HARD ROAD (FIGHT CARD)

by Jack Tunney

  “I know him,” Frankie said. “Guy’s a bleeder. Catches everything with his face. Gives you five or six rounds, but ain’t got the legs to last more than that. Almost a contender until he ran into LaMotta a couple years back. Spanish guy. Don’t speak a lick of English.”

  “That’s him,” Gold said.

  I shrugged – didn’t know him.

  “So Domino has this fight set up between Boyle and Rivera down in AC,” Gold said. “Ain’t nothing guaranteed, but the word on the street is that once Boyle gets past Boloboo, he’s in line for a shot at Sugar Ray.”

  I felt my heart sink and my insides twist into a knot.

  “What I hear, is that now that Sugar Ray got his title back he wants to take on all challengers. Wants to prove himself especially against the young guys and contenders. Same way he did after that first LaMotta fight.”

  “Don’t want nobody thinking he’s soft, huh?” Frankie put in.

  Gold nodded. “He’s got a fight scheduled against Carmine Basilio end of September,” he said. “Then he wants to get back in the ring by the end of the year.”

  I slumped back on the couch. A guy like Boyle was perfect for Sugar Ray – a young up-and-comer with an undefeated record. The sports writers would eat up that kind of fight and the public would love it.

  “So, what’s the problem?”

  “Looks like Boloboo broke his hand and now the fight’s in trouble.”

  “How’d he break his hand?”

  Gold scowled. “Who cares? The thing is, if this fight don’t happen, then all of Domino’s plans get screwed up,” he said. “He don’t get his guy in the ring for a fight, no way Sugar Ray’s gonna wait for him. He’ll take another fight.”

  “I seen this kid Boyle fight,” Frankie said. “Got a good hook.”

  “The reason Domino wants this fight is he knows Sugar Ray can be beat. Got a lot of years and fights under his belt between amateurs and pros,” Gold said. “Ain’t the same fighter he used to be. Don’t have the hand speed or the legs he used to have.”

  “He’s vulnerable to the hook,” Frankie said. “Kid like Boyle’s got a shot.”

  I sat up straight and leaned forward.

  “Get me that fight,” I said. “Get me in there against Mikey Boyle.”

  “It ain’t that simple,” Gold said.

  “You can make it happen,” I said. “Besides, we have a history.”

  “I heard about that fight. Heard he cut you up and almost killed you.”

  “It wasn’t that bad,” I said, although that was a lie.

  I gave everything I had in the ring that night but it wasn’t enough. I had never been hit with punches the way Boyle hit me, and no matter how much time passed, I was convinced he had loaded his gloves. That was the only reason I got cut up the way I did.

  No way Michael Boyle beat me any other way.

  “We got history, me and him.”

  Frankie nodded. “He’s a lot better since that last time you fought.”

  “I’m a better fighter, too. Besides, I’m still convinced it wasn’t a fair fight,” I said. “The guy hit me with everything but the kitchen sink. Something fishy about the whole thing.”

  Gold waved away my comments and shook his head. “Don’t start talking like that,” he said. He leaned across the desk and pointed a rolled up copy of Ring at me. “Nobody wants to hear that kind of talk. It ain’t gonna help none if you start shooting off your mouth.”

  “Think we can get this fight?” Frankie asked.

  “He needs this date and he needs this fight,” Gold said. “Domino’s getting his kid in line for a shot at Sugar Ray. We get in the ring against Boyle, it’s gonna be a nice pay day.”

  “Forget the pay day,” I said. “What about me?”

  “What about you?”

  “What’s in it for me if I win?”

  “Ain’t nothing but a quick pay day. No guarantees beyond that,” he said. “What do you think you’re gonna get?”

  I stood and put my hands on his desk.

  “Think maybe if I beat Boyle, I’m the one who gets that shot at Sugar Ray’s title.”

  Gold threw back his head and let out a hearty laugh. “Kid,” he said after a minute. “There you go again. Dreaming like you always do.”

