HARD ROAD (FIGHT CARD)

by Jack Tunney

  It looked like the will to fight had suddenly drained out of him.

  We came out for the start of the tenth round and touched gloves before taking a step back to face each other.

  “Good fight,” I offered.

  Boyle nodded. “Good fight.”

  I could almost taste the victory. It was close – right there in front of me. I knew I had him beat if I took it to him this last round. I came across the ring and hammered him with a left-right combo before he cold move out of the way. I backed him into the corner with an overhand right and a solid left to the chin, then planted another left on the kisser.

  Blood burst from his mouth, and when I slammed him on the nose with one more left, it streamed out of both nostrils. He tried to parry me to the ropes, but I caught him and pushed him back to the center of the ring. A left glanced off his shoulder and he tried to turn away from the punch. All that did was set up a right that connected with such force I felt the punch all the way to my feet.

  Boyle’s expression changed. His eyes softened and his chin dropped. I hit him again with the same kind of punch and knew, in that moment, I had him.

  I saw everything I wanted right in front of me.

  Michael Boyle tried a jab that was weak and lifeless. I jabbed past his punches and came at him. He backed away from me, holding his gloves in front of his face as I pounded him with solid overhand rights. All around me, I could hear the cheers of the crowd as Boyle leaned back with his hands dropping. He tried to get out of the way, but it didn’t work. I nailed him with a right to the body that was so hard he belched out a mouthful of blood as he sagged backwards against the ropes. He was helpless. A beaten fighter.

  For a moment I heard Father Tim’s voice in my ear again, saying the same thing about mercy and compassion for a beaten opponent. But I remembered the way Michael Boyle had creamed me in that first fight and the way he did it without a second thought. Not this time, I was thinking.

  I slammed Boyle on his chin with a hard right.

  I hit him with a jab that set up a right-left-right combo I was sure would put him away and end the fight. A knockout punch to end all knockout punches.

  But before I could get off another punch the bell rang.

  The fight was over. I felt like a champion.

  R OUND TWENTY-ONE

  Michael Boyle and I flanked the referee in the center of the ring. He held both of our hands while we waited for them to tabulate the scorecards and announce the results.

  The ring got chaotic when the final bell rang. Both corners rushed in – Frankie grabbed me in an embrace and lifted me off my feet. For an old guy, he was stronger than I thought. Twenty feet away Boyle’s guys took him under his arms to keep him from falling and led him back to his stool. They used ice and smelling salts and globs of petroleum jelly to work on him and get him back on his feet for the decision. His face was red and swollen, and one eye had started to puff up and swell. His jaw was hanging at an odd angle.

  All around me, I could hear cheers and applause. The house lights came up and I scanned the crowd. In the front row, I saw Sinatra on his feet, grinning and cheering alongside a guy who looked like Joey Bishop and two heavy goons squeezed into suits and ties.

  Flash bulbs went off all around, and photographers crowded the ring apron snapping pictures. Reporters shouted questions. I couldn’t hear any of them, but it didn’t matter. It felt great they were asking me anything. I stood in the center of the ring and soaked it all in.

  I knew I beat Michael Boyle.

  In that moment, I finally felt what it was like to be important. To be somebody. Like a champion must feel like.

  When Boyle and I met again in the center of the ring, he pulled me into a sloppy, half-hearted hug.

  “Good fight, Bobby,” he said. “You did alright. You did good.”

  “You too, Mikey,” I replied.

  He and I both knew the score – who won and who lost. He looked resigned to his fate. Resigned to what had happened. He knew his title shot had disappeared and his days as a top contender were probably done.

  Over in my corner, Ginny stood quietly with her back to the turnbuckle, watching everything unfolding with a straight face. I wanted her in the ring with me. This was a huge moment and I wanted her to share it. She didn’t look happy to be there, probably because of the smoke and the smell and the puddles of blood she had to stand in. But at least she was a part of it.

  The house lights dimmed and the ring lights brightened.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer said. “We have a split decision!”

  The crowd buzzed and all of a sudden I got an eerie feeling in the pit of my stomach. I looked over at Frankie and Gold - they shared a confused stare.

  It felt like it took forever for the announcer to say, “The winner, by split decision – Michael Boyle!”

  My body went numb. Everything around me exploded in confusion and chaos. Fight programs and paper cups were tossed in the ring, there were boos from all sides, and I heard people screaming, “Fix!”

  I looked over at Boyle as the referee raised his arm and it looked like even he couldn’t believe it. Across the ring Ray Gold was spitting mad, cursing up a blue streak and yelling at Tommy Domino. I saw Domino’s smug smile and realized I underestimated how much influence he had and how many judges were in his pocket. The fight against Sugar Ray was too important and too big to leave it to chance.

  No way in hell Domino was ever going to let it slip away.

  I had forgotten how things worked.

  “The punk has got himself a couple of judges on his payroll,” Gold said, still shaking his head and cursing. “It ain’t right.”

