Hard head, high hopes

Boxing is Scott Sigmon’s life, and also his metaphor for life.

“It represents the obstacles that people face and can overcome,” he said earlier this week. “It gives them hope.”

And with boxers, the obstacles always come with names attached. Obstacle No. 5 in Sigmon’s brief professional career is one Alex “Superman” Dill, whom he will engage in combat this Saturday night at the Staunton Armory.

Bedford resident Sigmon is 3-1, his only pro loss coming on a decision to Farah Ennis in Memphis. Dill is 5-5, and the fighters he vanquished were anything but supermen — they had a combined record of 27-200.

“He could be dangerous, though,” Sigmon said of Dill, who fights out of Virginia Beach. “Ten fights is a lot of experience, and I’ve heard he has a lot of power in both hands. To me, though, he symbolizes what’s wrong with boxing. Go to his MySpace site, and he’s posing with all these belts, like championship belts. He’s 5 and 5!”

Yet the 22-year-old Sigmon, who has adopted the boxing nickname “Cujo,” doesn’t lack for confidence, either.

“I’ve had to talk to him a couple of times about maybe bragging a little too much,” said Bruce Frank, Sigmon’s Staunton-based trainer and manager. “He’s listened to me, I think. You like your fighters to believe they can win their fights, to envision that in their mind. You just don’t want them to get overconfident.”

There’s no danger of that with Sigmon. Farah Ennis pounded home that lesson about the time he closed Sigmon’s left eye and won an easy decision.

“That was a fight I didn’t want him to take,” Frank said, “but he talked me into it. That guy (Ennis) had a lot more experience.”

Sigmon is a two-time Virginia Golden Gloves champion who has fought in both the light heavyweight and middleweight classes.

“I’m at about 175 now,” he said. “I usually weigh more, then I lose it before the fight.”

Although he is compact (5 feet, 9 inches) and more wiry than bulky, Sigmon looks like a fighter. His nose has been broken (although not in a disfiguring way), and he has a small scar on one cheek and the word “Everlast” tattooed down one forearm like a ladder.

He’ll tell you that he will be a world champion one day. He says it with the same tone of voice a born-again Christian might use when explaining that he already has a reservation in heaven.

You look at him to see if maybe he’s kidding, and he stares straight back. He’s not.

Frank Hanenkrat, a former journalism professor at Lynchburg College, is also a believer.

“As a professor, I’ve known thousands of people his age,” said Hanenkrat, “and I’ve never met anyone else with his drive, determination and dedication. Everything in his life is focused on becoming world champion, and I think he has the vision and skills to make it to the top.”

Hanenkrat met Sigmon at the Jamerson YMCA, where Sigmon works as a personal trainer.

“At this level,” Sigmon admitted, “boxing doesn’t pay the bills. There are 1,000 people in my weight class, and only two have fought for more than $8,000.”

The way Bruce Frank sees it, Cujo (the rabid St. Bernard in the Stephen King novel) is a good nickname for Sigmon. His style is, indeed, more than a little rabid, predicated on filling the air with punches and maybe taking some punishment himself in the process of getting to his prey.

“At this point, I can’t be knocked out,” Sigmon said matter-of-factly. “I have a very hard head.”

Because there is no boxing gym in Lynchburg (or Bedford, for that matter), Sigmon has to drive to Staunton for his sparring sessions.

“He’s a little unorthodox in his style,” Frank said, “but that doesn’t mean he can’t fight.”

Sigmon refers to himself as a “pressure fighter” — always moving forward, never retreating — but he also wins by enduring. A distance runner in high school, he relies on having the fresher legs as the bout moves on.

“A lot of times, I’ll lose the first round,” he said, “but by the end of the fight, they’re a lot more tired than I am.”

Scott Sigmon’s main hope, along with his title aspirations, is that Central Virginia will ultimately embrace him as he moves up the ladder.

“I’d like to have some fights here,” he said, “and some day, I’d love to build a boxing gym in Lynchburg so other kids can have hope.”

You can tell he means it. Now, if only Alex Dill will cooperate.