would ask: What’ s the monthly fee?

Emerson’ s answer stunned him.“ It’ s all free.” Chaney kept bringing his son back. After a few visits, he began to look around more closely: the size of the building, the lights overhead, and the equipment lining the walls. He understood logistics. He understood overhead. And he knew generosity like this wasn’ t sustainable without structure.

“ How are you doing this?” he asked Emerson.

The answer was simple: Emerson was paying for it himself.

Chaney offered something Emerson lacked— not dedication, but the operational support to sustain it.“ You coach,” Chaney told him.“ I’ ll work on the rest.”

While Emerson focused on footwork drills and sparring rounds, Chaney began drafting a path toward nonprofit status.

The paperwork was dense. The process, daunting. But between the two men, a partnership formed: one driven by instinct and experience inside the ropes, the other by

strategy and structure outside the ropes.

Most of their funding still comes out of their own pockets. Chaney personally funded a state-of-the-art $ 10,000

regulation boxing ring, a centerpiece that transforms the gym from a training space into a true boxing utopia.

Located at 10275 N. U. S. 27, the Sons of Thunder boxing club isn’ t just trying to host fights. It’ s trying to create moments.

Traditional USA Boxing events, Chaney explained, can feel transactional— like a youth basketball game at the YMCA. You show up, you play, you leave. Functional, but fleeting memories for the young participants.

The Sons of Thunder boxing club wants something different.

When their fighters compete, they want lights. Walkout music. Announcements. A crowd. A stage.

“ They work hard to get here,” Chaney says.“ They deserve their moment.”

True to form, Sons of Thunder never charges its competitors. When they host events, they rely on community sponsorships