by Pat Flynn
But boxing wasn’t something he dreamt about at night. At least not until lately, when thoughts of his first fight had invaded his sleep like a series of nudie-run nightmares. This Lupo Tapini character was supposed to be a mean fighter.
The afternoon sun had turned soft and light filtered down in reds and yellows. Casey hit the lip of the quarter-pipe and casually locked his front truck in like a criminal, nose-grinding for a good metre before he nollied out and hit the slope skating. Alex wanted Casey’s skateboard, his talent, his life. Though Alex had never said a word to him, Casey seemed to know exactly what he was doing, and why.
As for Alex, well he couldn’t even kick a soccer ball into a net with no goalie. To him the difference between his life and Casey’s was miles … kilometres apart. Casey was cool, Alex was uncool. Casey was good, Alex was mediocre. And that’s all Alex felt like he’d ever be. Average.
“A boxer isn’t knocked out by another boxer,” Chief always told him. “He’s knocked out when he decides he can’t take another punch.”
Casey ollied over the sun. That’s how it looked from where Alex was sitting. He landed on the steep metal rail that ran off the funbox and boardslided down, fast and smooth, till his wheels smacked the concrete in unison. Alex suddenly got inspired.
If he can do it, why can’t I?
Alex decided to study harder than ever before and ace the science test. He’d train his guts out and win the fight. He wanted to be somebody.
I’m not average, he thought. I’m Alex.
CHAPTER 5
Alex tried to sneak through to his room but his mum was waiting.
“Where’ve you been?” asked Sharon Jackson.
“Walking home from school,” said Alex.
She looked at her watch. “For an hour and a half?”
“I stopped at the skatebowl.”
“But you don’t have a skateboard.”
“I watch.”
There was a pause. “I heard the game didn’t go so well.”
Alex could see his sister, Sam, in the background, pretending to watch TV. Alex tried to project a laser beam from his eyes and stun her; instead she looked pleased with herself. Sam told their mum everything about his life — like how Sarah said he looked like that bloke from Home and Away, even though he didn’t. Alex couldn’t wait till high school when he would be out of Sam’s gossip range.
“So are you upset?” said Sharon.
“I’m over it,” said Alex.
After downing a couple of slabs of banana cake, Alex got ready for training. He threw some bandages (to wrap up his knuckles), boxing gloves and his mouthguard into the car. He also brought his science book and saw that next week’s test was on anatomy. He asked Chief the anatomical name for the jaw-bone.
“That’s the mandible,” said Chief. “I’ve had mine broken three times.”
Training was tough, like always. Alex spent time on the heavy bag, speedball, jump-rope, and in the ring with Chief. Once when he let his guard down for a second, Chief popped him in the head with the boxing mitt.
“Hands high!” yelled Chief.
A minute later he hit Alex in the gut. “Elbows in!”
Then just as Alex was getting stuffed, “Fifty!” yelled Chief — meaning 50 punches into the mitt, as hard as Alex could hit.
The session ended with stomach exercises. The guys hated them. It’s hard to be happy when your abdominal muscles are on fire. The last exercise of the night was a competition. Everybody lay in a circle and held their straight legs in the air as long as they could. Minutes passed, stomachs shook and boxers quit with a whimper. All except Chief.
“I guess we can’t stay here all night,” he said, his voice — like his stomach — not even straining.
On the way home Chief stopped at the NightOwl, coming out with a couple of milks. They sat in the car, drinking. “You think you’re ready for this fight?” said Chief.
“Yeah,” Alex said. He was only half-listening — Casey’s rad skate tricks had been running through his mind all night.
“You’re not,” said Chief.
Alex snapped out of it.
“Your first fight is one of the toughest things you’ll ever do. And it’s in two weeks. If I don’t think you’re ready, I’m not letting you fight. You gotta work your behind off, show me that you want it.”
Alex looked Chief in the eye. “I want it.”
CHAPTER 6
The phone rang. Sam answered — it was a female with a strong Indian accent.