  “Why’s that so funny?”

  “Ain’t gonna happen.”

  I shook my head. “No reason why what’s his can’t be mine,” I said. “Get me that fight. Make it happen.”

  ROUND SIX

  “Why are you taking this fight?” Ginny asked.

  I sat on a couch in her living room, my shirt collar open to cool the sweat around my neck. Ginny’s mother didn’t like the breeze that blew in off the street because it dirtied the house, so she kept the windows closed tight. It felt like I was back at the Blue Star.

  Ginny lived with her parents in a small two bedroom row house a couple of blocks away from the Blue Star. It was nothing fancy, like most other houses on the block. Floral wallpaper, lace curtains on the windows, and furniture that looked old but wasn’t – like they wanted furniture with style and class, but couldn’t afford it so they bought cheap imitations and pretended it looked good.

  I took another sip of lemonade and returned Ginny’s hard look with my own stare.

  “I’m trying to talk to you,” Ginny said. “Why are you taking this fight?”

  “It’s a good opportunity,” I said.

  “A good opportunity to get killed.”

  “Been up against Mikey Boyle dozens of times,” I said. “I know what he’s got. Seen it before. I know I can beat him.”

  Ginny crossed her arms and got off the couch to stand in front of me. “What happened the last time you fought him?”

  “That was different.”

  She shook her head. “He beat you,” she said. “He’s a contender now, Roberto.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked. “So what if he’s a contender? Don’t mean he can’t be beat. Doesn’t mean I can’t be the guy who beats him.”

  “If you could have beaten him, you would have done it seven years ago.”

  “It doesn’t work that way,” I said. “Boxing isn’t predictable. Just because something didn’t happen once doesn’t mean it can’t happen differently the next time. Besides, there were other factors that night.”

  She just shook her head. “What about my Uncle Manny?”

  “The job won’t be there in two weeks?” I asked. “Uncle Manny has a line of guys waiting to be butchers?”

  “You just don’t get it, Roberto,” she said.

  “What I get is that this is a chance for me to take the next step,” I said. “To be something more than somebody’s step up on the ladder. My chance to be a contender.”

  “I saw On The Waterfront,” Ginny said with a little bit of a defiant attitude in her voice, putting her hands on her hips and then shaking her finger at me. “Sat there in the third row with you over at the Bijou. Heard Marlon Brando say that same thing. You aren’t Marlon Brando.”

  I took a sip of my lemonade then closed my eyes. Wondered how to make her understand.

  “You get to my age and this point in my career, only one of two ways you can go,” I said. “The first is you keep moving forward, win enough fights, and get in line for a title shot. But that window only stays open a little while before it closes.”

  I looked at her for understanding.

  “Once it closes, you got nothing,” I said. “After that, the only chance you got to hook up with a champion is to be one of their sparring partners. Taking a fight when you can get one and getting knocked around the ring every day by someone who’s younger and faster and stronger. Somebody who’s going to get the chance you never did. The only fights you get are the walkouts.

  “I don’t want that to happen to me,” I told her. “I don’t want to be the guy who is just another soldier. Knew guys like that on the front lines in Korea. The kind of guys the generals said were expendable. Guys
who were a dime a dozen. Guys who didn’t matter - I want to matter.”

  “You need to make a decision about what’s more important,” she said. “Me or boxing.”

  “Tell you what,” I finally said. “I lose this fight and I’ll show up at Uncle Manny’s shop that first Monday morning after the fight. But if I win -.”

  ROUND SEVEN

  It was impossible to sleep and not just because of the heat.

  Ray Gold said he expected to hear back from Tommy Domino by nine or ten. Maybe eleven. Noon at the latest. I couldn’t wait that long. I got down to the Blue Star a couple of minutes after they unlocked the front door and raced up the stairs, straight into Gold’s office.

  I burst through the door and Gold almost jumped out of his chair.

  “What’s going on?” I wanted to know.

