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Lloyd Johnson is one of the longest running members of Border City. In 2000, when Margaret Sidoroff took over managerial control of the club, Lloyd began helping the team as an assistant coach. As the years passed, Lloyd worked himself up to a certified, Level III coach and Personal Trainer. Currently, Lloyd volunteers his time, running workouts, and fund-raising at our many club functions. It takes the involvement of a lot of people to make for a successful organization like Border City, and Lloyd Johnson is key to that success.

Brad Jeffries fought for the Canadian Professional Boxing Title. He was one of the best fighters ever out of our area and he continues to contribute to the careers of our young local athletes.

Thomas Kucharzewski has eighteen years martial arts experience.  He is the 4-time Ultimate Test World Champion, 2-time Sabaki World Champion and has competed in the K1 fighting challenge 4-times for Mady's Isshinryu Karate School.

Andrew Kooner is the only amateur boxer from the Windsor area ever to represent Canada at two Olympics.  Andrew fought for both the Border City and Windsor Boxing Clubs under Head Coaches Bill Grant and Charley Stuart.  Andrew has accumulated ten Canadian Championships over the years and is currently plotting a professional career.

Johnny Kubinec turned professional after not being selected to go to the Olympics.  Johnny loved to box so much he used to hitch-hike to Montreal to fight and worked hard enough to become the Canadian Champ.  Kubinec was the Founder of the Ren-Cen Boxing Club and turned the club over to Bill White when his health began to fail.

J.R. Larkin is one of the most talented and hard-hitting boxers Windsor has ever seen. He fought for the Border City Boxing Club for many years, earning a the Michigan State Golden Gloves and the Ontario Championship several times. J.R.'s greatest win came at the 2004 Provincials when he defeated 2X Olympian Mike Strange for the Gold Medal. "Gentleman" Jim is currently considering a professional career. For more on J.R., click here.

Ray Larkin is the former president of the Riverside Boxing Club.

Barney Lobsinger:

Those were the good old days

(Written by Marty Gervais, January 30, 1998)

            He would come out under the bleachers into a hot, smoky and stinking arena in a small town in Mexico. He’d hold a newspaper over his head because the crowd above would spit at him.

            As he marched past a gauntlet of guards that kept a jeering crowd at bay, the soldiers would butt him with their rifles.

            And when he got onto the ring to fight some local favourite, the rowdy mod would toss waxed lit matched at him to burn his skin.

            Once an angry man whipped a knife at him that stuck in the canvas mat, sending the wrestler fleeing the arena. He managed to get past the soldiers and the rabble and into a car waiting by a back door.

            He was whisked away into the dark humid night.

            Barney Lobsinger, an 83-year-old man who lived the life of a wrestler, ambling from town to town in the south, and “making good money” in Mexico during the Dirty ’30s, pines for those old days, living out of a suitcase.

            Now this is home. He can almost see the HMCS Hunter from where he lives. That’s where he got his start in the ’30s. Had his first professional fight there, and the morning after when he went around to the hotel to pick up his pay from the promoter, he found the man had skipped town.

            It didn’t bother Barney that much. There were more fights. In those days, too, there were matches on the second floor of the old Windsor Market.

            But the action here was slow. Maybe $5 a fight. He did the carnival circuit, where barkers coaxed men from the crowd to see if they could last 10 minutes in the ring with him.

            A tough life. Sometimes townspeople in remote places got so riled, they’d burn down the circus tent. Or they might swarm the ring: “You always had an exit. There’d be a car waiting for you…. You were off to the next town.”

            Soon Barney was below the border, stealing the Wisconsin championship. He remembers battling in bouts refereed by the great Jack Dempsey.

            “We’d be told. ‘OK in the second round, Jack’s going to make a call, and you’re going o dispute it, and swing at him…. Then Jack’s going to knock you out.’”

            Barney also had three or four world title fights, but never won.

            In 1939, he was offered $5,000 “to cross up” middleweight champion Bobby Arreola of Mexico, but wouldn’t take the money.

            “I never would’ve got out of Mexico City alive.”

            In those days, Barney was called Otto Lugger. To this day he can’t remember why. All part of the show. The whiskers, frizzy hair, the mean stance…. And the boa constrictor.

            Barney had picked up “Oscar,” the snake, in Brownsville, Tex., one afternoon, and made it a part of the act. He’d wrap it around opponents, taunt the crowd and strut about.

            One night before a match, Oscar died, and Barney had to get another. It wasn’t as docile—it lunged at him.

            “I smacked it a dozen times in the head…. After a while, it would just sit there…. It might be good like that for maybe 10 or 15 minutes.

            “So before every fight, just before I went out, I’d whack the snake good in the head, and tell the promoter, ‘Look, this fight can’t go more than 15 minutes….”

            The snake won Barney a bout in Oregon with the legendary Gorgeous George who was deathly afraid of reptiles.

            Barney surprised his opponent by slipping in behind and winding the snake around George’s neck.

            “Well, he jumped right over the top rope and cleared the first two rows (of the crowd).”

            Barney was banned for life in Oregon for this.

            It didn’t matter—Mexico beckoned.

            Barney made $150 a week there, fighting anybody they threw at him: “You knew whether you were going to win, or lose, before you ever went in…. You did what you were told

            “If you didn’t, you’d never get booked again. It never stopped you from roughing up the guys….”

            Barney packed it in after 25 years. Took up chicken farming, and refuses to watch the brawny goofs from the WWF on TV.

            “That’s not fighting.”

            These long afternoons, Barney dreams about the way things used to be. What he was. The limelight. Chaos on the road. Living in dingy Mexican hotels. The long nights of warring in the ring, nursing bruises and cracked ribs, and being chased by angry fans.

            His wife, Florence, peeling back the newspaper she’s been reading, says, “Barney, I wouldn’t have wanted to know you back then.”