by Lee Cooper
A straight right bounced off my chin, as he followed down to my body, clattering my kidneys with a wide swinging right, making me wince. I hung on the ropes looking for that moment to gather my breath and register the pain.
I tried to keep loose on my feet, snapping out a few jabs, but they were hopeless. Roy repeatedly backed me up onto the ropes and into the corners, draining my energy.
There was one thing helping me, the old boxing brain, helping me duck and dive my way off the ropes and into a bit of space, where I could get some air to breathe and a couple seconds of brief relief.
Roy didn’t have much of a brain, just stalked me like a heavy-handed dumb dog. The creaky stiff wooden floor made his movements awkward and loud as he thumped his way round the makeshift ring.
What he did have was a stubborn streak and a lot of power. The pressure from his massive weight following me around the ring was sapping my supply tank. The longer the round went, the more success I was achieving but at the same time, my energy levels depleting with my legs becoming sluggish and my brain slowing down.
After throwing a punch, my hands would drop to my waist instead of protecting my head like they should, standard boxing dictionary stuff.
Two minutes down, Roy really let the onslaught begin. He had me sunk onto the ropes for the last minute, while he rained down blows. Head-hooks, body-hooks, and every other punch in the book connected. Thrown with ferocious power, a grunt, solid impact and the intent on seeing me lying flat out on the creaky floor. The pain was shocking, and I couldn't help but pray for this fucking round to end.
Finally, Tim announced the round was over. Roy looked at me from the corner of his eye, a cocky glint as the bully inside had loved every second of this. I got back to my corner, where Tim waited for me with a much needed drink of water.
“Shit, am fucked, give me a drink.” I huffed and spat out the words as quick as possible. I was weak-legged from the heat trapped inside my head because of the headgear. Tim lifted the bottle of water to my mouth, and I gulped down as much as possible before taking a fresh breath.
“Right, you’ve a minute to sort out that breathing.”
“Fuck that. I’m no’ doing another round, am done.”
“Don’t be a fanny. Don’t you want to get your own back after that?”
“Course I do, just no’ the day.” My head hung below my neck looking at the floor. The night’s sweat had soaked through my t-shirt, sticking it to my skin. I’m in a state of shock, looking for pity and a way out.
“Stop being a coward, that’s not the man I remember. One more and that’s you for the night.”
I lifted my head up with a blank stare, accepting I’d do another round.
“When he traps you on the ropes, open up on him with a couple of counters on the inside, a left-hook or a right uppercut should do the business. His hands hang low between punches, so use your counters. Let him know you can hit. He’s stupid, he won’t figure you out. Right come on, that’s time.”
He gave me a couple more sips of water before I returned to face the dumb dog again. The big geezer giving Roy a pep talk, slapped him on the back of his shoulder as he turned to face me, as if he was instructing him to finish me off.
I marched forward, determined not to let the bully intimidate me.
Rapidly hitting him with a one-two left-hook combo, connecting well with the sweat jumping off his face, his neck juddered as the left-hook landed. It had effect, surely it hurt. Shaking it off, he continued to pressure me again.
Getting more success this round, but unfortunately he was still wearing me out. Pretty much done, half way through the round finding a temporary home leaning on the ropes, I absorbed the assault. It had turned to a fight in my mind at that point, he wasn't holding back.
This was now a test of character. Pissing me off, all I cared for was to stand on the cunt’s head once I’d knocked him out. Hearing him grunt with every punch he threw, pushing me to take a knee as he did with Chris. He wasn’t far from succeeding, I’ll give him that. As I felt my legs getting hollow, an added problem was the body punches sucking the air out of my lungs.
“Joe, remember what I said. Come on, get on wi’ it.” I tried to let my guard down to sneak in a couple punches through the rain of fire.
The first couple of times I missed, the third time, connecting, again with a heavy left-hook, following with a right uppercut, stopping him on the spot as his brain took notice. Allowing me a ten second, well needed touch of confidence.
