As much as any other sport, perhaps more so, good boxers rely on intense mental conditioning, a sort of auto-evangelism that at its simplest amounts to the gospel of Yes, I Can.

Thus the tendency to project a sort of invincibility -- think Muhammad 'I Am the Greatest' Ali, with his outlandish, poetic prophecies. Sure, it makes for great entertainment, but in the meantime it just might make a true believer out of someone, not least the boxer himself.

No less important is the need to surround oneself with acolytes. Singh's apartment is filled with Punjabi friends who have come from other parts of New Jersey. They sit inside, in front of the television, flipping between tennis and golf.

His home is spare: a couple of sofas, the television stand and some weights. There is little to tell exactly what Singh left behind, or the manner in which he did.

When Singh finished high school in Punjab, he joined the Indian Army. His father, now retired, was also a soldier. For some time they served together in the 17th Regiment. To hear Singh speak of the army is to gain a window into his life's great heartbreak. He was 16 when he joined, and early on he was encouraged to transform his physical gift into something more valuable.

"They let me go anywhere and just box," he says. "They gave me an extra diet, extra money, whatever I wanted."

Also see: Lest We Forget