; the gloves get a little heavier; the legs stay a little lower. The footwork is a little lighter. Lighter like I don’t want to hear it; I don’t want to hear anything sliding.

We want to be ninjas. We want to go in there and steal some guys. I tell guys: think ballet. Get your opponent where you want him to go.

Just like anything else: you want to see it at the end so that it’s perfect. And by the end of it, fifteen minutes of something is a lot. Fifteen minutes of footwork, fifteen minutes of speed bags, fifteen minutes of the double-end bags. Fifteen minutes of throwing the jab from this position and this position.

By the end of it, you have two hours of work racked up – there’s your foundation. By the end of the day, we’ve checked everything off.

Sugar Ray: the most technical of all of them – by far.

Roy Jones: the most athletic of all of them. He won on his athleticism; he won on the fastest jab, the fastest body punch and the fastest footwork.

Bernard Hopkins: his IQ. He had “Bouie” Fisher, his trainer. Ninety-five years old, on the block; Murderer’s Row when Charley Burley and all these guys in the ’50’s were outlawed from boxing. They only boxed each other. His IQ is a different level.

Look up Charley Burley: he is Bernard Hopkins and Roy Jones put together back then. Back in the ’40’s. The same Philly Shell; very, very technical guy. Boring for that era. Hopkins was boring for his era – unless you had the IQ. Unless you see what he’s setting up and doing all this stuff. Amazing guy. I love Hopkins. What he did to Félix Trindad – that was boxing school, man. He just set him up to go down – bad, too.

How about Lomachenko? When he was in the Olympics, I was telling Rob you got to look at this guy. Three hundred-something amateur fights – lost one. Real technical, both hands. Angles, the way he gets in and out.

I don’t want to say they don’t impress me, but I think it’s better to say I have seen it before. I think the era of the ’40’s, ’50’s, ’60’s, ’70’s – they were a lot tougher, they fought a lot longer, they were a lot faster and you couldn’t hear much about them. But when you look them and you realize: oh my God, these guys were on a different level. Fighting eighteen rounds with light gloves and not really having these answers; cutting these ridiculous weights and weighing-in the same day.

The answers are there. What’s happened: time’s cut in MMA, time’s cut in boxing. It isn’t even fourteen rounds anymore. The answers are there: you’ve just got to look for them.

The Latino community – it’s in our blood, pretty much. My parents are from El Salvador, and it’s a civil war country. That’s all they know is how to fight. Nicaragua’s right around the corner; Panama. Alexis Argüello, Roberto Durán, Chocolatito right now. He’s bad.

My Dad’s from the Bay Area, and growing up with him in the Army, he schooled me on boxing. Sitting next to him watching Chávez and Héctor Camacho. Seeing the old-school guys… Lupe Pintor.

Being in the amateur system and with training guys, I’ve been to Texas, California, New Jersey, New York for tournaments all over the country for guys that I’ve trained. And the Latino community have rituals with their kids: they go in there with their rosary beads, they go to the corners; they’ll go to each rope and do their whole thing. It’s kind of like soccer moms: they got boxing moms. You see the moms in the stands like, “La derecha, la derecha! Throw the right! Throw the left!”

I guess it’s just part of us – that fire. It will never go away. There’s too much hunger in the Latino community for it to ever go away. It’ll always be somebody that is going to fight for a dream harder than somebody else.

It’s funny because in every part of the world, you see that. In The Philippines, the Thai’s – they’re hungry, man. You have Pacquiao, but you also have Nonito out there; Brian Viloria and all these guys that were around the same time with that same hunger.

You have the same group of Mexicans, the same group of Caribbean’s, the same group of Eastern Europeans. It’s very specific areas of the world where you’re like: damn, these guys are fighting for something bigger than a check. It’s beautiful to watch. It’s beautiful to see that out of nowhere, these hot spots come like, “Where did all these Filipinos come from? Where did all these Daghestani’s come from? All these Ukrainian boxers come from out of nowhere?”

I’lll talk to my Dad and he’s like, “They’ve always been there. Check this guy out, check that guy out, check this guy out.”

I think it’s part of the system, as well. Amateur boxing in Mexico and some parts of the Caribbean – it’s either very big, or it’s very not. You’re either pro, or you’re amateur. Amateur system in Russia is amazing; in the Ukraine is amazing; in Cuba’s amazing. In Mexico is amazing: they just want to see blood-and-guts, because that’s all they know is the pro circuit from their local areas.

I guess in the States, too. It kind of stinks when they don’t make these guys heroes when they do win these Medals, because it’s been so long. It’s not like De La Hoya: he was a hero when he won the Gold medal. But they don’t push the amateurs to become the face of boxing. I feel they don’t get behind them the way that they should to kind of elevate that stye to be more appreciated. Until everyone appreciates this is a point-for-point fight…

If these were swords, these guys would be chopped up right now; one guy wouldn’t be. They’d appreciate it a lot more. But they’re not – they’re just gloves. Because of that, I think the public in the States sees it a lot different.

He’s from the Midwest, from a boxing family. His uncles and his Dad in his corner since he could barely stand. Not just in his blood, in his mind – in his world. That guy woke up, went to the bathroom and from his bed there was boxing gloves everywhere. There was boxing all over. His IQ is so supreme.

