WHEN world heavyweight Muay Thai kickboxing champion Giuseppe DeNatale used to step into the ring, the ominous, gun-celebrating opening song from The Sopranos -- Woke Up This Morning -- would rip through the public address system, mingling with the roar of the crowd.
On Nov. 13, the hulky Winnipeg boxer was listening to another tune from his favourite Mob-themed television show when his car crashed and rolled, nearly killing him.
DeNatale's second home was in the ring.
"It was Don't Stop Believing," says DeNatale. Clearly spooked by the coincidence, he holds up his iPod -- still in one piece after the accident -- and searches for the song by 1980s hair band Journey. He finds it and listens to its recognizable opening chords through the mp3 player's tiny earphones.
The millions who watched The Sopranos series finale in June heard the uplifting rock anthem during the now-infamous diner scene. In those last minutes of the show, viewers wondered if fictional mob boss Tony Soprano would be whacked. Before they could find out, the screen went black while the Journey song played.
DeNatale, 34, now nursing a broken back since his crash, sees some eerie parallels with his own life.
The Boeing employee -- known in the Thai boxing world as "The Godfather" -- pulled his SUV into the lot of the Murray Park Road aerospace manufacturing plant just before 6:30 a.m. when the accident happened.
"I'm listening to this song; I got it cranked. I'm whipping to work. It's twenty after six and this woman pulls out in front of me," he says.
DeNatale's accident forced him to wear a brace.
He says he had two choices: To slam on his brakes and "cut through (the other driver's) car like a hot knife through butter," or to swerve around the car. DeNatale chose the latter, clipping the front end of the car.
His truck ended up rolling about 50 metres. When it landed on its wheels, DeNatale climbed through the sunroof and wandered over to the side of the road in a daze, "swearing like a drunken sailor."
DeNatale says the other driver walked away with only minor injuries.
DeNatale, the owner of the Canadian Kickboxing and Muay Thai Centre, doesn't remember what happened after the roll, but has heard stories from paramedics and other witnesses at the scene.
"As soon as the accident hit, everything went quiet and everything went slow motion for me -- ultra slow motion," DeNatale says during an interview in his cosy St. James home, which smells of incense.
The Muay Thai kickboxer looks different from the snarling tough guy he is in the ring, a place where his muscular arms and legs operate as powerful, accurate pistons when deployed against his opponent.
Muay Thai is a type of kickboxing indigenous to Thailand and used by that country's military. The more moderate brand of Muay Thai seen in North America permits strikes with fists, shins, feet and knees.
DeNatale's love for the sport started when he was kid growing up in the west end, watching Bruce Lee and Chuck Norris films. His father, an Italian immigrant and construction worker, enrolled him in karate classes at age eight. Just over a decade ago, DeNatale turned to kickboxing -- a sport where just about anything goes.
Before his accident, DeNatale spent several hours a week training and teaching at his kickboxing school. The sport was his priority.
Now, after the accident and a nine-day hospital stay, he realizes what really matters.
"A lot of people say that your life flashes before your eyes when you're about to die. I think that's complete bull----," he says. "What flashed before my eyes were the important things in life. I didn't think about my work. I didn't think about my gym. I didn't think about kickboxing. At the end of the day, all I thought about were my kids."
He has two, Anthony, 14, and Ariel, 5.
Today, DeNatale walks with a cane and wears a body brace. The accessories seem out of place on the six-foot, 220-pound man. But doctors say they are necessary to heal the three crushed vertebrae in his back. He takes morphine to tame his pain.
He constantly replays in his mind the crash and some of his moments in the ring.
"After the accident started, I heard nothing. Just complete silence. It happens when I'm in the ring sometimes too... when you're at the start of a fight you can hear the fans," says DeNatale, his voice lowered.
"But when you're in the midst of a heated exchange... and you hit him as hard as you can and he's hitting you as hard as he can, you don't hear anything else."
It's understandable why DeNatale would reminisce about his fighting days. Doctors doubt he will be able to step into the ring again. But a defiant DeNatale is hopeful he can recover.
So is his younger brother, Augustino, also a Thai fighter.
"He's like a cat with nine lives. He's on number three, I think now. He's been through a lot of stuff. He's really been lucky, I guess," says Augustino.
He explains that DeNatale beat the odds before.
Three years ago, the boxer was stricken with a sudden case of Guillaume Barre Syndrome (GBS), a rare and mysterious neurological condition that left him paralyzed and unable to breathe.
DeNatale guesses that a bout of chicken pox, combined with a hepatitis vaccination shortly after, wrecked his immune system, making him ripe for GBS.
"He couldn't really control his hands or his legs or anything. He was losing a lot of weight in the hospital.
DeNatale can't forget the ordeal.
"I was in so much pain... I had no strength. I couldn't stand up. High fever. It felt like my brain was going to squeeze through my ears," he says.
Augustino says that his brother was a shell of his former self, down more than 40 pounds. "At that point, people thought he would never be able to fight again. Doctors were pretty happy if he could just be a normal person," recalls Augustino. "But he started walking and all of a sudden he started training and training and training."
Eventually DeNatale took home the North American title. In April 2006, he won the world title in his sport.
DeNatale says he's content knowing he achieved those goals. If he has to give up his fighting career, he'll be happy to use the free time to spend with his kids.
What he doesn't want to give up is teaching at his Clifton Street kickboxing school. He enjoys coaching the 80 or so members who include a few pros, but most are everyday people looking to get into shape.
On his living room coffee table are several "get well" cards. "These are all from my students. So are all the flowers you see," says DeNatale. "My students look up to me and I want to be there for them."
His brother and a buddy will run the school until he gets better, he hopes within the next year.
Jordan Cieciwa, one of DeNatale's trainers, is certain that the rough-and-tumble kickboxer will get back to his old self.
"Whatever he decides he's going to do, he'll do it," says Cieciwa, who trained DeNatale shortly after he recovered from GBS. "I know that Giuseppe has a love for his sport. That's why he teaches. That counts for a lot."
Meanwhile, DeNatale, who was raised Catholic, is forever changed. His faith is stronger that ever.
"I should be dead," says DeNatale, who dawns a tattoo on his left arm that reads, "Forgive me father for I have sinned." He says the words are truthful.
"I'm grateful to God that I'm still alive. Believe me. It wasn't my time to go yet. The end of the story is that God chose me to stay around a little longer."
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