Boxer Victor Reynoso Puts His Gloves Up

The scrappy upstart, who was born in the Dominican Republic, is working his way through the pro boxing circuit.

Reynoso gets in the ring for more than a win. He wants to succeed — to be a world champion — so he can also support his family struggling in the Dominican Republic.

“Sometimes I wonder why we are so fortunate to be able to have this life,” he says. “So what am I going to do with this opportunity that might also benefit them?”
He chokes up when he mentions his father, cousins and grandparents back in the D.R., living a life that could’ve been his own.

“I was working as a correctional officer and felt like I was just making enough for myself. I felt like, how would I be able to help them out, here and there? I don’t know,” he says.

He also does it for the kids who, like him, are growing up in broken homes in low-income neighborhoods without a lot of strong role models around. He wants them to see they can be great if they work hard.

“I want to give them hope and inspiration, which is priceless. I never had anyone in my community I could relate to like that,” he says. “I just figured, I’m going to have to be in there. If I have the chance of making it, I’m going to risk it all.”

In the days leading up to his February 23 match at Twin River — the third in his professional boxing career — Reynoso eats oatmeal.

Oatmeal with and honey and almond butter for breakfast. Then a run and a swim. More oatmeal. A few hours of boxing drills at Big Six. More oatmeal.

He’s upping his fiber intake to cut weight for his fight against fellow undefeated junior middleweight, twenty-two-year-old John Williams from Louisiana. Both men are new to the professional field, and they both have a lot to lose in an unforgiving sport. A world title is not built on the back of an early-career defeat.

But when Reynoso shows up for weigh-in the Friday before fight night, Williams is six pounds over — a different weight category altogether. Reynoso has to decide: Take the match, knowing Williams has a clear physical advantage, or disappoint the friends, family and burgeoning fans who bought tickets in advance.

He takes the match.

On fight night, the Twin River Casino Hotel event center is fuller than Reynoso’s last bout in November. The USA Boxing Alumni Association is honoring champs Vinny Paz and Micky Ward at 5 p.m., so the place is packed by the time Reynoso, the third fight of the night, enters with American and Dominican flags waving.

Just a few seconds after the bell tolls, Williams tears into Reynoso with two sharp jabs followed by a straight right slug, exhaling audibly with each strike. Reynoso stumbles backwards. The crowd reacts with a mix of sympathy and surprise.

Reynoso recovers, using the bounce of the ropes to propel him toward his opponent. But Williams is faster. Stronger. He hammers Reynoso with a counter-punch. Reynoso paws back, landing little.

Nothing, you see, is going according to plan. Reynoso’s team has the power to accept or decline a match, but Williams didn’t come across nearly as strong in his fight film. They learn it the hard way: The man is a brawler.

The first round ends and Reynoso convenes with his team. Shorts advises him to move to the right and get in some body shots. Wear him down. And he does — there’s a clear difference in power between the first and second rounds — but Williams is still winning. Reynoso, his team, the crowd: Everybody knows it.

In the third round, Reynoso feels the pressure. His sister, Evania, does, too. She moves from her seat and stands behind the roped VIP area bellowing, “C’mon, Vic! This is it! Knockout! Knockout!”

Williams is tired. Reynoso is tired. They exchange close punches to the body and face. Both are bloodied. The crowd grows louder. They entangle, and Williams bends to the ground. He puts his glove on his knee and muscles himself up. The referee resets the pair and they exchange more blows.

A bell ends the third and, after recouping in his corner, Reynoso is back to drilling Williams’s body in the fourth and final round. Williams is slowing down. Reynoso is, too, but not quite as steadily. He’s sourcing reserves from somewhere. His will is on full display.

After brief periods of infighting, both men landing blows, Williams delivers a surprise left punch to Reynoso’s cheek. In a moment of vicious intimacy, they both step back and pause, staring each other down. Williams’s gloves are at his chest. Reynoso, stirred by the strike, moves his hands and feet rhythmically.

Reynoso then charges his opponent, backing him against the ropes. He flings one jab with the left, skimming Williams’s left cheek, then a second jab that connects and, finally, an overhand right so level, so quick, so stunning. It lands.

Williams leans right as his face twists left, hovering mid-air for a split second before crashing to the canvas. The weight of his body is absorbed by the bottom rope, his legs splayed in a 90-90 position, his eyes rolled back. Reynoso lingers over his once-formidable opponent, his posture a curved letter C. He takes a few steps back, then turns to scan an astonished crowd on its feet. He lifts his gloves to the sky.

Knockout.