Sung Kil Moon: The Beast of Yeongam

Picture a multiple amateur medalist, an Olympian and World Amateur Champion. You’ll probably envision a fighter of some sophistication, even if your first thought is that of an offensively minded fighter.

Sung Kil Moon reached the pinnacle of the unpaid ranks with no silky skills to boast of. He was a force of nature, with a chin filled with cement and sandbags for fists his a transition to the top of the pro game was as simple as taking off his vest and head guard.

Perhaps the closest comparison in this regard would be to George Foreman, a fighter similarly gifted at dishing out pain with little more than brute strength and otherworldly power.

But for Moon, he was not some recently excavated caveman who accidentally ended up on one of the most lauded amateur boxing programs of the 20th Century (and yes, although South Korean boxing is not a powerhouse today from the 1950s up until the 1990s it produced many medalists and pro champs).

Born in Yeongam County in July of 1963, Moon’s rural childhood saw him develop a talent for athletics. Attempts to make it in the athletic programs in big cities failed however, and Moon worked a variety of jobs in factories before he even reached high school age (1).

Brief highlights of Ki-Soo Kim’s historic victory over Italian legend Nino Benvenuti

Turning his attentions to boxing, which was massively popular in South Korea from the advent of it’s first world champion in the 1960s (national hero Ki-Soo Kim pulling off the major upset over international star and legendary Italian Nino Benvenuti to win the unified light-middleweight championship) gave Moon a chance to break out of rural poverty. If he was a big fish in a small pond athletically, he would punch his way to a high school scholarship instead:

“There was no TV in the village, so I had to go to the other village to watch boxing and I fell for it but there was no way to pursue it. The passion stayed with me till later but I didn’t know what to do. I got an opportunity to start boxing after enrolling in high school and I was self-funded. They told me I couldn’t get a scholarship if I don’t win a tournament but I started anyway and ended up getting one after winning silver at the King’s Cup.” (2)

Moon had more success beating his big-city rivals in the ring than he did on the track, and so began his excellent amateur career. Just imagine, you are a scientific amateur boxer qualifying for the most prestigious international tournaments in the sport, and a fighter with little science just beats you up, with seemingly nothing you can do about it. This is what the top amateurs of the ‘80s—a deep era in the sports history—had to deal with, as Moon sledgehammered his way to two World Cup golds, two Asian Games golds, and a gold medal at the 1986 World Amateur Championships.

Those championships, in which Moon won gold in a field including European, Pan-Am and World Amateur champions, were his crowning glory as an amateur. The only failure of his amateur career was in the Olympic games, suffering a cut from an accidental clash of heads in his quarter-final matchup in Los Angeles, 1984. For a wild, aggressive fighter like Moon, head clashes were common, and would be a factor in more than one of his later professional outings.

Unfortunately, although some of Moon’s incredibly violent amateur outings are readily available, they have been removed from YouTube. His Olympic bout with Robert Shannon (a really fun one) is still readily available, and well worth a watch, as is his hard-fought victory over Heo Yong-Mo at the 1986 Asian Games. Mo was another top South Korean amateur, who had won a bronze medal at the 1982 World Amateur Championships.

Olympic success in his native Seoul—where he had lived and trained for many years as a member of the prestigious South Korean amateur team—should have been a shoo-in, but Sung-Kil Moon made what would have been a surprising decision at the time: He was taking his talents to the pro game.

As a longtime ally in the field of boxing history research (a mysterious but clearly clued up South Korean historian known as either ‘Confucius’ or ‘Fighter In The Wind’) tells it, it was Moon’s rivalry with Heo Yong-Mo that necessitated his switch to the paid ranks:

 The most legendary wars were with Heo Yong-mo - which also happened to be quite possibly the greatest amateur rivalry in Korean history. Heo, contrary to Moon, was a classic stand-up, one-two boxer-puncher - a bit like Chung-il Choi (but with a better arsenal, as Choi couldn't throw any hooks or uppercuts), so this was a classic, contrasting match-up as well.

