The Angry Fighter's Story: Harness the Fire Within

by Bill Vincent

  There were hugs as I walked into the room and I was introduced to Lucy. She beamed at me and I instantly liked her. Mina had gone upstairs to drop the bags and upon hearing Uncle Mark was around, came rushing back down the stairs and all I could see was a whirlwind of blond hair that threw itself at him. Eventually disengaging from him, she turns around and my heart skips a beat. She smiles as we are introduced and then I excuse myself as the conversation picked up once more.

  I return only for dinner and say little. They seemed impressed with the fact that I was a fighter and Mina stole glances at me. Our eyes would meet across the table and I would politely look away, often down at my plate.

  We took our leave that evening despite Lucy’s protestations and in the van on our way back home, Mark remarks with a knowing grin, “She likes you.” There is no point asking who and a funny feeling stirs in my heart.

  I return to training on Tuesday and the guys are all glad to see me. We do the same things we have been doing and I am surprised when about a week later, Mark announced he had arranged another fight for that Saturday. His reply to my blank stare, “You are ready, trust me.”

  It’s the same venue, the same procedure and the same officials, but still things were different. First, the mocking smirk on my opponent’s face, second, the crowd didn’t chant my name at all, I couldn’t hear even a whisper, and I felt nothing. Absolutely nothing, no fear, no anxiety, nothing. Mark didn’t say a word, he and the crew prepared me as usual and left the ring after giving me pats on the back.

  Ranger Ox smiles at me through his headgear. He has won seven fights by straight knockouts and fourteen others by unanimous decision. Why Mark picked him I could not fathom but he grins wolfishly at me as the bell for the first round rings and homes in on me, like a shark scenting blood.

  For the first time in forever, time slows down and everything slows to a walk. All I do is grin and shift on a spot. He unloads a punch with his right and I calmly step into the curve of his arm. His eyes widen fractionally and then growling, he comes even closer and sends in his trademark left hook cum upward slash.

  It passes through the space I was in, he stumbles a bit off balance, and the world slows to a complete crawl. “Now my turn” I whisper quietly and begin the dance of blood and sweat. His momentum still has him reeling forward and as he comes forward in the delayed time of the void, I unleash a four-two combination on both sides of his face. His breath rushes out in a single whoosh and I step closer as he staggers back, aiming for his body with a one-two combination. He groans as they land, twisting and I push from the tip of my toes, up through my thighs, my chest and finally, the anger roars out and I bend it to my will and it moulds easily into a white-hot molten bubble that hardens my muscles. I connect with an upward jab which lands beside his temple, his feet leaves the ground for the fraction of a second and he crashes to the floor, still and unmoving.

  The bout lasted for all of 36 seconds and the crowd went mad with excitement. The announcer doesn’t stop booming out in a baritone voice “DID YOU SEE THAT! WHAT A BLOW! OH MY!”.

  Chapter Eight

  A

  big smile suffuses my face as the countdown begins and the crowd roars in expectation as the numbers increase and he lays unmoving.

  Mark winks at me from beside the ring and the crowd explodes as the countdown ends. The referee waves his hands and the bell rings to signify the end of the fight.

  The team all jump in, Tim, Drew and Mitch on reaching me, heft me up on their shoulders and begin leading chants of “Boy Hunter”, in retrospection. I should have guessed that it would catch on. The arena revs up another octave and goose bumps break out all over my skin. It is an awesome feeling and I feel much bigger than I actually am. Looking around, a memory comes flowing up from the streams of time.

  It is memory of a big poster with my uncle who had given birth to my dreams and on whose shoulders I hoped to see the future. I grin as I spot my aunt in the crowd. Her seat is directly beside the ring and I suspect Mike probably had something to do with that. But after further consideration, I begin to think otherwise. She is the wife of a legend after all and had walked in these circles perhaps long before even I was born. She is indeed one very influential aunt as I myself can attest.

  The next moments all stand out very clear in my memories. The announcement of the winner, which I was of course, and the sportsmanship hug that was after the medical team had attended to Larry, my opponent. He was groggy at first and not too steady on his feet, but he recovered after a while enough to congratulate me and shared some words.

  “Nice going, Kid! I don’t think I should call you that however,” he adds with a smile, “seeing that you knocked me out cold that is a testament to your ability and points to the fact that you are going far and for that, I am not embarrassed. I see that they have taken to calling you Kid.” He says while inclining his head slightly in the direction of the crowd.

  I smile in reply. “The accusing fingers lead to my team” and he smiles even more widely.

  “Then you have them to thank. Having a nickname such as Kid suggests someone who is small and easily overcomes, attributes that don’t come to mind when considering you. You will go far friend and many would be surprised by you.” His words though delivered briefly and in a very short span, prove to be true.

  Mark wakes me up early the next day by dousing me with a cold bowl of water.

  I yelp as I jump out of bed and he doubles over in laughter at my reaction. I grumble as he continues chuckling and when he recovers enough he says, “Morning sleepyhead, if you assumed you would have a day off perhaps even a week to celebrate your victory, well you thought wrong. The hard work begins now. The champ never stops and if you hope to be one, every minute that goes by must do so with an improvement in your skill and ability.”

