Fight Card Presents: Battling Mahoney & Other Stories

by Jack Tunney

  “Hey, Mahoney!” shouted a G.I. in the audience. “Whataya think this is – the Roseland Ballroom?”

  The referee stepped between them and pushed them apart. “Break!” he said. “Break clean!”

  Mahoney and Kowalski stepped away from each other, and Kowalski charged again as soon as the referee got out of the way. Mahoney figured Kowalski would lunge at him that way, and he caught him coming in with a right lead to the nose. Kowalski’s head snapped back and blood spurted out of his nose. He covered his face, and Mahoney gave him a one-two in the gut. When Kowalski lowered his elbows to cover his gut, Mahoney jabbed him twice in the face and then threw another hard right.

  Now Kowalski was backpedaling, and the men from the 15th Regiment were on their feet. Mahoney threw a left, a right, and a left, connecting each time with Kowalski’s blond head. Kowalski threw a wild left that Mahoney blocked easily, and Mahoney stepped inside his guard to shoot an uppercut that straightened Kowalski’s spine.

  “Stay away from him!” McGhee shouted above the roar of the crowd.

  Stay away from him, my ass, Mahoney thought, pounding Kowalski’s gut and kidney from the inside while laying his face on Kowalski’s shoulder so he couldn’t get butted again.

  Then suddenly Mahoney felt himself being spun around. A steamroller hit him in the stomach, knocking away his wind. Gasping for air, Mahoney tried to get out of the corner but Kowalski held him there, pounding away. Mahoney bobbed and weaved, catching many of the blows on his arms; but Kowalski scored heavily against his midsection, and Mahoney felt his ribs cracking under the battering ram punches.

  ‘‘Get out of there!’’ McGhee screamed.

  How can I get out of here? Mahoney wondered, blocking and fighting back but taking more than he gave. He realized there was only one way. It was like in combat when the Krauts had your back against the wall. The only way to get out was fight your way out, and if you couldn’t do that you deserved whatever happened to you.

  Mahoney growled and charged, throwing punches from every angle with everything he had. At first it was like punching a brick wall that hit back, but then he felt Kowalski give way. Mahoney threw a flurry of lefts and rights at Kowalski’s head, then went down to his breadbasket, then went up to his head again. Kowalski stepped back, hooking Mahoney to the head, but Mahoney kept throwing punches. When there was enough room, Mahoney slid along the ropes and got away. He danced to the center of the ring, jabbing Kowalski and keeping him away. Blood dripped into Mahoney’s eye and he saw Kowalski behind a red haze. He threw a left hook that was blocked, another left hook that was blocked, and a right cross that landed on Kowalski’s bleeding nose. But Kowalski didn’t flinch. He jabbed Mahoney’s face, but Mahoney blocked the punch and the bell rang, ending the second round.

  The G.I.s howled and clapped their hands as Mahoney returned to his corner. He held his right hand high in the air because he knew he hadn’t done badly.

  “Great job, Sarge,” Cranepool said, setting down the stool. “Great job.”

  Mahoney sat and the medic went to work on his eye. McGhee took the mouthpiece out and swabbed Mahoney’s face with the wet sponge. The referee poked his head in and looked at Mahoney’s eye, then strolled away.

  “How do you feel?” McGhee asked.

  “I hurt all over,” Mahoney wheezed.

  “You getting tired?”

  “A little.”

  “Stay after him. Stick and jab. If you let him get you on the ropes, you’d better stay busy or he’ll knock your head off.”

  “I don’t think this fight’s gonna go six rounds,” Mahoney said.

  “I don’t think so either,” McGhee agreed. “Both of you guys are throwing bombs.”

  “I hit him as hard as I could and the cocksucker wouldn’t go down.”

  “Then you’ve got to hit him harder.”

  The bell rang and Mahoney jumped to his feet. McGhee jammed in the mouthpiece and Mahoney danced to the center of the ring. He saw that Kowalski’s mouth was open; evidently he couldn’t breathe through his nose anymore.

  “Kill him, Kowalski!” shouted a G.I. in the crowd.

  “Split his head open, Mahoney!” screamed a trooper from the 15th Regiment.