“Is Alex dare, please?”
“Oh hi, Sarah,” said Sam. “I’ll just get him for you.”
“Alex,” yelled Sam, even though he was right next to the phone, “it’s your girlfriend!”
Alex pinched Sam on the backside as she walked away.
“Owww! Mum!”
“Did Sam just call me your girlfriend?” asked Sarah, speaking normally now Alex was on the phone. (She had already decided to try an Irish accent next time. Sam was proving harder to fool than Alex’s dad, who always asked her where she was from and how she knew his son.) “How cute.”
“What do you want?” asked Alex. Sarah rang up all the time lately. Some nights Alex didn’t mind; other times he wasn’t in the mood. Like tonight.
“Well, I wanted to say bad luck again about the soccer game,” she said.
“Thanks,” Alex muttered.
“And I know I can’t play soccer or anything, but I did make an observation.”
Alex didn’t ask her what it was, but she told him anyway.
“Perhaps next time you should wave to the crowd after you score the goal.”
“Is that all, Sarah? I’m kind of busy right now.”
“I also wanted to find out what you think we should wear in the assembly play. When I’m Mary and you’re Joseph. A happily married couple.”
“Look Sarah, I gotta go. I got study to do.”
“Isn’t there anything you want to ask me first?” she said hopefully.
“Yeah, there is. Why do you keep calling me all the time when you know I don’t like you?”
There was silence on the other end of the line. Alex wished he hadn’t said it.
“What are you studying?” said Sarah. Her voice had changed. It was harder.
“Science,” said Alex.
“But our test isn’t till next week.”
“So?”
“So you wanna beat me, don’t you?”
This time Alex didn’t answer.
“You can’t beat me, Alex,” Sarah said.
“Bye, Sarah.”
“You can join me, though,” she said, but only to the loud and soft beeps of the phone.
CHAPTER 7
A week later the class got their maths tests back. Sarah got an A+, Jimmy an A—, Alex a C. Miss Connors told the whole class about the importance of using the correct units. One student, she said, had had 5 marks deducted simply because he wrote the word miles instead of kilometres.
Jimmy laughed. “Who would do a stupid thing like that? We haven’t used the imperial system since the 20 th century.”
It’s all Chief’s fault, Alex thought. Chief was always going on about running 3 miles a day for cardiovascular training. Alex knew what cardiovascular meant from studying anatomy. He was going to kick Sarah and Jimmy’s behind in the science test.
Miss Connors was making the class spend hours each day rehearsing for the assembly performance. Most kids just had to colour in a poster or look busy without actually doing anything. Alex had to learn an entire script — written by Sarah Sceney, of course.
“Oh Mary, my beautiful, loving wife, where can we find a country that will be safe for our baby Jesus?” Alex suddenly fell out of character, not that he was ever in it in the first place.
“I’m not saying that, Sarah,” he said. “You’re not my beautiful, loving wife! You’re just a kid.”
“No, I’m not,” said Sarah. “I’m Mary and you’re Joseph. Although it is true that Mary w
as probably only 13 when she got married. Think about it, that’s only two years away.”
“I don’t know what you’re on about. But I’m not calling you ‘beautiful’ or ‘loving’.”
“Yes you will, Alex.” Miss Connors was lurking, and as usual she took Sarah’s side. “It makes the relationship between the characters sound more authentic. And besides, it’s cute.”
Alex sighed. He’d say it in rehearsal if he had to, but no one could blame him if he got stage fright and forgot a few words during the real thing.
Jimmy was playing the role of an Australian immigration officer. He got to arrest the Christ family and send them to a detention centre.
Alex flipped through the script and realised it was missing something. “Jimmy and I should fight,” he said to Sarah. “There’s no way I’d let him take me and my son away without doing something. I could be, like, kicking his butt when the SAS come and overpower me … just.”
“Dream on, Jackson,” said Jimmy. “I could beat you up with one foot tied behind my backside.”
“Bring it on, He-man,” said Alex.
