by Lilah May
“But the thing is, most of the people aren’t even here for the other fights. They’re here for the first one.”
“The Barbarian?”
“Yea, it’s pretty fucking special. Sorry for my language, it just comes out when I’m all worked up.”
“It’s fine. I really don’t mind. It seems like the type of place that’s perfect for language.” It sounds like a derogatory insult, but I really didn’t mean it that way. He doesn’t even notice.
“This is the first time I’ve seen a packed house for the opening fight on the card. And the thing about it is, The Barbarian is an amateur. He’s the only one holding a belt as an amateur. Well, technically he accepts the purse money but he donates it right away to the audience’s charity of choice. And he doesn’t train full time, but he still kicks everyone’s ass. He’s fucking crazy.”
“Wow, the real people’s hero.”
“This first fight is definitely going to be the fight of the night!”
Something silver descends from the ceiling. It’s a microphone. From under the lights, a man in a glimmering blue suit and a matching bow tie grabs the mic.
The crowd goes crazy and my breath grows short riding high on their emotions.
“And now the moment you’ve all been waiting for. Let’s get our fighters out here!” His voice booms from the speakers. The crowd thunders in response.
I look around and still can’t find Bobby. He’s missing out! The atmosphere is wild.
Finally, the lights dim and the noise dies down. Then green, red and white flashes across the arena as salsa music blasts over the speakers.
The spotlights focuses in on a giant man walking out from the corner of the building, he saunters through the crowd until he reaches the cage, getting on all fours, he crawls up the steps, bucking his head like a rhino.
He’s built like one, too. He somersaults into the ring and spreads his arms, welcoming the applause.
Suddenly, the room goes black and I can’t even see the person next to me. No one makes a sound.
A thump echoes through the room. Then, another one. Like the sound of a war drum.
THUMP...THUMP...THUMP.
Then the crowd starts to chant.
WHO...WHO...WHO.
Slowly, the beat speeds up and so does the crowd, until the drum is rumbling THUMPTHUMPTHUMP and the crowd is screaming WHO,WHO,WHO!!!
I find myself screaming along with no idea why, the electric atmosphere of the arena swallowing me up.
The lights flash and the crowd goes dead silent. The spotlights turn to a door and with bated breath, we wait. With a loud crash and drawled “Here’s Bobby!”, Bobby smashes through the wood door like it was paper.
Wait, Bobby’s fighting? Now?
And in a second, I’m on my feet, screaming like a crazed fangirl along with everyone else. BOBBY! BOBBY! BOBBY! I chant along with the crowd as they reach down from the stands, hoping to snag a high five or just to touch him, as if he’s a god they worship. He definitely looks the part. Colossal in stature and glorious in physique, he stalks his way towards the cage, every part of his body swollen with muscle.
His body looks like a dangerous machine, built for one thing, to destroy. But his face is all smiles, that disarming smile as if he had no care in the world, as if he wasn’t going into the ring to risk his life, as if he had already won, that winning smile. He slaps outstretched hands, kisses beautiful women on the cheek, if he wasn’t half naked, I would think he was a politician. When he steps into the ring, he waves to the crowd and greets his opponent congenially. I finally realize how enormous Bobby is. He stands half a foot taller, dwarfing the other guy, who’s shorter and stockier like a ferocious pitbull, while Bobby is a majestic German Shepard. Bobby’s body is perfectly proportioned, his long arms and huge hands dangling like sledgehammers on each side, his barrel chest and tree trunk legs balanced out due to his towering height.
“Ladies and gentleman, this is the first fight of the evening. Sanctioned by the Glen Rock Athletic Commission and when the action begins, the referee in charge is Herb Yamasaki. This fight is sponsored by SolveIt, software solutions for everyday problems. And now … this is the moment WPC fans all around the world have been waiting for! Live from the Prestige Park Arena. Let’s get ready for some bloodsport!” The fans start hooting and hollering, chanting bloodsport over and over again. “Five rounds for the undisputed WPC heavyweight championship of the world. Introducing first...fighting out of the red corner. This man is a black belt in Brazilian jiu jitsu and a second dan black belt in Kyokushin Kaikan holding an professional record 13 wins, 1 loss. Standing six foot, one inch tall, weighing in at 240 pounds, fighting out of Mexico City, Mexico, presenting the challenger and the number one ranked heavyweight in the world, Patricio Suarez, El Toro!” Applause fills the building as some people chant his name and some people chant Mexico.