  Kowalski charged Mahoney, throwing rights and lefts. Mahoney blocked the first barrage and tried to get set to throw a punch of his own, but he bobbed when he should have weaved and Kowalski caught him with a left to the jaw. Mahoney saw stars again and began swinging wildly to keep Kowalski away. Kowalski jabbed him in the eye and opened the cut again, causing the blood to flow down. Mahoney got low and jabbed Kowalski in the stomach, but it seemed to have no effect on Kowalski whatever. Kowalski tried to hook Mahoney in the head but Mahoney blocked it and stepped inside Kowaiski’s guard, delivering an uppercut to Kowalski’s solar plexus. Kowalski expelled air through his mouth as he stepped backwards.

  “You ain’t so tough,” Mahoney said as he followed Kowalski across the ring. He jabbed Kowalski twice to the head and one of them got through. He threw a left-right combination and the right got through.

  “Press him!” yelled Kowalski’s trainer.

  Kowalski charged, throwing a left jab. Mahoney blocked it and countered with a left hook that connected with Kowalski’s nose. The blood began to flow again, dripping onto Kowalski’s white shorts. Mahoney danced from side to side, flicking his left into Kowalski’s face. I’m building up points, Mahoney told himself. I’m gonna win this fight on points.

  Kowalski feinted at Mahoney’s liver and then, when Mahoney lowered his guard, he hooked him on the cut eye. He followed with a hard right that landed and Mahoney threw an uppercut that missed. Dazed from the punches, Mahoney danced to the side, but Kowalski cut off the ring and made Mahoney dance in the other direction. His vision blurred, he danced into the ropes and Kowalski caught him with a roundhouse right. The sky disappeared and Mahoney went down again.

  “Oh, what a bum!” he heard somebody say.

  Mahoney got to his knees and looked up at the referee.

  “Four!” the referee yelled, pointing at him.

  Mahoney shook his head, and blood dripped from his eye to the canvas. He smelted die resin and the sun made his back hot. Got to get up, he told himself. He heard the soldiers roaring at him and he pushed the canvas away from him, staggering to his feet.

  The referee grabbed his wrists and wiped his gloves on his shirt. “How many fingers I got up?” the referee asked.

  Mahoney couldn’t even see his hand. “I’m okay, ref,” he said.

  “How many fingers?”

  “I said I’m okay.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Mahoney.”

  The referee stepped back and brought his hands together; Kowalski rushed at Mahoney and threw a hard left. Mahoney blocked it with his chin and dropped to his knees again.

  “Get up!” shouted McGhee.

  “No – stay down!” cried Cranepool.

  Mahoney shook his head and heard the referee yell five. There was a picture in his mind of Kowalski throwing that last punch. Mahoney realized that when Kowalski threw the left, he also lowered his right. Did he do that all the time?

  “Eight!” said the referee.

  Mahoney swayed as he got to his feet. The referee wiped off his gloves on his shirt and asked, “How many fingers I got up?”

  “Get the hell out of my way!” Mahoney said, pushing the referee to the side.

  Kowalski charged across the ring again, and threw his left. At the same time Mahoney threw a left of his own. He saw his left go over Kowalski’s right hand, which he had dropped just as he did before. Mahoney’s punch landed first, and it was the hardest punch he’d thrown all night. Kowalski’s punch went wild and he closed his eyes, tucking his chin into his shoulder like a sleeping baby.

  “Hit him again!” McGhee hollered.

  Mahoney threw a left-right combination, and when Kowalski tried to cover Mahoney shot an uppercut that sent Kowalski falling backwards like
a tree crashing in the forest. Kowalski hit the canvas and was still. The referee pushed Mahoney into a neutral corner and began to count. There was pandemonium in the crowd. The men from the 15th Regiment waved their fists in the air and screamed at the top of their lungs.

  “Five!”

  Kowalski stirred on the canvas. His corner told him to get up. He rolled onto his knees and at the count of nine managed to get to his feet.

  “Put him away!” yelled McGhee.

  The referee wiped off Kowalski’s gloves and brought his hands together. Kowalski stood like a naughty little boy in the center of the ring, trying to hide behind his boxing gloves. Mahoney dashed toward him and threw an overhand right, but Kowalski ducked under it and grabbed Mahoney’s arms. Mahoney struggled to get loose but Kowalski held him tightly as he tried to clear his head.

