by Sarah Deming
Mobile, Alabama
White/Red
Black
12-0, 8 KOs
3-6-1, 3 KOs
Bout 6: 10 Rounds, Cruiserweights
ISHMAEL HURLEY
JOSE DAVID RUIZ
192 lb/5'11"/25 yrs
185 lb/5'9"/35 yrs
Trenton, NJ
Medellín, Colombia
White/Red
Yellow
15-1-1, 9 KOs
3-6-1, 2 KOs
Bout 7: 12-Round Co-Main Event, Light Heavyweights
ABC Topaz World Championship
CLARENCE “BOO BOO” HARRISON JR
SAMUEL ADESOGAN
174 lb/6'/22 yrs
175 lb/5'9"/22 yrs
Brooklyn, NY
Lagos, Nigeria
Blue/White
Yellow/Black
12-0, 10 KOs
12-0, 3 KOs
Bout 8: 12-Round Main Event, Jr. Lightweights
ABC World Championship
JIMMY O’DONNELL
YOENIS MENENDEZ
130 lb/5'6"/25 yrs
129 lb/5'10"/34 yrs
Dublin, Ireland
Miami, Florida
Green/White/Orange
Red/White/Blue
25-1-1, 19 KOs
19-0, 6 KOs
“Boo Boo trains at your gym, I believe?” Carmen said, pulling out her little notepad. “Have you seen the opponent?”
“Of course I’ve seen him. I coached his trainers.”
Carmen winked at Gravity. “I think your coach has trained everybody in New York except the Statue of Liberty.”
Coach furrowed up his eyebrows, but Gravity could tell he was enjoying himself. Carmen was so beautiful tonight, in a little red dress with patent leather pumps. Coach always complained about the press, but everybody loves being interviewed. It’s fun when someone asks you questions and writes down your answers. It’s only afterward, when you read what you said in print, that you wish you had been more careful.
“The Nigerian is tough,” Coach said. “But I expect Boo Boo’ll stop him.”
“It’s a big step up in competition for them both.”
Coach snorted. “ ’Bout time. These days they don’t put kids in with anybody who’s got a pulse until their twentieth fight. How they supposed to learn?”
Gravity knew what he meant. Boo Boo’s fight and the main event promised to be good matches, but the rest of it was garbage. The professional game was different than the amateurs. Everyone in the red corner, which was the left column on the bout sheet, was a prospect. They had managers and fans to support them and they got paid just to box. When she and D-Minus went pro, they would be like that, because they had Coach and Mr. Rizzo in their corners.
The fighters on the right side of the sheet were called journeymen. They worked as security guards and bouncers, took fights for chump change at short notice, and traveled far, sometimes without a trainer. It wasn’t fixed, exactly, but it wasn’t fair, either.
“Keep your eyes open in bout four,” said Coach mysteriously.
“What do you mean?” Carmen leaned in, but Coach stabbed a finger at the notepad.
“This is off the record.”
When you tell a writer that something is off the record, they aren’t supposed to write about it. Carmen looked disappointed. She put the notepad back in her patent leather clutch.
Coach said, “That little Mexican is better than his record. He fights under a couple different names. Fatso saw him knock out an undefeated kid last month in Guadalajara.”
A bell rang.
Gravity had seen the first fighter, Kender, sparring with Genya and Boo Boo. You could tell it was a mismatch just from looking at his opponent, Steve “The Iowa Chainsaw” Zehntner, who had a roll of flesh that hung out over the waistband of his old silver trunks.
“Send him home in a body bag!” yelled a red-faced man who had taken the seat next to Gravity.
She scooted closer to Coach, who was gazing into the ring serenely, as though watching a slightly boring nature show. Kender was pretty good. He was patient, and he mixed up the levels. At the end of the first round, Steve Zehntner’s right eye was almost swollen shut.
During the break, a stunning blonde in a bikini printed all over with beer bottles walked around the ring in heels holding up a card that read “Round Two.” The red-faced man next to Gravity whooped.
