Grandma Mira, the real boxing enthusiast in the family, would set her alarm for three o’clock in the morning and call my father and me (a child) to watch the big fights live from Madison Square Garden in New York. And that sound, many years later, made me take the first steps in search of the atmosphere and values of the great boxing of the sixties-seventies: the commitment, fatigue, sweat, dreams and hopes of young boxers. Their motivation is competition and sports, and often, even existential. I have found a healthy environment, perhaps poor in money but rich in stories and humanity.