  “Break!” said the referee.

  Kowalski spun Mahoney around and scraped the laces of his gloves across Mahoney’s face, ripping the cut open wider. Mahoney yelped in pain and Kowalski stepped back, firing a jab. Mahoney caught it on his nose and covered quickly, blocking the next jab. He slammed Kowalski in the gut and hit him in the head. Kowalski countered with an uppercut that missed. His timing’s off, Mahoney thought. I’ve got him now.

  Mahoney went flat-footed and threw hard lefts and rights at Kowalski. Instead of trying to block Mahoney’s punches, the game Kowalski fought back. The fighters’ gloves collided in mid-air and they grunted as they tried to knock each other out. They threw punches from all angles, missing most but connecting occasionally. In his eagerness, Mahoney leaned forward too far. Kowalski took advantage of the opportunity and put all his weight into a right cross. It caught Mahoney on the chin and knocked him to the side. Mahoney sagged against the ropes, fell through them, and landed head first on the judges’ table, breaking the legs and making it collapse. By the time he and the table had landed on the ground, Mahoney was out like a light.

  “One!” said the referee, pointing at him.

  In Mahoney’s corner, Cranepool and McGhee looked at each other.

  “What’s going to happen now?” Cranepool asked excitedly.

  McGhee chewed his lower lip. “If he doesn’t get into the ring by the time the ref counts to ten, the fight is over.”

  “Five!”

  The bell rang, saving Mahoney’s ass. Cranepool, McGhee, and the medic ran toward Mahoney as the crowd booed. A photographer from Stars and Stripes took a picture of Mahoney sprawling unconscious on the broken table.

  “What a pig!” somebody yelled.

  McGhee rolled Mahoney onto his back and Cranepool broke an ammonia ampule under his nose. Mahoney opened his eyes and blinked.

  “Where am I?” he asked.

  “Somewhere in the middle of next week,” McGhee said.

  McGhee and Cranepool helped Mahoney get up, wrapping his arms around their shoulders and dragging him toward their corner. Mahoney’s face was covered with blood and he heard an organ playing someplace. White dots danced in front of his eyes and he realized he’d just been knocked out of the ring. “Hey, scumbag!” somebody yelled. “Where’d you learn how to fight – in sissy school?”

  Mahoney felt humiliated by what had happened to him, and he thought the fight was over because he never heard the bell ring. He believed that he’d lost his three hundred dollars and his heart sank down to his ankles.

  “I’m sorry fellers,” Mahoney said. “I did my best.”

  McGhee wrinkled his nose. “I’m not so sure.”

  “I don’t feel like congratulating Kowalski. Let’s go straight back to the dressing room.”

  “You wanna throw in the towel?” McGhee asked, surprised.

  “What do you mean – throw in the towel?”

  “That’s the only way you’re going to the dressing room right now!”

  Mahoney blinked. “You mean he didn’t knock me out?”

  “Yeah, he knocked you out, but you were saved by the bell again.”

  “Sarge,” said Cranepool, “I think you oughta quit while you still got your head on your shoulders.”

  “Quit?” Mahoney asked.

  “Yeah – before Kowalski kills you.”

  They stopped in front of the little ladder that led to the ring, and Mahoney turned to Cranepool.

  “You don’t believe in me!” Mahoney said.

  “After what just happened, who can believe in you?”

  “Get your hands off me!” Mahoney pushed Cranepool and McGhee away, then climbed dizzily into the ring where he was greeted by a chorus of boos and catcalls. He placed his left glove in the crook of his right arm and gave them all the screw you salute he’d learned from the Italians in Sicily, and they booed louder. Cranepool put the stool in the corner and Mahoney refused to sit down. Mahoney leaned against the ropes and rested his arms on the top strands, and the medic tried to close the cut over his eye. “It’s getting worse,” the medic said.

  “Screw you,” Mahoney said.

  ‘‘Listen,’’ McGhee told him, “he keeps faking you out with feints to the body, and then he hooks you to the head. You’re a sucker for it every time.”

  “Suck this,” Mahoney replied.

  “Don’t try to trade punches with him, because he’s stronger than you. Stay away from that left of his. Stick and jab.”

  “Stick and jab your ass,” Mahoney snarled.

