Prince OF Wales

Joe Calzaghe became a World Champ without venturing far from home. But will his roots keep him from becoming boxing royalty?

Joe Calzaghe has a problem.

It's not money. As the reigning WBO super middleweight champ, he has made millions of dollars during his 13-year career. And it's not looks. Even after 17 title defenses, Calzaghe still has a nose so unmolested a carpenter could use it to level an A-frame. His problem isn't even the man sitting a few arms' length away from him in a Manhattan steakhouse on this winter day, IBF champ Jeff Lacy, a former Olympian who's cut like a Cornhusker fullback. On March 4, Lacy will attempt to remove Calzaghe's head from the rest of his body, a strategy he has employed in knocking out 17 of his 21 opponents.

No, Calzaghe's problem becomes clear when he steps up to the microphone during their prefight press conference. As the Welshman starts talking, one boxing scribe turns to another, smiles wide, and asks, "How do I know that's Joe Calzaghe?"

It's a joke, yes, but it's not all that funny to Calzaghe. He is 40—0 with 31 KOs, and yet he's rarely mentioned as one of boxing's best fighters. He is the longest-reigning world champion in any weight class, having successfully defended his crown for the past eight years, and yet his accomplishments are largely unknown, his legacy unsettled. He is a white, handsome brawler, which is a recipe for superstardom, and yet HBO analyst Larry Merchant says, "I wouldn't recognize Joe Calzaghe if he was walking down the street-wearing boxing gloves."

The blame for Calzaghe's anonymity can be spread around: poor timing, fickle media, the machinations of the boxing business. But ultimately Calzaghe knows those are just excuses. He has chosen his path to obscurity. And, until now, no one has been all that interested in finding him.

IT'S JANUARY in Wales. Gray skies smother the hillsides. Winds whip south from the Scottish highlands. The drizzle is constant. In The Valleys, a region northeast of the capital city of Cardiff, sheep-spotted meadows still cling to summer green. But the rest of the Welsh terrain has long since turned the color of rust, as if the iron that once fueled Britain's Industrial Revolution had seeped to the surface.

Tucked away at the end of an empty rugby field lies the Cwmcarn Boxing Club, a squat building made of stone and wood. Inside, team Calzaghe readies for the day's work. Enzo, Joe's father and trainer, fires up the industrial heater. Uncle Sergio prepares cups of tea. Joe loosens up amid the turquoise and lavender walls that offset the winter gloom.

Boxing has always been a family affair for the Calzaghes. Joe first began throwing punches as a 7-year-old, firing away at a rolled-up carpet in the attic of the family's Newbridge home under the eye of his boxing-obsessed dad. A musician by trade, the Sardinian-born Enzo pushed his boy hard, sparring with him, sweating with him, training him in a dilapidated local gym. Joe translated Enzo's passion into fury, which earned him four British schoolboy titles. By the time he was 19, Joe had won the first of his three British ABA titles in three different weight classeswelter, light middle and middle-only the second boxer in history to do so.

Father-son relationships in boxing have traditionally been strained. Shane Mosley, Floyd Mayweather and Roy Jones Jr. all began working with their fathers, only to end up in bitter splits with them. Enzo and Joe have faced such moments as well. "At times back then, I hated my father," Joe says. "Every day, rain, sleet, whatever, I'd come home from school, and dad would make me go train, go run. But that's the past. I owe him everything. Without that discipline, I wouldn't be who I am today."

Calzaghe's success hasn't exactly changed the dynamic. When Enzo cracks the whip, Joe bristles. "Do some real work!" Enzo yells as Joe assaults a heavy bag. "Don't settle!" The 33-year-old champ takes exception to his father's tone. He stops swinging and fires off a profanity-laced retort. Enzo shouts back, "Well, f- it then," and storms out of the room. Less than a round's time later, the two are back to the grind. "We row all the time," Joe says. "Daily, ya know. But we get it out. No grudges. We can move on."