“And now fighting out of the blue corner. This man is a black belt in Muay Thai, an undefeated wrestling national champion, and an undefeated boxing world champion. Holding an undefeated professional record 15 wins, no losses. Standing six foot six inches tall, weighing in at 250 pounds. Fighting out of our very own Northfield. Ladies and gentlemen, presenting the reigning, defending, undisputed WPC heavyweight champion of the world, Bobby The Barbarian Carter!” The loudness before was nothing compared to the decibel level now. The arena roars and rumbles,the ground shaking beneath my feet. This is what it must feel like to be in the middle of an earthquake.
“They love him!” I shout to Fred over the din.
“Well, yeah. People love a good show and he always delivers. There’s no one else like the Barbarian. Just watch, you’ll see what I mean.” He’s right, there is no one like Bobby. But I’m still scared for him. What if he gets hit by that boulder of a man?
The ref says a few words to both of them and then Bobby holds his hand out to touch gloves before the fight, but El Toro ignores him. Bobby shrugs. He couldn’t care less. Once they’re back in their respective corners, the bell rings.
CHAPTER 19
LISA
Warily they circle each other, keeping their distance, watching for a misstep, but neither of them falter, both too talented and too experienced to give their opponent the edge so early in the fight.
Bobby looks relaxed and loose, without a nervous fiber in his body. But I make up for it, simply a bundle of nerves. I know I should trust him and I know he would never lose, but I don’t want to watch anyone get hurt, whether it’s Bobby or the other guy. With the size of the beast he’s facing, the density of his short build, any run in with El Toro, someone is bound to get hurt. I’m on the edge of my seat, hoping the action would never start as the crowd hollers for blood.
But that strange new part of me, that part that led me to a seedy bar today, that drew me to Bobby that fateful day in the grocery store. That part wants to peek out from behind my hands, peer between my fingers. I don’t know why the danger and violence seduces me so, but it does.
Suddenly, El Toro charges in, aiming for Bobby’s midsection, attempting a takedown. El Toro’s fast and in less than a second, he’s closed the distance, but Bobby is faster, and like a matador, sidesteps El Toro, and kicks his legs out from underneath him, reminiscent of the bar brawl. No wonder Bobby had such confidence back then. He’s fought the pros. The man in the bar seemed to move in slow motion compared to El Toro.
Bobby skips back, waving for El Toro to get on his feet.
“Wow, he’s such a gentleman. Letting the other guy get up.” I remark to Fred, but he laughs. “What?”
“El Toro is a master in brazilian jiu jitsu.”
“What’s that?”
“Let’s just say Bobby doesn’t want to attack him on the ground unless he wants to get put in a chokehold.”
“I thought Bobby wrestled?”
“That’s good for fending off takedowns and dealing with some fighters. But it’s not good enough for grappling with El Toro.” Bobby has a weakness? H
e seems so perfectly confident. He looks like he’s having fun. He dances around El Toro, using his reach to land a few jabs from a distance, but El Toro just shakes them off.
Growing frustrated, El Toro charges once again, this time swinging wildly, Bobby leans back and the blow barely misses, whistling by his face. But with Bobby’s weight on his back foot, El Toro changes level and rams his shoulder into Bobby’s stomach. The punch was a feint! This time El Toro has his arms around Bobby’s waist, pushing him against the cage. Bobby rains down a flurry of elbows onto El Toro’s back and head, but El Toro doesn’t budge. Bobby then rams a knee up into El Toro’s stomach. El Toro grunts, taking the hit full on, but before Bobby can put his foot down, El Toro’s leg flashes out and catches Bobby’s ankle, and in an instant, both of them are on the ground.
Bobby immediately tries to get to his feet, but El Toro scrambles around and gains Bobby’s back, locking his legs around Bobby’s stomach and laying down some heavy punches onto the back of Bobby’s head. I almost shy away from the onslaught, but I catch myself. I can’t look away now. I have to support him.
“Hey! Ref! That’s fucking illegal!” Fred shouts. “That dirty bastard. El Toro’s always pulling some shit like that.”