“No fighting!” said Sarah. “Joseph is a peaceful person. He’s Jesus’ father, for God’s sake.”
“Stepfather, technically,” said Jimmy. “Joseph and Mary, they never actually, well, you know …”
“Jimmy!” said Miss Connors, using her X-ray hearing again. “What are you saying?”
“Nothing, Miss,” said Jimmy.
“They’re not listening to me,” Sarah dobbed. “They keep talking about fighting.”
“No fighting,” said Miss Connors. “And if you two boys can’t cooperate, there’s some special jobs that need doing at lunchtime. Sarah, can you let me know whether or not their attitudes improve?”
“Certainly, Miss Connors.”
“You’re right about one thing,” Alex said to Jimmy, after Miss Connors walked away.
“What’s that?” said Jimmy.
“You’d fight better with a foot tied behind your backside. I’d fall over laughing.”
Sarah shook her head.
“Later, Jackson,” said Jimmy.
CHAPTER 8
Jimmy kept his word, that afternoon at his house. And even Alex had to admit that Jimmy beat the bodily waste out of him. Jimmy’s punches hurt, but it was his triple-spin kick to the head that killed Alex.
“Fatality,” said the voice on the PlayStation.
“You’re hopeless, Jackson,” said Jimmy.
“No, this game is hopeless,” said Alex. “My mum reckons it encourages violence.”
“But you’re a boxer,” said Jimmy. “You hit people in the head.”
Alex shrugged.
They went out to the backyard to kick the soccer ball around. Jimmy had burned a penalty spot onto the grass with petrol (his mum had flipped, but that was weeks ago) and they took turns being striker and goalie.
“Okay, this is it,” said Jimmy. “Time has miraculously gone backwards, and Alex Jackson has another chance to take the penalty that will win the premiership for Beeton.”
Alex flinched, but he played along. Every night since the soccer game he wished he could go back in time.
“One strike and Beeton will win the game, beating the cattle ticks of Trinity,” said Jimmy, pretending to be a famous commentator. “Hang on a sec.”
He ran to the side of the yard. “Miss it! Miss it! Miss it! MISS IT!”
“What the hell are you doing?” asked Alex.
“I’m that Billy kid. After he was sent off. Didn’t you hear him yelling at you?”
“No.”
“Well, he was. I’m trying to recreate the moment exactly as it happened.”
Jimmy ran back to goal, though Alex couldn’t believe that the goalkeeper commentating was an accurate recreation of events.
“Jackson takes a deep breath. He takes another deep breath. And another.”
“Shut up for a second, Homan. I’m trying to concentrate.”
Alex ran up to the ball and, like the real thing, kicked it right. Jimmy also stuck with historical accuracy and dived left. Amazingly, the ball hit the post (which in this case was a wheelie bin) and came back to Alex. This is where he decided to change history. Instead of hitting it first-time he trapped the ball and casually slotted it straight into the middle of the goal.
“Beeton wins!” screamed Jimmy. He threw Alex onto his shoulders and ran around the backyard. “Jackson is a hero!” he yelled. “Cattle ticks lose, all because of Jackson and Homan!”
“What did you do?” asked Alex. It was good sitting up here. There was a pretty lady gardening a few doors down.
“I passed you the ball,” said Jimmy.
“No you didn’t. You tried to score a goal and it came off the side of your boot.”
Jimmy dumped Alex onto the grass and they started wrestling. Just as Alex was about to pin him for a count of three, Jimmy’s mum came out. “Boys, it’s getting late. I don’t want Alex walking home in the dark.”
“Yeah, the boogie monster might get him,” Jimmy said.
They lay there for a minute, laughing and sucking in oxygen. The sun was setting, the air warm and still.
“What do you think about girls?” asked Jimmy.
“What?” said Alex.
“Girls. You know, those creatures with skirts.”
“You’ve never asked me about them before.”
“We’re not little kids anymore, mate. Well?”
“Can’t figure ’em out,” said Alex. “They’re too weird.”