For the first time, Roy had a look of respect, but catching me unaware as I gloated to myself, he began his assault again. I couldn’t take much more of this punishment. Thinking - taking a knee would be easier to let this end - but the stubborn part of my brain said different. Fuck this cunt, stay on your feet, one more chance to fight back before the round, or I, was over.
Studying his upper body movement for that gap I needed. I dropped my hand.
Suddenly, silence, the sound died, like amps on a speaker being switched off. I lost my vision, seeing only dots of colours flickering in my eye-line. Losing the power to hold my body-weight, my legs began to buckle to the ground, left knee brushing the wooden surface, leaving little coordination in my brain and body.
Springing back up, I threw a right hand, feeling it clatter across his left cheek. Regaining part of my sight I saw his head ping across his neck and his bulky body coil to the ground with a big thud. Out cold, no movement whatsoever from the dead weight. I looked down on him, repaying his arrogance.
“Fuckin’ hell, Joe! Where the fuck did that come from!” Tim gasped. He jumped into the ring, placing Roy in the recovery position, resuscitating him back to consciousness. The big guy in the corner glanced over to his smaller mate with a questioning look that said ‘Who the fuck is this guy?’
I never held any remorse for Roy. A new feeling that was to become ever more common. I didn’t care about his health, after all, he tried to bully, take advantage.
Analysing what had just happened, I reckon the big man who’d been giving him the pep talks, issued him with a free pass to inflict as much pain as he desired. Well it didn’t work out quite as well as he thought.
Fuck them. I climbed out of the ring refusing to look back on the collapsed body on the ground, made my way over to the water fountain to regain my breath. Exhausted and weak, almost as if I wasn't all there.
I never figured out where that punch came from. I must have been storing it up for a while. Acting on pure instinct without thinking.
Chapter 9
The Aftermath:
I wandered back around the ring to see Tim helping Roy to his feet and over to a stool in the corner. Tim had the usual supply of smelling-salts to revive the weary, and Roy was definitely weary, confused and embarrassed from getting knocked flat by the fresh blood just in the door. Tim massaged the back of his neck and give him regular sips of water.
The bigger of the two guys Tim had been talking to slid out between the ropes, walked over to me and held out his hand for me to shake.
“Alright, Joe? The name’s Mike and that’s my partner Bull over there.” He pointed to the back of the ring where Bull stood. “That was some punch you came out with there”. His eyes weighed heavy, looking like a half-filled tea bag.
“Cheers, just instinct.” I could see Roy limping up to his feet out the corner of my eye.
“Aye, he’s a tough lad, he’ll be alright in a few minutes.” By the tone of his voice he didn't care much for Roy either. “Tim tells me you used to be quite the boxer, back in the day?”
“Aye, I stopped about eight years ago.”
“I could tell by the way you moved around in there. You looking to fight again?” I suspected by the inviting way he talked, keen to compliment me, he was obviously fishing for something.
“Na, not really, just wanted to do a bit of training.”
“Because you’re a mate of Tim’s, your welcome any time to come train.”
The mood in the gym changed,
everyone making their way out. Roy now on his feet and getting his bearings. Once out of the ring, he idled over and shook my hand.
“That was some blow, never saw it coming.” His voice had a deep crackle and his mood was OK, given what had just happened, he didn’t seem pissed off at all, just embarrassed. If anything, he was showing respect.
“Nor me Roy. You alright?” I asked, trying to be polite, but I couldn’t give a fuck.
“Aye, am grand. Nothing a good night’s sleep won’t cure.” He came across as a heavy-hitting stubborn tough-guy in the ring but now, he knew his place. I watched him coast his way toward the changing-room.
Tim was having a bit of a tidy up around the ring, trying to pair the gloves that sat loose on the sweat layered floor.
“Hey Tim, how am I getting home?”
“Well, it’s not going to be Roy, as planned. I’ll give you both a lift.”
This was going to be a little awkward, sharing a lift with the guy who had just seriously collided with my fist.