They have little choice. It's not like others are lining up in their corner. Calzaghe is the champ in a division that hasn't had a marquee American contender during his reign. And brand-name recognition comes to boxers only when they've beaten Americans, on American soil. Calzaghe has never fought in the States; he has fought only twice outside the British Isles. "Boxing is actually bigger in Europe than it is here," says Showtime analyst Al Bernstein. "But if someone's not fighting in the U.S., we doubt his ability."

Calzaghe, at 168 pounds, would have willingly gone up a weight class to take on Jones or dropped down to face Bernard Hopkins. In typical boxing fashion, though, posturing has taken precedence over actual fighting. Calzaghe's problem is twofold. He's a southpaw with fast hands, ample power and sound fundamentals who loves to go at it, all of which make him a dangerous opponent. But for marquee names, there's no upside to battling unknown topline talent when no one is clamoring-or paying-for the fight. Jones and Hopkins can earn what they would earn against Calzaghe while taking on much lesser fighters. Joe claims he doesn't mind that barely anyone bats an eye when he walks around a crowded Cardiff mall, but as he talks about his predicament, the frustration eventually spills out. "I deserve respect," he says. "I should be more famous than I am."

The moment, while real, is fleeting. Calzaghe knows his obscurity is his own doing. He could have moved to the U.S., hired an American trainer and promoter, given himself over to the hype machine. Instead, he has kept his feet firmly planted on his country's soggy shores. Foul weather and hard living have long made Wales the punch line of the British Isles. (Poet Dylan Thomas once remarked, "Wales is the land of my fathers, and my fathers can have it.") But the narrow streets and tiny hillside towns of The Valleys have a lyrical, almost fairy-tale quality to them. They inspire Calzaghe, who believes whatever sacrifices he has made are worth it.

"People are down-to-earth here," he says. "I can sit and have a pint with 'em." Within a 10-minute drive from his home are his two younger sisters, Melissa and Sonia, whose children play with his two boys. (Calzaghe is divorced.) His mother, Jacquelyn, who loves her son so much she's never seen a single round he's fought, is here; so too is Uncle Sergio, who's always ready with a laugh and a song on his guitar. And, of course, there's Enzo. "I've thought about moving, but what's the point?" Joe says. "Throughout my career, people have said, 'Why don't you get a professional trainer?' But screw it. At the end of the day, he's my father. And I'm a home boy."

A WEEK later, the damp, heavy clouds haven't budged. But inside the Cwmcarn gym, the cold air fills with warm clouds of breath as Joe shows up with his entourage: Joe Jr., 11; younger son Connor, 8; and nephew Chris, 11.

Within minutes, the place comes to life. At the far end of the gym, Sergio, his gold eyebrow stud gleaming in the overhead lights, instructs Joe Jr. and Chris on the basics of a one-two. Across the ring, Enzo supervises Joe on the double-end bag. Nearby, Connor struggles to hold up his hands against the weight of yellow boxing gloves.

Despite the familial setting, Joe works with a clear sense of purpose. The Lacy showdown weighs heavily on his mind. After eight years as champ, he speaks not of wanting this fight but of needing it. The undefeated Lacy, who's 28, is the first American super middleweight to excite the boxing media in quite some time, and he's willing to face Calzaghe on the champ's home turf (the fight is in Manchester, England) to prove himself. But it's as much a career-defining bout for the veteran as it is for the upstart. With a victory, everything will change for Calzaghe. He'll have the respect he craves without having to compromise his life. "I've waited my time, paid my dues," he says. "This is my chance, and I'm gonna take it."

The bell sounds. Joe takes a break and walks over to Enzo, who tenderly towels off his head and gives him a sip of water. Then the champion makes his way over to Connor, who's waiting for a turn on the heavy bag. Joe stops for a moment and gazes out the window. Perhaps he's imagining how different things will be with a win over Lacy-the big-fight offers flooding in, the invitations to come to America, where recognition awaits.

After a minute, another bell breaks his reverie. As he slowly turns from the window, Joe glances around the room. He sees Joe Jr. throwing uppercuts and hooks in a mirror. He sees Sergio walking Chris through the ring. He sees Connor swinging and missing, the momentum of his punches carrying him to the floor. He hears his father bark.

And then Joe Calzaghe shakes off a bit of the Welsh winter chill and gets back to work.

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