  “Holy Hell!” he cried. “Just about gave me a heart attack.”

  “We get the fight?”

  Gold settled back behind the desk. The morning copy of the Daily News was spread out on his desk along with the Racing Form. He had barely opened his coffee or made his way through a couple of pages in the paper. Hadn’t even had a chance to light his first cigar of the day. “You’re like an expectant father.”

  “Couldn’t sleep,” I said, catching my breath.

  “That’s your problem,” Gold said. “You spend too much time worrying about things it don’t pay to worry about. You got to learn how to relax.”

  “No way,” I told him. It was impossible to relax – not with a chance like this one staring me in the face. Not when I was suddenly so close to getting something I had dreamed about for years.

  Gold just shook his head slowly from side to side.

  “You got to bottle some of that energy,” he said.

  “Why?”

  “You’re gonna need it.”

  I sat up straight. The slightest trace of a smile crossed Gold’s face.

  “You got the fight,” he said.

  I let out a loud yell and ran around the desk, grabbing Gold in a bear hug that pulled him out of his chair. He hung from my arms, his feet dangling a few inches off the ground. I couldn’t see his face, but I think his smile faded pretty fast.

  “Put me down.”

  I let him down easy and he settled back behind the desk. Popped the lid on his coffee and took a long sip while staring at me.

  My smile was still blazing.

  “Still got a dog and pony show to go through,” he said. “Got the two of them coming down here tomorrow. Boyle’s breaking camp up in the Catskills and they’re stopping by on their way to AC.”

  “They’re coming here? To the gym?”

  Gold shook his head. “You got to start thinking big,” he said. “You’re gonna have to put on a suit and tie.”

  “What for?”

  “We’re meeting them for lunch. Place on Walnut Street.”

  “Why are they coming?” I asked.

  “To get your name signed to the dotted line,” he said. “They want to make sure you can make weight. Ain’t out of shape. See you aren’t too banged up from last weekend’s fight. Want to make sure you’re no tomato can.

  “They don’t want somebody who’s gonna take it to their guy, but they don’t want no walk-over either,” he said. “Can’t have any questions or doubts. Fight has to look good enough to rate a shot at Sugar Ray.”

  “I’ll give them a fight they’ll never forget,” I said.

  ROUND EIGHT

  I saw Michael Boyle as soon as we entered the restaurant. He wasn’t hard to miss. The place was filled with a lunchtime crowd of businessmen, lawyers, and executives – guys speaking in hushed voices with drinks in their hands and cigarettes burning in ash trays on the table – talking in a language I didn’t understand, even though I recognized all the words.

  Boyle had the look that drew attention. You caught a glimpse of him and right away you knew he was special. Lean, muscular body. A well cut suit that fit him perfectly. The kind of smile women fell for. Dark blue eyes and red hair perfectly combed – not a strand out of place.

  Like he stepped out of the pages of a magazine.

  Those good looks and his right hook were made for Gillette’s Friday Night Fights program.

  Nobody would ever mistake me for one of those guys.

  I could barely get through Sunday church services without yanking off my tie. Sometimes when I visited Ginny and wanted to impress her parents, I would wear a suit, especially when her mother invited me for dinner, but it took a really special occasion the rest of the time.

  “Feel like this tie is choking me to death,” I said.

  “Ain’t the first time you ever wore one,” Gold said. “Besides, if you want to make a thousand bucks you got to look like a thousand bucks.”

  Boyle and Domino saw us across the room and stood up.

  Tommy Domino looked exactly like I expected. He was polished and slick in a five hundred dollar suit, starched white collar, gold cuff links, and tie bar shaped like a boxing glove. I didn’t have to hear him talk to know everything he was going to say. He ran a hand through his jet black hair and smiled, but it didn’t have the same warmth or appeal Boyle’s did.

  While Gold and Domino shook hands and exchanged greetings, I sized up Michael Boyle and he did the same to me. It had been seven years since we had seen each other. A lifetime since we left St. Vincent’s.