Heo's fate is ultimately another "what ifs" - a bit like Moon's - as injuries and over-stay in amateurs ruined a potential world title caliber career. Heo in my opinion was better than Moon as an amateur and far more technically advanced. To give you an idea of how good he was, Kim Kwang-sun - the Olympic Gold Medalist and a guy who nearly beat both Carbajal and Chiquita when he was way past expiration date - could not touch Heo and never could even make the national team when Heo was affixed at flyweight. And Kim wasn't the only elite Korean amateur at flyweight during these days; the Korean amateur flyweight scene - just like the pro scene - was loaded in the 70s and 80s.

Unfortunately, Moon got in Heo's way of more amateur glory; and Heo never turned pro - I am told because of persistent hand problems, which would have been exposed even more as a pro through greater usage.

Still, Heo's move up in weight ultimately was a major factor in Moon turning pro. (3)

If the excellent pros Moon ran into knew this historical tidbit, perhaps they would curse Heo Yong-Mo for pushing Moon towards them.

Moon, the Monster

Moon’s previous love of athletics had served him well in the Seoul Olympic village, and in the cross-athlete competitions he beat everyone. The track and hill runs he partook in during his amateur boxing training had built him into a monster, giving him championship lungs that pro fighters usually need to develop in increments.

Moon’s ascension to world title level was swift winning the WBA bantamweight title against Khaosai Galaxy’s win brother Khaokor in just seven pro bouts after a clash of heads sent the bout to the scorecards early. After two successful defences, Moon had the title battered off his waist in a return match with Khaokor, in a one-sided drubbing that showed up not just Moon’s lack of versatility but also the Korean’s unparalleled ability to absorb punishment. The Fight Site’s Matt Gioia covered this bout extensively in Anatomy of a Masterclass: Khaokor Galaxy vs. Sung Kil-Moon II and to my eyes, it took one of the all-time great boxing showings—regardless of weight—to comprehensively beat Moon. ‘The Beast of Yeongam’ (my nickname, wholly appropriate) was no match for Khaokor’s pinpoint accuracy, movement, and tank-like durability.

To the likely chagrin of the division below, it convinced Moon to pursue further title opportunities at super flyweight, which only made his strength and power more apparent.

Once down at super flyweight Moon would become known as ‘Korean Hands of Stone’ or ‘Stone Hand’, and watching back tape of his fights it’s not difficult to see why. To give an idea of the ferocity Moon brought to the ring, celebrated Japanese boxing scribe described Moon thusly:

‘Moon is a more fierce fighter than Duran. The Korean depends just on his fierce aggressiveness unlike Duran who displayed natural defensive ability in coping with Davey Moore, Iran Barkley et al.

Sungkil (sic) was formerly one of the most established amateur boxers ever produced in Korea. But his excellent amateur mark of 119-7, 98 KOs and RSCs never mean his skill from the viewpoint of the so-called amateur boxing that put the same importance to a knockdown and to a single clean hit.

Even in Korea where there are plenty of brutally game punchers, Moon is the most pugnacious battler.’ (4)

Unbeaten Ghanaian champion Nana Konadu was coming off the best win of his eighteen-fight career, having eviscerated legendary champion Gilberto Roman by scoring multiple knockdowns en route to a wide decision victory. Konadu was of the more sophisticated variety of offensive fighter, a skilled boxer-puncher who had shown himself able to go tit for tat with one of the more skilled boxers of the era and a champion this writer sees as the greatest super flyweight of all time.

In a classic battle the two juggernauts traded knockdowns before Moon’s gung-ho style brought about another premature ending due to a clash of heads. Just as he had against Khaokor Galaxy first time around, Moon came out the winner, despite ‘even Korean aficionados’ thinking that ‘Moon would have no chance to dethrone the Ghanan kingpin’ (5). This writer—whilst disappointed with the inconclusive ending—considers this one of the greatest wars ever contested at the super flyweight limit.