The blonde exited the ring and took a seat next to two other ring girls.
“Hey, cuz! Hey, Mr. Thomas!” Melsy waved at them, beaming.
“Well! Hello, young lady!” called Coach, waving back. “Well, now, doesn’t she look sweet! You never told me your cousin worked the fights.”
“It’s her first time.”
Someone from the promotional company had apparently found Melsy on Instagram and offered her three hundred dollars cash to be one of the ring girls tonight. Melsy had asked Gravity’s permission, which was sweet, and Gravity hadn’t seen how she could refuse.
Next to Coach, Fatso was regarding Melsy with the same look of distaste he had given Gravity at breakfast in Spokane when she sat in Lefty’s lap. Fatso’s wife wore a hijab, and Gravity had heard him deliver many lectures about modest Muslim dress.
Gravity had mixed feelings about ring card girls. On the one hand, they reminded you what round it was. On the other hand, it was kind of sexist. It wasn’t like there were men in Speedos holding up the cards when women boxers fought. Of course, Melsy was gorgeous, and if she could make money off her gorgeousness, she should. But she had a lot of other things going for her too, and Gravity did not like the idea of her being on display for drunk douchebags.
Kender was taking his time breaking Steve Zehntner down, and soon Melsy was on. The heels were so high that Gravity held her breath, worried she would trip, but Melsy ducked through the ropes flawlessly and made a graceful round, holding the card aloft at each of the sides. The beer bottle bikini looked great on her, and she had gotten her hair done in big waves that hung down her back and gleamed blue-black under the lights. When she got in front of Gravity, she stuck out her tongue.
“She looks like a feisty one!” said the red-faced man.
Gravity went to sit with her auntie so she wouldn’t get ejected for fighting in the stands.
The plaza outside the Barclays Center was lit from below by spotlights set into the concrete and from above by the blue glow of the electronic billboards. As they streamed out of the arena, the boxers and fight fans lingered in raggedy packs, discussing the evening’s violence.
The Cops ’n Kids crew posted up in their usual spot. Gravity kept one eye on D-Minus, who was showering Melsy with exaggerated compliments on her ring card skills, and the other eye on Tyler, who was playing with Boo Boo’s kid brother, Nigel. The boys had two tiny Lego boxing figurines, one in red and one in blue, and they were running all over the plaza, making loud sound effects as they reenacted the evening’s bouts and bumped into people.
The main event had been a snooze-fest won by the Miami Cuban, who was a prospect of the mysterious multimillionaire manager Brian Jones, but Boo Boo’s fight had been a thriller. He had pulled off a spectacular knockout that still had everyone talking.
“You look beautiful tonight, Gravity
,” said Boo Boo’s dad, puffing on a victory cigar. “You should wear your hair like that more often.”
“Thanks!” Gravity had taken out her cornrows, and her hair was like a lion’s mane. Melsy had convinced her to bleach a few streaks and dye them bright red.
Mr. Rizzo caught Tyler and Nigel, who were pretending the little Lego boxers were Boo Boo and his opponent, just before they barreled into Coach’s wheelchair.
“They need a Lego ref,” he remarked dryly, turning his kind eyes on Gravity. He pressed some bills into her palm. “Here. Take a cab home. Your aunt looks real tired. She fell asleep in there for a second.”
Gravity pocketed the bills. It felt like at least sixty dollars. “Thanks, Mr. Rizzo!”
Next to Mr. Rizzo, Boo Boo’s mom was delivering a passionate tirade against the judging in amateur boxing. Auntie Rosa was pretending to be interested, but her eyes were fluttering open and closed. She had to be at Starbucks in Harlem tomorrow morning at five. Hopefully she would stay awake until they got in the subway. (Because they would definitely take the subway; Gravity never wasted the cab money Mr. Rizzo gave her on cabs. Sixty dollars bought a lot of groceries, and she still hadn’t gotten her first stipend check from USA Boxing.)