And you only see what they want you to see, and I think Floyd has that down. It changed: Pretty Boy and then all of a sudden it clicked over. And people forget: he was the humble guy when him Zab Judah got into that big brawl. Floyd was the one trying to relax; Zab was the one – the hood from Brooklyn. But Floyd was the one trying to be more relaxed compared to Zab going crazy in the ring with his dad and everything. It changed.

The check changed, too.

The boxing business – you’ve got to do it with your heart. It’s not really a business. You take a lot of these kids to these tournaments on your own dime; you don’t sponsor them, but you give them money: “I’m gonna get these jerseys. I’m gonna put up these registration fees. I’m gonna take you to New York, New Jersey; wherever.” You got to really do it because you love it.

You can’t really look for that golden child to come in and be your million bucks. It has to be real, man; it has to be real. You got to suffer a whole lot before that clicks together with something. And then when it does, it’s a different world. But before that, it is not what people might think it is – at all.

How many fighters are out there? How many tournaments are out there? There’s a million. It’s a lose-money business. Lose-money business – gain-respect business.

It’s all your heart, it’s all your love, it’s all your soul. There’s no price on being able to give that to your kids someday; your family, your legacy. There’s no price on a legacy – on something that’s yours forever.

The Olympic dream is so much bigger to a real boxing fan, a real boxing coach. That’s once every four years: to be the best in your country, to be the best in the world.

I think it’s a lot more prestigious for a guy who could have an off-night: you didn’t have an off-night in the Olympics. That was a four-year journey on top of the million other you have before that.

It’s like Demetrious Johnson – the unappreciated pound-for-pound king.He’s a guy that’s like: now how do we solve this guy? It’s a lot easier to solve a Conor McGregor than it is to solve a guy like Demetrious Johnson – he’s a full package. And he’s getting paid nothing compared to some of these other guys. But he’s so technical.

These other guys are watching like, “How do you beat this? How do you go above this? How do you get on that level?”

We’ve seen them throughout the history of boxing. The sport’s been going around for so long, you have the guys that are the circus clowns. I personally love Naseem Hamed. I thought he was great – until he ran into Barrera – a guy with just so much more pressure. A lot like what happened to Broner: he ran into a truck called Maidana that was pure pressure.

Absolute pressure will beat technique any day; but absolute technique beats pressure. The extreme of either is what beats the other. If you’re a guy that’s a slugger – technique’s going to beat you. If you’re a technical guy: you’re going to break him down eventually.

I think everyone is excited. We never stop, man. We’ve consecutively trained for four years, pretty much. Non-stop Saturday nights, Friday nights. The same thing, man; it’s just another day.

For me, it feels like it’s just a matter of time. The amount of time we’ve done this – we’ve seen every look, we’ve attempted every look possible of anyone striking-wise.

 The thing I’d say consistent is we fold guys and their eyes go behind their heads. I feel bad for the guys sometimes. I know what Rob brings; I know how hard he trains. The one thing I know is how hard he trains – I know that.

How hard he breaks his hands; how much he doesn’t get hit. There’s bullets coming at him, and he won’t get hit with any of them. It’s just consistency. The RDA approach, the Khabib Nurmagomedov approach. “Let’s grind. Let’s work, and let’s not worry about any of the other stuff. It’s a fight.” So on Fight Night – let’s fight. Let’s bring it home, and get ready for the next one.

Stay humble, stay hungry.

If you’re prepared the right way for anybody, there should be very minimal coaching in-between rounds. I feel that if you’re a good trainer, a good coach – you should enjoy the fight. You should have the best seat in the house. You should be able to go out there, stand in front and enjoy my guy whipping this other guy’s ass.

I think one of the most iconic things I ever saw was when GSP and BJ Penn fought the second time. There’s a moment when Phil Nurse and Greg Jackson are in the corner between the second round just hanging over, just looking at BJ Penn. They weren’t saying anything to GSP – because there was nothing to say; he was running through him!

That’s the purpose: just giving him water, “Just keep doing what you’re doing.” That speaks more volumes than the guy that’s huffing and puffing and saying all this shit.

I was teaching at this gym in Everett. I was thirty-one and just burnt out. I’m young and had been teaching for eight years, nine years thinking, “I got to meet some chick; I got to get wife’d up. I got to have kids and have a family. If not, it’s never going to happen.”

I was like, “I need a year to just go travel.” I left the gym, and Rob called me up one day kind of freaking out like, “Yo, I just heard you’re leaving?”

So I stopped training, but I kind of pissed off a lot of my amateurs and a lot of the pro guys I trained. Because I was like, “During my time off, I’m only going to train Rob.” It just so happened that we had the going-away party, everything was good. And a month later, Rob called me up like, “Yo, we got the fight in Vegas.” I was like, “Let’s go. Let’s go all in. Let’s break the bank.”

And we went all in: training as much as we possibly could. And we haven’t looked back since. Ever since that day, I said until Rob gets to the UFC, I’m going to be there to help him however I can. Whatever way I can: go down to Sityodtong, help the guys. Sparring days, whatever.

And then lo and behold, it was just that fast, man. So I didn’t really get a chance to do the traveling and the whole gig stuff. I got one trip to Japan and I met a pretty awesome girl, and that was it. Team Carley.

I think in any job – in anything you have passion for – you got to go all in. If not, just go do something that’s mindless. But if you want to be the best – and I hope anybody that does whatever they do – be the best at it. Or strive to be the best at it.

Know the in’s and out’s. Know how to do it in English; know how to do it in Spanish; know how to do it in Sign language; know how to do it in Braille. Do it with your eyes closed. Do it any way possible.