Keen to get going, I waited in the car for them and reflected on the nights’ events. As we left, I felt completely exhausted and didn’t have the energy to speak. I slumped back in the passenger’s seat and wondered if Roy should be taken to A&E, although I suspected hospital wasn’t a top priority for boxers around this gym.
Knocking that bully out was something I was proud of and would repeat in an instant, given the chance. It felt as if I had just achieved something for the first time in years. It was safe to say I’d definitely be returning to Kilgours, super-keen on getting fit and losing some unwanted pounds from being a couch potato. That was the goal I set myself at the time, but there was a bigger goal on the horizon, one I couldn’t predict.
Mike and Bull were last to leave, locking the shutters and the doors. Heavily paranoid at the thought of young rogues panning the windows and door in. Who wouldn't? Being situated in Tilly.
Before I knew it, Tim was nudging me awake. I was woozy and a tad confused. Roy had already gone.
“Cheers for the lift, mate. You fancy picking me up on Thursday?”
“Aye sure, lad. I’ll pick you up, same time. You take care now.”
“Sound. See you then.” Tim gave the thumbs-up.
Getting in the door, I headed straight to the kitchen, needing some sustenance. Finding May sitting at the kitchen table, hand on her forehead with her hair ruffled up, trying to balance the books, figuring out which bill needed paid first.
She immediately noticed the small black-eye Roy left me with, hardly noticeable to me. Looking me straight in the eye, eyebrows raised with disappointment.
“Well, well, it’s just like the old days, eh? Joe Rhodes. Walking about with black eyes?” Referring to my previous name, when I did stroll around with coloured eyes
“Ach, I would hardly call it a black-eye, May. Anyway, you should be glad it’s not my nose that’s broken.” I tried to make light of the conversation.
“Don’t be coming home with them all the time. The kids don’t need to see that on a regular basis. Joseph.” Her voice firm.
“I know what you’re saying. Not the kind of thing I want ‘em to see, either.”
A big sigh “I’m off upstairs for an early night. My head’s mince, looking at all these bills.”
“OK babe. Night.”
She slipped out the door, not willing to take me on. I didn’t know if it was the bills lying on the table, or my black-eye that pissed her off. Sinking into the sofa, eating some leftover dinner, I felt content that I’d achieved something with my fists tonight. I was back!
Chapter 10
Good Feeling:
I got a warm, fuzzy feeling about myself over the next couple weeks, something I’d been missing for the past seven months. The extra spring in my step gave me some welcome relief from the stress. Tuesday and Thursday, I kept attending boxing.
My mind healthier, but body older now, weaker and stiff. Not able to afford the protein shakes and training supplements all the serious gym-goers were taking, I had to take the pain for a few more weeks before the muscle ache would fade.
What I wasn’t enjoying was the constant search for a job. Truth being, I was beginning to settle into a life that I couldn't see a way out of. To be honest, I wasn’t job-hunting as hard as I could have, the boxing distracted me.
The welfare payments transferred in my account every week. Sitting in the Jobcentre, explaining to the grey-faced, grey clothed dominatrix sitting opposite me, that I’m doing everything by the rules to find work, was like talking to a brick wall.
Just like a fight, I had to duck and dive my way towards getting the pittance of a hand-out they deemed ‘enough’. I had to keep looking forward in the hope something would turn up.
Boxing had been going well and I could still fight, probably as good as in my teenage years. I was even surer of that when I took apart another boxer from the club, Toby. A real live-wire. Muscular, a good size for his weight and game as hell. A broad-shouldered 84kg, not a slice of fat to be seen. Five foot eight and a real stylish boxer as well.
Wasn't local though, had a southern Scottish lingo. Having a really friendly kind of face and a good manner about him, he didn't seem a bully like Roy, who hadn’t been seen since I put him on his arse. He must have been too embarrassed to show face after getting sparked out.
It was easy to tell Toby was an experienced fighter. The way he glided, the speed of his punches and the different variations of combos he had at his disposal. No ego, just a workmanlike attitude.