Then Boo Boo arrived, and all other conversation stopped. He was beaming, surrounded by Boca, Genya, Svetlana, Kostya, Andre Vázquez, and Monster, who was taking pictures of everything.
Boo Boo was tall and powerful, but when he was happy, he grinned like a little boy. Gravity watched as he made the rounds with Boca, shaking everyone’s hands and accepting their congratulations. He invited Melsy to feel his muscles, kissed Auntie Rosa’s hand, and bent down over Coach’s wheelchair for a hug.
“Good fight, young man,” Coach said warmly. He put one of his big hands on Boo Boo’s shoulder and looked over at Boca. “He did good.”
Boca made his humble face.
Before Gravity had gotten to the gym, Boo Boo had trained with Coach too, but then he got lured away by Boca’s swag, just like Monster and most of the other elite competitors. Gravity and D-Minus were the only serious fighters who had stayed loyal. Boo Boo always treated Coach with respect, though, and his face was eager now as he asked, “How’d I look in there, sir? That right hand was pretty good, huh?”
“Oooh-wee!” said Coach, swiping his hand through the air and breaking into a laugh. “Yes indeed. That was a right hand.”
Everybody talked about Boo Boo’s right hand. The Nigerian boxer had hurt Boo Boo badly in the first round and then again in the second. Thank God they hadn’t stopped it, because Boo Boo had recovered and coldcocked the guy in the third. It was the kind of punch where you knew instantly that the fight was over. Boo Boo’s dad said it was like a Riddick Bowe right hand. But Coach said no, it was more like Joe Louis.
Dreamy silence fell over their group at the mention of the great Joe Louis. When Coach was in a reminiscing mood, he would tell Gravity stories about what it had been like to spar the Brown Bomber; how mean his coach, Jack Blackburn, was; and how it felt to be on the receiving end of a Joe Louis jab: “Like a red-hot poker. You could feel it in the soles of your feet.”
Melsy broke the silence to ask if Boo Boo’s opponent was going to be all right, and Boca told her not to worry. The fight doctor had cleared him, and in the dressing room he had been walking and talking just fine.
“Shit,” said D-Minus. “I hope he still remembers how to find Nigeria on a map.”
Genya laughed and gave D-Minus a pound, and it was on. Gravity grinned. Watching those two mock the opposition was always a highlight of the evening.
“My man Africa went down like he was shot,” said Genya.
“Word,” said D-Minus. “He stayed down so long they set up a GoFundMe.”
Genya doubled over in laughter. He said, “He needs humanitarian aid and shit.”
“This was you, Boo Boo,” said D-Minus. He mimed winding a right hand way up and then punching Genya in the face, yelling, “BAM!”
Genya dropped to the concrete, clutching his head and howling, “Mama! Mama! That big black man took my lunch money!”
D-Minus started laughing so hard he fell down on the concrete. He and Genya rolled around in hysterics. Every once in a while, one of them would say a new thing, like that Boo Boo’s opponent had lost precious childhood memories or that he was going back to Africa in an ambulance, and they would both start howling again.
Soon everyone was cracking up, even Coach and Mr. Rizzo. Just when they had all finally stopped and D-Minus and Genya had gotten back up, Boo Boo’s mom said, wonder in her voice, “That man did go down hard, though. He made a loud sound when he fell.”
D-Minus and Genya hit the concrete again. Everybody cracked up, and Gravity laughed so hard her stomach hurt. Finally D-Minus sat up on his elbow, clutching his stomach in pain, and said, “Seriously, though, Boo Boo, you fucked that n—— up.”
“Demetrius!” yelled Mr. Rizzo. “Language, please.” He spread his arms to indicate Nigel and Tyler, who were gazing at the big boys, wide-eyed.
“My bad,” said D-Minus. He gave Nigel and Tyler high fives. “For real, though, Boo Boo. You fucked him up.”
Mr. Rizzo sighed and shook his head.