  I wince and squint as he proceeds to switch on every light bulb in my room. I never knew there were so many. He hustles me out of the house in about five minutes and my aunt has a smile on her face as she comes to lock the door behind us. She is still in her night robe and I guess she will head back to bed. I mumble as we head towards Mark’s truck. He still has the grin on his face and I get more suspicious. I am about to enter when he stops me with a hand to my midriff. “Tie this around your waist,” he says with a wink holding out a rope and I comply wondering.

  Moving to the back of the truck, he attaches the rope to it and comes back around. “You will run with the truck till we reach the gym.”

  “Oh come on man!” I exclaim in consternation and he grins at me.

  “You want to say something?”

  I grumble in reply and he laughs out in reply, “I thought so,” then he starts the truck and I jog behind it to the gym.

  This sets the pace for the following weeks and my training routine actually gets more concentrated. The focus now shifts more on areas concerning style, skill, endurance, technique and power. The sessions are now structured so that each member of the team takes a specialized section and then, there are two general sections.

  Invitations for a fight had been pouring in since the last one and Mark had said we should be patient and not rush in picking my next opponent. After some consideration, we decide on Tiger Roo. He has earned a reputation for being a pound for pound fighter and since I had yet to face someone of that style, it was decided it would be the next step in the right direction for my career.

  We studied tapes of his recent bouts and analysed the majority of his bouts. He is a danger in close quarters and once he was within range unleashed blows that were often deadly. However, a weakness we noticed was that although he had an amazing engine and reached a peak in every round, he tires easily and could not sustain his attacks. These relative periods of calm were what we banked on. All I just had to do was endure his period of intense attacks.

  Mina, along with her mother were in town and came around to visit Mark. They tacitly somehow left us in the house to go visit some friends as M
ark put it with a twinkle in his eyes.

  I was a perfect gentlemen and Mark had taught me to be extremely polite to ladies, as fighters were perceived not to be so due to their reputation of being unruly. I got to know her better and we had quite a nice time chatting. I served us some refreshments from Mark’s fridge and we were munching contentedly when Mark and Lucy got back.

  I found myself wishing she didn’t have to leave and she somehow managed to steal a kiss on my cheek as they took a leave. Mark caught this with his sharp eyes and I turned beet red as he smothered his laugh. All indication he gave after they left was a cheeky wink and that was all. She gave me her number though.

  The day of the fight came and I was confident but not cocky and pretty relaxed, an emotion I was surprised to feel. The fanfare and lights no longer fazed me and I patiently wait for the fight to begin.

  Tiger has a mocking smile on his face all through and whispers during the call in, “Hey, I hear they call you Kid, an apt name I guess.”

  I nod in agreement, and he seems puzzled by my lack of reaction and my cool response.

  The bell rings for the first round and he comes at me fast, hard and furious. I find that I face my toughest evading gig yet, as he possesses a wide range of combinations and I have to block furiously as he unleashes a right left combination, a downward jab and right hook that I have to lean to avoid. I feel the wind of the blow as it passes by just a few inches from my cheek and give ground hurriedly as he attempts to get in even closer for his trademark left upwards hook. My arms become heavy and my shoulders begin to ache with the effort of blocking his blows and the power behind them. Blocking a blow does not mean it becomes painless and my forearms are bruised and feel twice their weight.

  “Just hold on,” Mark calls from the ringside and I do.

  Tiger’s punches get slower and then panting; he shuffles back a little with hands raised in the guard position.

  “Now!” I intone as the same time Mark shouts it.

  Weaving to the right, I switch on the rage, yes, now I have a switch and the world slows down to a crawl. Curling a blow from my shoulders, I aim for the right side for his face. He still has enough juice to block with his left but that is what I was hoping. A left hook crashes through his defences and hits him full in the face. He reels backwards and I close the distance. A right left combination to his body forces him to drop his hands to defend and I move in for the kill.

  A feint blow sells as a dummy and another blow lands on the underside of his jaw. Jimmying quickly, I shift to the side as his left hook crashes through the space I had been. It would have hit me had I not been on guard. A lesson learnt from my second fight. It is time to end this. I begin a combination I had practiced but never used, a double jab left right, a right hook to the side of the face and gathering my strength unleash an undercutting blow designed to hit the jaw from under with the force snapping back his head. With a gurgle, he stumbles and then crashes to the floor.

  I win.

  Chapter Nine

  I

  t can be said that from this point on, life takes on a new vibrant and more colourful hue. Again, I am hefted up on the shoulders of my team and the whole arena stands giving me an ovation fit for a king and the acclaim to match.

  Tiger is stretchered off. I believe he is not as badly hurt as he wanted it to look. I guess after all he had said and all the posturing before the fight, he was ashamed at having lost.

  As I am thrown up and down, the last doubts over if this was ever meant to be lifts from my mind, having worked so long and equally hard in training. My first two fights which were losses had dealt heavy blows on my dreams and I had withdrawn into myself, carefully trying to prevent others from coming close and feeling my pain.