The ref yells a warning to El Toro, but the damage is already done. El Toro snakes an arm under Bobby’s chin and cranks the hold, tightening the choke. They’re right by the fence, less than ten feet away from me. Bobby tries to pull at El Toro’s hand and I see Bobby’s arms straining from the effort, but El Toro’s arms are too short and thick. There isn’t enough leverage.
“He has to tap. He has to. He’s going to pass out.” I see Bobby’s face growing red, and his limbs going limp, the strength draining from his body. “Tap Bobby! You gotta tap!” He’s going to lose? He’s going to lose because of an illegal hit? Because of a cheater? No. He’d never lose like that.
“BOBBY!” I scream. He looks for me and finds me in the crowd. “YOU CAN DO THIS! YOU CAN BEAT HIM! FUCK HIM UP!” And for a second, I don’t think he hears me with all the blood rushing to his head. But then he roars, even while El Toro continues to tighten his hold. With a colossal effort, Bobby pushes up off of the floor with his hands, his arms bulging. Carrying the entire 240 pounds of El Toro on his back, he slowly starts to stand, every muscle in his body rippling, veins popping from under the skin from the exertion. “Come on, Bobby! Stand up! Stand up!” I yell and the crowd joins me, getting caught up in Bobby’s extreme determination. “STAND UP! STAND UP!” And like a hulking bear, he rises, standing tall. Everyone in the arena is hollering, howling, screaming in anticipation. Then Bobby jumps, careening backwards. And drops his entire weight onto El Toro, slamming him to the canvas, crushing him against the ground. El Toro’s hands immediately drop from Bobby’s neck, his eyes rolling up for a second.
“He’s out! He’s out!” Fred is on his feet, I realize I’m on my feet and we’re both cheering. Bobby is already walking away, confident he has finished the job. But the ref doesn’t call it. And El Toro slowly recovers consciousness. “What the hell is wrong with this ref? This is the worst ref I’ve ever seen!”
From the jeers, Bobby finally turns to find a revived El Toro on his feet. And the fight continues. Bobby steps in and out, trying to find an opening, but El Toro fends him off. This time, El Toro has his fingers splayed, looking for an eye poke.
“What the hell is the ref doing? He should be taking points off for that. It’s fucking rigged!” Fred’s face is filled with disgust.
“What do you mean? Why would they want Bobby to lose?”
“They don’t want an amateur as the champion. They want a pro who will do the advertisements and promos. Just because Bobby refuses to do all of that, even though most of the people here are here to watch him. He has more of a following than any other fighter and the organizers can’t have that.”
As Bobby grows frustrated, I could see that same darkness begin to cloud his eyes. He is about to explode and this time I can’t stop it. But something about this situation makes me feel satisfied. This El Toro guy deserves it. Bobby will teach them. He’ll show them lean what happens when you cheat.
“FRENZY! FRENZY! FRENZY!” The crowd senses blood.
“What’s a frenzy?” I ask Fred.
“You’ll see. It’s when Bobby gets mad. He usually never gets mad in the ring. Nicest fucking guy you’ll ever meet. But when he does, things get bloody.” Everyone seems to know more about Bobby than me. They know what happens when someone pisses him off. “This is why he’s called the Barbarian. He turns into a fucking savage.”
When I look back at Bobby, he looks like a completely different person. He looks like a savage, a Viking, a bloodthirsty predator, the peak of humanity, a different species. He gathers himself up to his full height, looming over El Toro, who somehow looks smaller than he did at the start of the fight. Bobby’s eyes have narrowed into slits, tracking every movement of El Toro as he stalks him around the ring. His whole body is tense, literally corded with muscle, tendons straining to keep his incredible strength contained.