  I just shook my head. There wasn’t much I could say about it.

  “No way you lost that fight, kid,” Gold told me. “The way you fought back and won them last four rounds is classic. Can’t get better than that and anybody who didn’t see that is either blind of on the take.”

  “The fight was yours’,” Frankie added.

  I didn’t have words to answer. For a moment I felt a little foolish. I had given everything I had, but it still wasn’t good enough to win. It wasn’t like I got beat. Father Tim always told us if you tried hard and fought a good, clean fight you always came out on top. Now I wasn’t so sure.

  “Don’t worry, kid,” Gold said.

  He clamped a heavy hand on my shoulder. “Take off a couple of days and rest. You deserve it,” he said. “We’ll get those ribs checked out then get you back in the gym and back into it, better than ever. This is the kind of fight that’s gonna open doors for you. For sure.”

  Ginny looked over at me. Her expression hadn’t changed. “You know what this means, right?”

  I looked around the ring and took it all in one last time. The photographers snapping pictures. The reporters calling out questions without waiting for answers. The smells of the ring and the sweat and blood pouring off my body. Feeling like somebody important, even though I had just lost. This was what I loved and exactly what I lived for. This was my dream.

  I shook my head.

  “I can’t give this up,” I said. “This is what I want.”

  Ginny folded her arms across her chest and puffed up her shoulders. “You told me you would see my Uncle Manny,” she said with a pout. “You told me that when you lost you were done with this. You told me you loved me.”

  I nodded. “I do,” I said. “But if you love me, you won’t ask me to give this up. You can’t.”

  “You told me this was your big fight,” she said. “You said if you didn’t win, there wasn’t much left for you. That the best you could do if you lost was become somebody’s sparring partner.

  “You said you wanted to change,” she added.

  I shook my head. “That’s what you want. You can’t ask a man to give up his dreams,” I said. “A man ain’t much of a man if he does that.”

  Ginny’s expression didn’t change and in that moment I saw that none of my dreams matte
red to her. She wanted me to be somebody I could never be. What kind of life was that? It came back to the respect I learned about at St. Vincent’s, only this time it had to do with respecting myself.

  “Ginny, I got to be able to look in the mirror and be proud of who I am,” I said. “If I knuckle in to what you want, you won’t respect me. And I won’t respect myself.”

  She just shook her head. “My mother was right,” she said. “You won’t ever change. Uncle Manny won’t wait for you, and neither will I.”

  With that, she turned away and left, shaking her hips as she went. A killer body in a tight dress that turned heads. She gave one of the ushers a thousand watt smile and he spread the ropes apart so she could make her way out of the ring.

  “Sorry kid,” Frankie said.

  “You know how broads can be,” Gold said.

  I shrugged. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing after all, I thought.

  I might have said more if I had more time to think about it, but there was a commotion on the other side of the ring. I heard people cheering and turned around to see Sugar Ray Robinson making his way into the ring. Sugar Ray was tall for a middleweight – just an inch shy of six feet tall. He had smooth ebony skin, neatly manicured nails, and a jet-black processed pompadour. If you didn’t know who he was, you still knew he was special. He was the kind of fighter who combined movie star good looks with charisma, charm, and a flair for the dramatic. When he got in the ring the crowd in the Big Room roared their approval.

  He gave a polite nod to Michael Boyle and continued across the ring towards me.

  Tommy Domino hurried after him and tried wrapping an arm around Sugar Ray’s shoulder, but one of the assistants in his entourage pulled Domino’s arm off the champ. Two others blocked his path.

  “Champ?” Domino called out. “Hey Champ? Don’t you want to see Michael?”

  Sugar Ray came over to my corner and extended a hand.

  “That was one great fight,” he told me.

  I was speechless. For the first time in my life, I couldn’t find a single word to say.

  He turned to Ray Gold. “Your guy has some real talent,” he said. “Loved the way he got it on out there.”

  Sugar Ray turned back to me as Gold beamed with pride. “I’m here with Frank and Joey,” he said. “Dean’s gonna be mad he missed this one. It was a great fight.”

  “Thanks Champ,” I managed.

  “I really like what you got,” he said. “I’m gonna have my manager give you a call. Maybe we can work out a deal. Be neat to do something together -.”

  I knew his fight with Carmine Basilio was coming up at the end of September. He would have some openings in his training camp and need guys to work out with. I nodded.

  “Be a real honor to be a part of your camp and work out with you, Champ,” I said.

  Sugar Ray threw back his head and laughed. “Kid, I’m not talking about sparring with you,” he said. “I’m talking about giving you a title shot once I finish with Basilio. I’m thinking you and me having at it could be a real good fight. What do you think about that?”

  I saw my name in lights and liked how I pictured that. I smiled.

  “I think it would be everything I ever wanted,” I said. “Like a dream come true.”

  Sugar Ray’s smile lit up the ring and he put his arm around me. “Good,” he said. “Come on. Let me introduce you around.”

  THE END