Karel Müller skips away effortlessly as he puts his boxing students through their paces. U2 blares in the background. Müller barks encouragement. "Come on, come on," he says, "We are all working hard here!"

Müller's been running training classes at the Kosagym in Karlín, Prague 8, for 10 years now. The sessions allow him to mentor a new generation of fighters with experience bought with a good deal of blood.

Müller is one of the most successful amateur boxers in Czech history. In his prime, he recorded an impressive 118–40 record, with most wins coming by way of knockout.

He won six national boxing titles and represented Czechoslovakia at dozens of international events.

Today, a 38-year-old Müller runs his gym two days a week.

"I was into judo, football and athletics as a kid, but when I was 14 I tried boxing and I fell in love with the sport," he recalls. "Once I started, that was it."

A fast rise

Müller quickly began to carve out his reputation in the early 1980s, when he was competing in junior title fights. From 1982 to 1984, he won three consecutive national junior championships. By the age of 15 many thought that, pound for pound, he was one of the best boxers in the country. A year later, Müller was ready to compete in the men's amateur ranks. The problem was he was too young to be eligible.

"They had to change my birth certificate by two years," Müller recalls.

He left the junior ranks, and soon began dominating older, more experienced boxers. He won national amateur titles in 1985, 1987 and 1988.

The year 1984 was a big one for Müller. It was then that he began his longtime association and friendship with former Czechoslovak Olympic champion Július Torma, who would go on to play a big part in nurturing the talent of a the young boxer.

Torma, who died in 1991, won the Olympic welterweight title in London in 1948.

Müller's fondness, admiration and gratitude toward Torma are still evident.

"I cannot begin to say how much I owe Július Torma. Without him it would not have been the same; he started it all for me. He was a great boxer and a great man.

"He taught me so much about boxing. He had so much knowledge and experience. I was very lucky. I don't think I could have had a better trainer. He made me really understand what boxing is about."

Tasting freedom

Müller's rise to fame came at a time when very few people here were allowed to leave the country, but boxing gave him a ticket to see the world — a ticket he cashed in whenever he could.

"After the Army I was always traveling," Müller recalls. "I had a really good lifestyle, everything I could ever want during that time. I wanted to travel and I really enjoyed seeing the world."

But these were comparatively brief tastes of freedom; the young fighter was always left hungry for more. In 1988 at the Münich International, Müller made a difficult decision: He would defect.

"I said goodbye to my family. It was a big decision to escape to West Germany and have my total freedom. I had plans for another profession, becoming a carpenter.

"I had arranged with another guy to leave and so in the morning we tried to get away. But as we walked around the corner there was our trainer standing in the way. I think my father might have told him and so he kicked us back."

After the attempted flight, Müller was banned from traveling outside Czechoslovakia — a sanction that effectively ended his international career. He ended up retiring from competition before the 1989 revolution, having won everything the amateur ranks had to offer.

He never went pro: Boxing under the communist regime meant amateurs often took a back seat to state-sponsored athletes and Müller's attempted defection soured the party's enthusiasm for his talent.

But with the revolution came new opportunities for Müller to use the contacts he had made while competing to help him pursue business goals.

The fighter as teacher

At his gym, Müller is in the ring — but not as the Prague Tornado, as he was once known in the days when he knocked down seemingly any of his opponents. Now he's there teaching his art, advising on footwork and proper body position.

"I have been running this boxing gym for 10 years now," he says. "I like training the kids. I understand the importance that sport can play in a young person's life sometimes. Lots of sports can prevent getting involved in drugs or staying out of difficult or bad situations.

Nor is boxing just for young boys, he points out.

"As you can see we welcome all ages, sexes and levels of fitness. It's about using boxing training techniques to get fit," says Müller.

Ondřej Krumphansl has been coming to boxing classes for six years and is a close friend of Müller's.

"We call him 'up and down,' " says Krumphansl, referring to Müller's typical mood swings.

Sam Barbouche, also a friend of Müller's, says, "He is still well-known in certain circles in Prague because of his days as a boxer."

Today, along with his boxing classes, Müller carves out a nice living with acumen of a different sort.

Müller was once sponsored by the state-owned coal company Uhelné sklady. After the revolution, he took full advantage of his previous associations, which today allows him to run a substantial coal supply business.

Scrapbook

The memories, pressed between two covers, come out at the U Müllerů pub, just around the corner from the Kosagym and not far from where Müller lives.

In this scrapbook, a super lean and muscular young tiger is shown in his prime.

Images of victory poses are scattered among pictures of Müller enjoying free time in Denmark, Austria, Algeria, Cuba and Spain.

Press cuttings document stories of famous victories at the Lucerna, off Wenceslas Square, where packed crowds of 3,500 would come to see the champ, sometimes for televised events.

A headline in Večerník Praha reads, "Tornado at the Lucerna. The Prague Tornado Karel Müller destroys his opponent in under 60 seconds."

Another clipping tells how "The Tornado is just unstoppable, his opponent having been given two counts in the first round."

Surely they weren't all that easy. What was his toughest fight?

"After so many fights, it is impossible to name just one," Müller recalls. "I remember fighting a Cuban guy in Havana and I had to really lose a lot of weight and was so weak. In another fight, against a Czech guy, I was so tired and hurt I was lucky that the referee lifted my hand at the end to announce I was the winner. I could not have done it. But usually my hardest fights where when they went the distance."

Does he miss the spotlight of the international stage?