Backed into a corner, El Toro finally lashes out, trying to go for the eyes, but Bobby just swats the flimsy attack away. And then he lays into him. The first punch is an uppercut straight into El Toro’s body, which keels him over, but El Toro doesn’t fall, leaning against the fence for support. Then it’s a one, two, three, four, punch combo into El Toro’s face. Instantly, El Toro’s eye swells up, but he ignores it and retaliates, swinging slow looping punches that Bobby easily avoids. Then, he counters, fast. As soon as El Toro is off balance, CRACK, Bobby’s fist smacks him in the chin, one, two, three times, wobbling El Toro, but he’s one tough son of a bitch. His legs turned to rubber, he does a little involuntary jig, trying to stay on his feet. Bobby goes for the finish, smelling the blood, sensing the finish, and steps in for the uppercut. At the same moment, El Toro regains just enough sense to go for the clinch, so he can waste some time and get his head back into the fight. But with his balance thrown off, he stumbles and ends up tackling Bobby’s waist, attempting another weak takedown. Bobby stays stock steady, not giving an inch. He reaches down and grabs El Toro by the waist from above, and with a roar, picks him straight up off the floor. El Toro flails, trying to get down, but he’s upside down, his head pointed at the floor. It looks fake. Like the fake wrestling on TV, but I know it’s far from fake.
“DROP HIM! DROP HIM!”
“Holy shit.” Fred cries from next to me, jolting me from my awestruck haze. “I’ve never seen a piledriver in MMA. This guy is about to make history.” El Toro’s eyes are wide like a rabbit in a snare. He knows what’s about to happen and he’s scared. The crowd roars for blood, for vengeance and Bobby complies, he starts to lift El Toro even higher. But then he hesitates, and I think I see him saying something to El Toro. And then, suddenly, the ref is on Bobby, yanking at his arms, getting him to release El Toro.
“What’s going on?”
“It’s over. Goddamn, I wanted to see that fucking shit get hurt.” Fred’s face is full of disappointment.
“Why? What happened?” Boos fill the arena as the crowd jeer at the ref’s stoppage.
“I think El Toro tapped. The first time I’ve seen that, too. Tapping before you even get hit. He must’ve been scared shitless. No honor, that guy. But we all knew he would’ve gotten knocked the fuck out. Saved himself some pain, the coward.”
Bobby and El Toro stand next to the ref, the ref holding one of their arms each.
“Ladies and gentleman, referee Herb Yamasaki has called a stop to this contest, at 3 minutes and 22 seconds in round number 1. The winner by forfeit and…” The crowd is dead silent, unsure of what happened. “STILL the undisputed WPC heavyweight champion of the world, Bobby The Barbarian CARTER!!!!” And the entire arena shakes under my feet, Fred is screaming something but I can’t hear a word of it over the roar.
The commentator is in the ring with a microphone trying to get a comment from Bobby but nobody
is giving him the chance. Bobby runs out of the ring ignoring the commentator’s shouts for him to stay. I think he’s going to the crowd, to his supporters, but he heads directly to me, grabs me by the arm and pulls me towards the ring.
“You know Bobby? You know Bobby!” Fred’s incredulousness quickly changes to excitement from meeting someone who knows someone. Bobby’s star power transferring through me. By the time he’s dragged me into the cage, the crowd has quieted just enough for the commentator to ask a question.
“Hey, Bobby. I know we’re all happy that you won again.” The crowd interrupts, the applause deafening, before subsiding. “Tell me, we all saw you say something to El Toro as you were preparing for the Piledriver, which we all definitely wanted to see.” The cheers override him again. He waits. “What did you say?”
“I gave him a chance to give. I always give my opponents a chance. Even my most hated enemy, l will let him surrender. I might be The Barbarian but I’m a civilized barbarian. I knew I could beat him and I would hurt him bad, so I showed him some mercy. I gave him a chance to run.” Everyone is chanting his name, they love him, they adore him. And stuff like this, that shows another side to the bloodthirsty gladiator, made them fall in love even more. Not to mention the similar effect it’s having on me.
“So what charity will you be donating your 1.2 million dollars this time?”
“Before that, I just want to say. I was ready to give up tonight. I have to give El Toro credit, he had me in that choke. But then this special lady, Lisa Howard, the most important lady in my life, told me not to give up. And so I listened to her, just like I have been for my whole life. And that’s why I want to donate the purse to her favorite charity, Pets for America. I hope with this money, we can save some of our beloved animals in the world, who have been abandoned and mistreated. Thank you everyone for your support! And thank Lisa for giving you guys the show I put on tonight!” And I walk out of the ring, like a star, hand in hand with Bobby The Barbarian, with the crowd chanting my name and his name.