I came across a post on X that referenced a sculpture called The Boxer at Rest. The piece is a Hellenistic bronze from around 100 BC depicting exactly what you’d expect: a boxer at rest, presumably between bouts, maybe even between rounds. Judging from his condition, it could be right after a fight. The lighter-colored curls and streaks on the bronze, made of copper, represent blood. His nose is broken, his ears cauliflowered, his face cut up, his lips swollen, his torso bruised and battered. As he sits exhausted, he still wears the himántes—the leather hand wraps that served as gloves.
What fascinates me about the sculpture and the post—apart from my interest in boxing—is the claim that although hundreds of ancient statues depict athletes, almost all of them show the winners: runners, wrestlers, boxers, all sculpted in graceful poses of triumph. Hardly any show the defeated. I don’t know if that’s true; it sounds questionable. But even so, I find the losers far more compelling than the winners. Why is that?
You could take the low road and accuse me of being a loser myself, or dress it up with a line about birds of a feather. I wouldn’t mind. The reason is that I had an insight this week that has turned losing into winning, which makes my coming across The Boxer at Rest more than coincidental (cf. Synchronicity). The insight is this: losing, defeat, failure, imperfection, and missing the mark (hamartia) are what make us human and separate us from machines. They are foibles, certainly, but they are also the inevitable signs of our condition. We are guilty of one thing only: being human.
I take comfort in that—not as an excuse for bad behavior, but as a way of understanding the struggle of being human and accepting people who, time and again, demonstrate just how weak they are. In a word, it keeps us honest. But only if we are honest with ourselves first and seek forgiveness second.
You would have thought I learned this years ago, but there’s a marathon of distance between learning and knowing. It has taken me a lifetime of getting pummeled to appreciate the distance. Admittedly, most of the pummeling has been self‑inflicted, but that doesn’t make the ribs any less sore. I just hope this newly appreciated knowledge has enough time to blossom.
Saint Paul takes on even greater meaning now: “’My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness’… for when I am weak, then am I strong” (2 Cor 12:9–10).
I look at the photo of the two athletes (upper left): the boxer is seated, battered, resting; the other stands before him with what looks like a javelin in his hand. Is he getting ready for his own contest? I can almost hear him saying, “You got your ass handed to you again, Apo, so don’t look at me like that. But you did it. You made it to the end. Now go home.”
It’s that “making it to the end” that impresses me the most. It’s what I aim for. I don’t mind dying old and leaving a homely corpse (it’s too late to die young and leave a good‑looking one), as long as it gives me enough time to finish the race, the round, the rally. That way, I can finally get over…the sins, the cringe, the acts of cowardice, the moments of regret, the commissions, the omissions, the bullying, the deceit—all the things that reveal me as human, imperfect, and weak.
If I can do that, wouldn’t it be a fully human life? And not a bad way to leave the ring, either.
Images: Boxer at Rest by Vicenç Valcárcel Pérez, licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0; Boxer of Quirinal, Morton’s Toe, Cestus by Carole Raddato, licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0; Head by Miguel Hermoso Cuesta, licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0; Cauliflower ear by Rabax63, licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0; and Experimental Color Reconstruction by Aquaplaning, licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0. All images accessed May 22, 2026. Source material from Boxer at Rest. Want more? Click on Amazon above right for other publications or go to Robert Brancatelli. Visit other blog readers under “Who You Are.” Leave a comment by clicking on the Comment tab above. This post is dedicated this Memorial Day to those who have died for this country.
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A point I try to make during my ongoing windmill tilting (otherwise known as attempting to get anything across to Gen Z), is there is little to no great success without a significant amount of failure.
What I’ve been told by fellow teachers, mentors, and friends is the last two generations (Z and Millennial) don’t want to be “judged” by their peers, or perhaps those older or in positions of authority. Judgement connotes a possible failure on the part of the young person.
This is tragic (with a nod to my fellow lit majors out there) in every sense of the word. Without development of a spine; or the courage to get up off the canvas; or the recognition of the dignity which comes in FINISHING, though most likely losing. How many participants, outside of team sports, can actually WIN? One. Everything else is second place . . . or even further behind.
There is no shame in any of that.
We have lost that capability to recognize honor, humility, character, courage, and fortitude in fighting the good fight. Yes the results aren’t always Rocky, though even he never looked good after a match he WON.
We can get this back, but it requires raising the bar. It requires impossible standards, powerful criticism, and moral rectitude.
It requires us all to expect more. More of ourselves. More of our colleagues. And certainly more of our children, no matter their age.
And it requires everyone to recognize how much more we can do.
Because we can.
Memorial Day and a recognition of what it means would be a good place to start. Remembering deserves more than a day. Some countries even call it “Remembrance Day” or something like that. I would recognize the civilians who suffered and died as well. Am putting the flag out tomorrow.
Your analysis of that sculpture, and the dedication for Memorial Day, made me think of the sculpture “The Dying Gaul”. Unfortunately, I can’t manage to post a photo in this comment, but here’s a description. Rob, can you get a photo in here when you have a chance? They are all over the place but not cooperating with me!!
The Dying Gaul (also called the Dying Galatian or Wounded Gaul) is a celebrated ancient Roman marble sculpture that powerfully depicts a mortally wounded Celtic warrior in his final moments. Famous for its emotional realism, it is currently housed in the Capitoline Museums in Rome.Key Details & SymbolismThe Subject: The sculpture portrays a Gallic/Galatian warrior collapsing on his own shield after taking a fatal sword wound to the chest.Celtic Identifiers: He is ethnically identifiable by his shaggy hair, bushy mustache, and the rigid torque (neck ring) around his throat.The Original: The marble piece is an ancient Roman copy of a lost Hellenistic bronze original commissioned around 220–230 BCE by King Attalus I of Pergamon to celebrate a victory over the Galatians.Historical Context: Unlike typical triumphal monuments that glorify only the victors, the Pergamon monument is historically significant for showing profound empathy and respecting the courage and dignity of the defeated enemy.
You’re absolutely right about that, Ann. Here’s the link. In researching the post, I didn’t realize the Greeks worked mainly in bronze, the Romans in marble. Also, while the Greeks may have boxed (and wrestled, raced, competed) in the nude, the Celts actually went into battle naked. And there’s much worse weather in France!
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dying_Gaul?utm_source=copilot.com
Thanks for the link – I was so determined to post a photo I didn’t think of doing that!! Then, I remembered the advice of W. C. Fields: “If at first you don’t succeed, try again, then quit. There’s no sense in being a damn fool about it.”