“You’re not … gay, are you?”
Alex punched Jimmy’s arm. “Shut up!” He tried to make sense of the thoughts in his head. “I like the idea of girls, I just don’t like any at our school. I’m waiting for one who’s … different.”
“Sceney’s different.”
“Not that sort of different.”
Thinking about Sarah brought reality flooding back into Alex’s head. The fight was on this weekend, the science test on Monday, and then the stupid assembly play.
“Hey, He-man,” said Alex, “imagine if we did fight in that play, in front of the whole school.”
“Yeah,” said Jimmy, “it’d be wicked.”
CHAPTER 9
Chief wrapped Alex’s hands in tape and gave him some last-minute advice. “Get your feet moving early. How’re you feeling?”
“Like a tractor ran over my gut,” said Alex.
“That’s okay,” said Chief. “It means the adrenaline is kicking in. Jeff Fenech used to get so nervous he’d throw up before a fight.”
“Dad, don’t talk about spewing.”
“Sorry.”
They got the call from the official. Chief shook his head. “I can’t believe my son is having his first fight. Win or lose, I’m proud of you.”
They hopped through the ropes. “And Alex,” said Chief, “you’re ready.”
He should’ve been. He’d lived and breathed boxing the last few weeks, and was even thinking about changing his name to Muhammad.
The bell rang, the boxers hit each other’s gloves and the fight was on. Unfortunately for Alex, Lupo Tapini was also ready. And unlike Alex he’d had five previous fights and won them all. He tagged Alex on the side of the head early in the round.
“Dance!” Chief yelled.
Alex’s head was spinning but his feet obeyed, and he stayed away from Lupo for a minute or so. Alex tried a few jabs but it was like everything was happening in slow motion, except Lupo’s punches. Towards the end of the round Lupo landed a combination — boom, boom — in the left rib and right cheek. It was all Alex could do to stay upright.
“This guy can really fight,” said Chief as he squirted water into Alex’s mouth after the round. “You want me to throw in the towel?”
Alex spat the water into a bucket. “No.”
The second round wasn’t much better. It was Lupo chasing Alex around the ring. Because Alex was quick he didn’t get tagged too often, which was jus
t as well because Lupo could punch the lights out of a suburban street. Once when they got into a clinch Lupo hit Alex in the gut, and for a few seconds Alex thought he’d never breathe again.
The bell rang and Alex was thankful he only had to survive one more round. Deep down, though, he didn’t want to just survive, he wanted to win. But with Lupo doing all of the attacking, Alex would need a knockout. And that would take a miracle.
“What do I do?” Alex asked Chief as the bell sounded for Round 3.
“You gotta stay calm,” said Chief. “You can hit him. Just keep moving, be patient and take your chance when it comes.”
It wasn’t till halfway through the round that Alex put Chief’s advice into action. The tiredness made his fear dissolve and a second wind kicked in from all of the skipping, stomach exercises and running he’d done. Alex could see Lupo starting to back off slightly.
He must be stuffed from all that punching.
Lupo’s hands dropped a fraction and Alex took his chance. He danced in — two quick steps. Jab, jab. Bang! Right in the noggin.
Lupo looked stunned. That’s because he was. In his first five fights he’d never been hit so hard before. In fact, he’d never been hit.
“Get to the ropes!” yelled his corner-man.
Lupo was shaky but his training kicked in. He stumbled backwards and found the ropes for support. Alex moved in and started throwing combinations, ripping uppercuts into the ribs and searching for the knockout blow to the mandible. Lupo covered up like he was taught, holding his hands in front of his head while he bobbed it around, creating a moving target. A moving target that was copping a caning.
The referee stopped the fight, to check how Lupo was.
“I’m fine, sir,” Lupo said. He was a good liar.
Before Alex could do any more damage the bell rang. Lupo was wandering aimlessly into the wrong corner until his trainer came and got him.
“The ref should have stopped it,” said Chief. “You beat the hell out of him.”