  Mahoney glared across the ring at Kowalski, who was sitting on his stool and being administered to by his corner men. Kowalski’s face was purple and he looked back at Mahoney with murder in his eyes. Mahoney was angry now. He’d been humiliated in front of the whole division, and if he didn’t win this fight they’d laugh at him for the rest of the war. He thought he’d rather be dead than have everybody laughing at him.

  “You did okay, Sarge,” Cranepool said consolingly. “At least you went three rounds with him. Some guys never even got that far.”

  Mahoney held his fist even with Cranepool’s jaw. “I’m gonna knock the Polack cocksucker out.”

  “You’re all heart, Sarge.”

  The bell rang and Mahoney came out dancing. His head still wasn’t clear and that damned organ still was playing, but he was in control of himself and he wanted to beat Kowalski to death.

  Kowalski charged out as usual and threw the first punch. Mahoney blocked it and countered with a punch of his own that connected, but Kowalski shrugged it off and feinted toward Mahoney’s kidney.

  This time Mahoney was wise to the gimmick. He didn’t bother to cover, instead he launched a powerful left at Kowalski’s jaw. It landed while Kowalski was beginning his hook to Mahoney’s head, and Kowalski’s hook died in mid-air as he fell backwards.

  Mahoney went after him, feinted with his left, and threw an overhand right that hit Kowalski on the nose. Kowalski flew backwards to the ropes, bounced off them, and punched Mahoney in the mouth. Mahoney’s lights went out for a few seconds but he swung wildly and connected with Kowalski’s nose again. Kowalski clinched and Mahoney butted him. Blood oozed out the gash on Kowalski’s forehead and the referee suspected a butt, but he didn’t see it and couldn’t do anything. He separated the fighters and they went at each other again. They stood in the middle of the ring and threw leather while the crowd got to its feet and cheered.

  Neither fighter gave an inch. They just stood facing each other and threw lefts and rights one after the other, many of them missing, but each fighter managing to land solid punches. Neither backed up. Their faces became bloody masks and somebody from Stars and Stripes screamed that the fight should be stopped, but the referee was fascinated and it went on.

  Mahoney’s legs were rubbery from the punches he was taking but he stood his ground. Kowalski grunted like a pig and kept punching. Then one of Mahoney’s good punches got through and Kowalski’s head snapped back. Kowalski slammed Mahoney in the mouth but Mahoney didn’t budge. He threw an overhand right that Kowalski blocked and then a left jab that got through. Kowalski’s head was jolted again, and he
took a step backwards. Kowalski swung wildly and Mahoney hit him with an uppercut, knocking him back against the ropes.

  Mahoney sensed that Kowalski was hurt, and the crowd screamed for blood. Mahoney stalked Kowalski to the ropes and began pounding his head. Kowalski tried to duck and dodge, but his timing was off. He made Mahoney miss a few, but even more were landing.

  “You got him!” McGhee shouted.

  “Put him away!” Cranepool yelled.

  Kowalski ducked and Mahoney slugged him on the top of the head. Kowalski staggered forward with the blow, and Mahoney hit him with an uppercut. It looked as though Kowalski’s head would fly off his body, and his upper lip split open. Mahoney hooked Kowalski’s left ear and then his right ear, but Kowalski wouldn’t go down. Kowalski threw a wild left, but Mahoney got under it and slammed Kowalski’s gut. Kowalski wheezed and Mahoney slugged him on the nose. Kowalski’s legs buckled but he didn’t go down.

  What do I have to do to make him go down? Mahoney wondered. He jabbed Kowalski twice with his left, then reared back his right and hit Kowalski with everything he had. Kowalski’s mouthpiece flew into the air and the heavyweight champion of the 33rd Division fell forward onto his face.

  Mahoney raised both of his hands in the air, and the referee pushed him to a neutral corner. The crowd went wild, soldiers slapping each other on the shoulders and jumping around like maniacs.

  “One!” balled the referee.

  Kowalski groaned and moved his head. His corner urged him to get up.

  “Two!”

  Mahoney leaned against the ropes in the neutral corner, gasping for air.

  “Three!”

  Cranepool looked at McGhee in disbelief.

  “Four!”

  McGhee stared at Kowalski in disbelief.

  “Five!”

  Kowalski tried to get up.