Moon-Konadu I

Moon proved his superiority over Konadu in a terrifying battering a year later that saw Konadu surrender, unable to stave off Moon’s Neanderthal slugging.

Moon made nine defences of the WBC (lineal) title - including a drubbing of the aforementioned Roman - but found technically astute fighters more difficult to overwhelm. Small and tricky Greg Richardson, durable and versatile Carlos Gabriel Salazar and well-schooled Jose Luis Bueno all gave him trouble, with the latter relieving Moon of his title and sending him into retirement. Famously tricky Hilario Zapata was too far gone to do much and was crushed inside a round, clearly past his best form and way above his best weight. Still, it is a stunning example of Moon’s heavy-handed brutality, against a fighter who was surely once among the most talented lower-weight operators that ever lived.

Despite his limitations, you will find no other fighter below bantamweight as scary as Sung-Kil Moon, not even his contemporary (and long-reigning World Boxing Association champ) Khaosai Galaxy.

Contrary to a ferocious puncher such as Naoya Inoue or Jimmy Wilde, the devastation wrought by Moon was not predicated on speed or technical nous: the likes of Moon are rarely seen below heavyweight, and his ability to make even the most technical of fighters engage him in a brawl makes him a nightmare prospect for any fighter in history. Watch his fights, give him his dues: you will not regret it.

Modern Day Moon

In the wild west that was ‘00s boxing forums, the small and fervent gang of lower-weight aficionados (myself included) waxed lyrical about Moon whenever we could. As footage was shared and dissected and his myth grew until he was the fully-realised 3D character you have met in this article, worrying rumours about his health and life after boxing became as regular as the chatter about his special brand of ultra-violence.

And they were wholly believable: a fighter who led with his face, who had engaged in wars from the first day he stepped foot into the ring, and the oft-discussed meat-grinder that was the South Korean amateur scene (with many anecdotes about now-renowned fighters having brutal gym wars) led us to believe that, yes, rumours of Moon being in a vegetative state were likely true.

Then, YouTube, google translate, Twitter, and a host of other internet-based tools happened, or at least became more widespread and easier to use in conjunction with each other.

It wasn’t easy at first: I personally found a video of a man on a mountain hike that looked like Moon. But was it him? I didn’t speak Korean, so couldn’t know. We were encouraged though, but of course, conspiracy theories continued: the woman he was walking with must have been with carer, and this was an encouraging piece of footage detailing his physical therapy, the footage was old, it simply wasn’t Moon.

Periodically I search for my favourite Asian fighters from the past in their native language: simple stuff, google, YouTube, change the settings to ‘last six months’ or ‘most recent’ and see if anything new has come up.

Jackpot: three years ago a documentary on Moon (now lost to the wayback machine probably) which featured a smorgasbord of amateur, pro, and recent footage: Moon in the ring today, a dapper middle-aged man working the pads, terrifying the significantly younger man holding them. In fact, Moon owns a chain of teppenyaki restaurants as well as a boxing gym (6), and is in better health than he ever was when trading punches and bleeding every other fight.

And then, a much more personal encounter, my good friend Elliot Morris (@bigsonbunce on Twitter) who lives and works in South Korea, meeting Moon at a local show.

Finally, confirmed in the wild: ‘The Beast of Yeongam’ no longer, simply another man with a past. I hope this article brings that storied history into the modern day, and you are convinced of Sung-Kil Moon’s prowess, for he is a fighter that should never be forgotten.

______________________________________________________________________________________________

(1) ‘Stone Fist Sung-Kil Moon (Fight Time, Korean-language website)

(2) “The Best I Faced: Sung Kil Moon (The Ring magazine)

(3) Eastside Boxing (Sung Kil Moon amateur fights (Including a brutal one punch knockout)

(4) The Orient Boxing Monthly (Serial No. 27, Volume 4, No.5, August 1992)

(5) The Orient Boxing Monthly (Serial No. 27, Volume 4, No.5, August 1992)

(6) Fight Time, Korean-language website