Gravity watched D return to Melsy, a sweet smile on his face. Even though it was annoying that he was pushing up on her cousin, she was glad he was in a joking and flirting mood so soon after losing Qualifiers. His Olympic dream was over, and it made Gravity terribly sad for him, despite what a dick he had been to her in Spokane. She could not even imagine how he must feel. He was a better pure boxer than her. He was the best pure boxer of any of them.
The delicious smell of curry shook her out of her reverie. Fatso had returned from the roti truck with the traditional postfight snacks.
“She sold out of shrimp, so I got you boneless chicken,” he said, handing one to Gravity.
It was heavy in her hand and big enough to feed both her and Ty. Roti were like the burritos of the Caribbean, with layers of spice that unfolded in your mouth like a long story.
“You gave me the wrong thing,” complained Coach.
“No, that’s yours,” said Fatso nervously. “Channa and kale.”
“What the hell is channa and kale?”
Fatso was avoiding Coach’s eyes. “Channa is chickpeas. They’re good for your pressure. Kale is a leafy green.”
“It’s good for endurance!” Melsy chirped.
“Get me meat and salt!” Coach roared. He pounded the side of his wheelchair so hard that Auntie Rosa, who had nodded off next to him, woke up with a start and yelled, “Grande soy latte!”
Fatso headed back to the roti truck, grumbling, “Don’t blame me when you have a heart attack.”
Tyler tugged on Gravity’s wrist and whispered something in her ear.
She smiled. “Boo Boo! My brother wants to ask you something.”
Tyler kicked her.
“Ow!” She rubbed her ankle. “What did you do that for?”
“You ask,” he whispered.
“Go on,” she said, pushing him toward Boo Boo. “He doesn’t bite.”
Tyler swallowed. He held out his program in both hands, craning his neck to look upward. “Can I please have your autograph, Mr. Boo Boo?”
Boo Boo grinned. “Of course, big man. Who’s got a pen?”
Andre Vázquez produced a gold pen from inside his suit jacket, handing it to Boo Boo with a flourish. “Be careful, champ. That’s a Montblanc. It cost five hundred dollars.”
“Wow.” Boo Boo took the pen carefully and signed Tyler’s program. Then he said, “Hey, big man, don’t you want everybody’s signatures? You got the best team in New York right here!” Boo Boo counted off on his fingers. “One Women’s Olympic Trials champion, two Men’s Olympic Trials participants, and how many Golden Gloves champions—s
ix?”
“Seven,” said Lefty, appearing behind Gravity and murmuring in her ear, “Wanna sleep over?”
“I gotta get Ty and my family back to Washington Heights,” she whispered back.
He touched her nose. “We’ll drop them off on the way to the Bronx. My cousin drove the Escalade.”
“Okay.”
She watched Lefty walk away, a warm, wonderful feeling coming over her because she would get to be with him that night. She could not wait to see what his house looked like and lie with him in his bed.
As Tyler’s program made the rounds, he kept his eyes on Boo Boo, at one point reaching out to touch the back of his hand with a fingertip, as though testing to see if he was real. When Boo Boo responded by ruffling Tyler’s hair, her brother gazed up at him like a heart-eyes emoji.
Gravity had learned to hide her longing, but Tyler looked for dads everywhere. He preferred men who drove large vehicles like backhoes and bulldozers, but sometimes he branched out to athletes or men in uniform. It could get embarrassing, but not around her teammates. Most boxers were from broken homes, so they didn’t judge. Even the toughest of them were gentle with little fatherless boys.
Gravity signed and gave the program back to Tyler, who immediately opened it up and looked at Boo Boo’s signature, enraptured. It made her laugh. She walked over to Andre to hand back the gold pen. She felt a little sorry for him for having spent so much money on something so stupid, so she said, “It sure is heavy.”
As he slid it back inside his suit jacket, he winked and said quietly, “My cock is heavy too, but I don’t take it out and pass it around.”
She blinked at him in astonishment. She looked over at Melsy, but she was busy taking a selfie with D-Minus. Andre met her eyes blankly, as though he hadn’t said anything out of the ordinary. Gravity edged away from him and went to stand by Coach.