We had our first spar a couple weeks after I exchanged blows with Roy. It started off quite relaxed but there he was, Mike in his corner egging him on. A few rounds passed when he thought he could take advantage. Being twenty odd kilos heavier than him, I was taking it easy. In the fourth round he started hissing like a snake as his punches started ploughing in. Following Mike's instruction from outside the ropes, he stepped up a gear. Really trying to trouble me.
Once his athletic body stood inside my space, he would hit and move round my slow frame, pull my guard down, land a combo then disappear out my sight. His brain full of boxing tricks.
Half way through the round, losing patience with the drip-drip effect his boxing was having on me, I dropped him with a hammering left-hook to the body. He sunk a deep breath as his legs couldn’t hold his weight. That was a warning to him, but he didn't take it. Lifting himself back up to his feet, he returned to the same tactic, hissing aggressively as he threw random leather in my face. He was too game for his own good.
He got on my inside, opening up on my body, lightning quickly, he was hard to stop. My patience wearing thin, the kettle began to boil, I took it upon myself to drop him again, this time with a right uppercut in-between the narrow space showing in his guard.
Taking another knee, I hoped for his sake he stayed there.
No, the game son of a bitch got up again, gave Mike a glance in the corner, who nodded while he blinked and casually said “Carry on, boy.” I let him finish the round, allowing myself some easy time to regain full lungs. Hoping for his sake there wouldn’t be another one.
There was, one more. He went easy at the start of the round, must have learned his lesson. Keeping him at bay with my stiff jab for the time being, while Mike barked at him to close the gap and get back into my chest.
Toby went into overdrive. The cunt had some tank on him. Flat out almost every round, he was still fresh as a daisy.
It was at this point that I realised everybody in this gym must be on some kind of juice: steroids.
I was sick of the sight of this pocket dynamo. Stalking him until I could pick my moment, being patient, when the time came at last. It all shifted into slow motion.
His feet bore forward, trying to sink his face into my chest and force me back, but I glimpsed his legs move and threw a straight. It mauled into his face, terminating his advance, almost as if somebody turned the switch off, he crumpled to the floor. I had warned him. He needed to l
earn not to fuck with me.
The same rescue-squad came to his aid. Tim the first in there to help. Mike by his side, probably just to check he wasn’t dead for his own benefit. Once Mike was able to feel a pulse, he left the ring.
“Boy, you’ve got a habit of doing this?”
“Tell your boys to stop taking the piss, ‘en I might take it easy.” A couple minutes of trivial chit-chat went by before Mike asked me about my past fights, then he turned to my job dilemma.
“Tim tells me you’re out of work?”
“Aye, haven’t worked for a while.”
“You fancy making some money?”
“Doing what?”
“Looking for somebody to take a fight in a few weeks. Easy night’s work. Interested?”
“Na, I can’t.” May would never allow it.
“£400 for a night's work. An easy night’s work for a man of your talents.” His compliments were meant to rope me in.
“I don’t know, Mike.” If May knew I accepted a fight, she would have a fit.
“Well, you have a wee think about it, Joe. Get back to me. I can tell you’re a fighter.”
Mike walked away at that point leaving me something to mull over. Four hundred quid for a professional fight would really help us out over the next month with all the bills piling up. Mortgage, gas, electricity and food all needed to be paid for, and I couldn’t see any answer to my problems or any other way of bringing in money. I couldn’t let May go through all the constant worry. I instantly knew I needed a cover to fight.
Chapter 11
Preparation:
The following day, the stacking bill problem really hit home. Through the post came the red letters: final reminders for the gas and electricity, the mortgage three months late and the phone cut-off, which meant no internet access.
No internet meant I couldn’t apply for jobs at home. Hiding the gas and electricity bill from May for the time being, seeing her showing signs of breaking down, I didn’t want the bill finding its way into her hands, just yet. She seemed stressed and snappy. That was so out of her character, normally so laid back, just taking things in her stride.