  I stuck out a hand and smiled.

  “Been a long time, Mikey,” I said.

  Boyle took my hand but didn’t return the grin. “It’s Michael.”

  “Known you a long time. Always be Mikey to me.”

  “That kid’s been gone a long time,” Boyle said.

  “Michael is a contender,” Domino said. “That’s a name that says power. Respect. Turns heads.”

  “I don’t know anything about that,” I said. “I still remember that kid back in Chicago who used to cry himself to sleep every night for months.”

  Boyle’s face reddened. “That was a long time ago.”

  “Like yesterday to me,” I said.

  We settled into our seats, Gold and me on one side of the table facing Boyle and Domino on the other. Domino and Gold made some small talk about the weather and fighters they knew, catching up on the action in Brooklyn and Boston while a waiter filled our water glasses and handed out menus. They talked about how Las Vegas was becoming an important place in the fight game and why matchmakers were falling all over themselves to book fights there. Gold even slipped in some comments about his Cuban heavyweight and how much potential he thought he had. But the whole time Michael Boyle didn’t take his eyes off me.

  Even after the waiter took our orders and the conversation turned to the problems Boloboo’s injury created, Boyle kept clocking me with his stare.

  “Me and you go way back, huh, Bobby?”

  I shrugged. “Lots of miles under the wheels. A lot between us. Been a long time.”

  “Had that fight a couple of years back. Remember?”

  “Never far from my thoughts,” I said. “Always wondered how it was that all the times we went at it back at St. Vincent’s you never did more than give me a nosebleed or a black eye. But that night in the ring you busted me up pretty bad.”

  I felt Gold kick me under the table. I glanced over at him and he shot me a look – if looks could kill they would have buried me under the table.

  Boyle smiled. “Don’t remember you being much of a bleeder,” he said. “But you got cut up pretty bad that night.

  “Funny how that happened, huh?” he added.

  “Hilarious,” I said. “Never understood it.”

  Boyle just shrugged again.

  “Always wondered about that,” I said. “Always wondered what Father Tim would have said if he had seen that fight.”

  “He would have said you lost,” Boyle said.

  He turned to Domino. “Bobby was one of those goody two shoes. One of Father Tim’s favorites,” he said. “Used to do everything
the good Father said. Tried to be a good kid from the right side of the tracks. Problem was that he came from the same side of the tracks as me.

  “You were a kid just like me. No family. Your old man ran off when you were born and your mother died when you were two or three or four,” he said. “None of your relatives wanted you, so you wound up in St. Vincent’s. Same story as half the kids in there.

  You went crying to Father Tim every time you started feeling sorry for yourself. No different than anybody else.”

  I shrugged. “Just like everybody else.”

  “We’re not so different, you and me,” Boyle said.

  “So what?” I said.

  “That stuff don’t matter at all,” Boyle said. “What’s important is what happened the last time we got in the ring.”

  “All of that was a long time ago,” Tommy Domino said.

  “So long ago, probably nobody’s ever going to remember nothing about it,” Gold said with a look at me. “Ancient history.”

  “Still feels like yesterday to me,” I said.

  “What matters is what happens now,” Domino said. He looked at Gold and asked, “Your kid up to this fight, Goldie?”

  “He’s up to it.”

  “Gonna kick his butt for what he did in that first fight,” I said.

  “Good angle for this fight,” Domino said. “That history between the two of you. All that time growing up in Chicago. That first fight. Bad blood.”

  “Be good to meet up in the ring again,” Boyle said.

  I nodded. “You and me got some unfinished business.”

  Boyle laughed. “This is just a new round,” he said. “The outcome’s going to be the same as the last time.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

  “Roberto,” Boyle said evenly. “This is just another step up the ladder for me. And you’re nothing more than another rung I got to climb to get where I’m going.”

  “Sometimes the higher you climb, the farther it is to the bottom,” I said. “When you get in the ring with me this time, you’re gonna fall.”