  Now with two wins on the trot fighters are wishing to take me on as word of me spread. Even now, I can see Mike talking to two men beside the ring and he is gently shaking his head to what one is saying. Guessing they are pitching a potential matchup to him, he will eventually give me the gist when they are done, so I am not overly concerned.

  The cameras flash as I am announced as the winner and as was becoming the norm, we return to my corner where my bruises are further examined and cleaned.

  Then we head to the changing rooms. My aunt is there already and opening her arms, she engulfs me in a warm hug. “I am proud of you, David.” And I grin widely at her.

  The celebrations continue late into the night and the guys are all primed up for an all-nighter.

  I finally sneak away during a lull and crash in a corner. I am exhausted and in a short while, I am carried off in the arms of Morpheus.

  I sleep until late the next morning, as does everyone else. The guys are groggy and Mike sends me out to get eggs. “A breakfast of champions,” he tells me with a grin.

  I head out into the early morning sun. It feels quite good on my cheeks and walking briskly, I am warmed up in a few minutes. Well, I should say it takes about 20 minutes before I could even get the eggs I had been sent for. I had become something of a celebrity overnight and news of my last fight had spread in the community. I was stopped multiple times to pose for pictures and one little boy asked for my autograph.

  I am stunned, as I had not given it much thought although it had occurred to me once or twice. I signed the shirt he had with a flourish and it was quite cool.

  At the entrance to the store, two girls also asked me to pose with them and they were quite beautiful. As I shook their hands, one of them presses a slip of paper into my hands and it contains her number and the inscription “call me”. I drop the paper in the bin by the racks of the store. The reason, well you can guess, a nice lady with a smile that causes my heart to freeze.

  The next couple of weeks were quite fun. It takes a while to get used to being celebrated but once I got used to it, I quietly worked out ways in which it would not overly affect my schedule and my personal life. Also I avoid dark alleys, bars (I don’t drink by the way), and outings where ordinary folks would be eager to cause an argument with the hope that it would degenerate into a fight and then they could claim to have beaten a professional fighter in a neighbourhood brawl. Yeah, I know, roll your eyes all you want, but being a fighter ultimately makes you a nice target for bullies and they will swarm you in numbers. All for the bragging rights of having once taken you on.

  My aunt advises me not to forget my education and advancing further, perhaps going to college. “Doing that gives an edge and you will feel an accomplishment and a pride in yourself while doing it. All you have to do is pick a course you love and apply yourself while managing your fighting career.” Her advice sounds very good and upon further consultations with Mike, we agree that going to college would be a priority.

  I begin studying for the entrance exams while also training. My schedule is readjusted accordingly and I still have free time where I can just relax or go visit friends. My income has also been considerable since I began building a reputation and our fees are now respectable, which meant I had quite a bit of savings and also got some cool gadgets for myself to play with and my aunt got most of her domestic appliances upgraded.

  My next fight is a ranking fight, meaning it carried points and winning meant a position on the table of ranked challengers to the title. This gave me extra impetus not that I really needed it.

  The fight was not as easy as the earlier ones. Mint, as he is called, was much taller than I was and so had a considerable arm length advantage. I was forced to constantly duck his blows while attempting to get in close and I was pounded as a result. We went at it for seven long bouts and in the eighth, I utilized a strategy that Mark and I had developed. It involved acting more tired and worn out than usual while favouring a hand as if were weaker.

  Mint took the bait and left his side unprotected, he moved in much closer with the thought that he only had to protect a side.

  Grinning, I blocked his first jabs and ducking under a roundhouse swing; I unleash a left ri
ght twister to his body and then proceed to pound his face with my reserves.

  He falls and I win by knockout. And so, I beat my opponents one after the other, each with differing styles and some with almost no identifiable weakness but I found a way, and so, I move up in the rankings getting closer to challenging the title holder with every win I had under my belt. I keep winning until I am third in the rankings and just a fight and an opponent away from challenging for the title.

  However, the opponent I have to face is formidable and has a fearsome reputation. His name alone strikes a chord in the hearts of all who hear it and to me, it serves as a warning that he would be the biggest challenge I would ever face until date. He is known as Danger Bull.

  Chapter Ten

  I

  t was not all work though. Despite the fight coming up, Mike had passed to me a sense of perspective. At times, we are guilty as humans of concentrating on a single point to the exclusion of all other things. It could be a job or project on which we have our hopes and efforts pinned, but this singular focus eventually makes us lose sight of friends, family, and we forget to smile, to laugh at ourselves, forget it’s okay to cry in pain, see failure as weakness and not the lesson that it’s meant to be.

  Mike taught me perhaps the most important thing in our sessions. “Boxing is a beautiful thing, brutal but still worthy of respect, but at the end, it should not become your life. It should not take the place of your dreams. It adds colour to your life and will give you some of your happiest memories but never forget once in a while, to stand and admire the flowers in the meadow, smell the cold breeze after a rain, watch the laughter of a babe and make friends all around you, never stop living.”