My legacy is almost like a personal challenge to go as far as I can go.
If something happens and you're behind, and you get hit in the mouth early like that, you have two options: You can either pack it in mentally and internally and go into survival mode and quit, or you're going to get up and go to work.
I didn't need to get knocked down to know the fortitude that I have in me.
There's always great things that champions do. It can be inside fighting, this person uses his range well, this person has a great right hand - anytime you fight a champion, there's multiple things that they do well, and you have to try to take those strengths away.
My mind-set is my major attribute.
I talk to amateurs, up-and-coming guys, fighters older than me, and we compare notes to teach each other how to leave this game on top from a legacy and financial standpoint.
No disrespect, but I don't make decisions based on opinions.
For me, it's about trying to be the best in a sport where there's little room for error.
At the end of the day, the great ones - well, they rise, and that's what I want to do.
I got an old school coach who's more of a teacher than a coach.
I know I'm a good fighter, probably a great fighter. I've fought the best in the world since I was a kid, and I've been fortunate to come out on top.
You have to be able to adjust on the fly, and that is what the great ones do.
Boxing is a lonely sport.
I'm not going to throw chairs; I'm not going to cuss. I'm not going to do that kind of stuff, because you don't have to do that. You don't have to act like that, and you don't have to live like that in order to be successful.
Sounding bitter is not a good look. Less so if you're retired.
