by Brock Rhodes
Big John Luther is one heck of a young man. A Christian boy, the oldest of a family of a baker's dozen, he's been the breadwinner ever since his old man lost his life in the war.
Don't think that Big John, a misnomer given to the short and skinny boy, in respect, by his coworkers, only found time to support his large family. Just about to graduate high school, he is an excellent student, never in his entire life got lower than an A. He's received a full ride scholarship from Harvard and his mother has given her blessing to attend, once he promised he would not lose God along the way. He's also always been very active in his church and in the community, building the best homeless shelter in his Midwestern city by the age of 14. He has many friends, and always seen people as people instead of part of a group. His open heart and open mind has allowed him to help many in his short life.
On top of all that, Big John Luther is an athlete. While he couldn't fit school athletics into his busy schedule, Big John grew up boxing because he could box on his own. He's good. Very good. A champion amateur boxer. And it is through boxing that Big John will meet his dilemma. He's in a locker room alone, his coach on vacation, getting ready for a fight.
He's trying to get focused, struggling past the chants of the crowd outside and with the events of the week. He's been stalked and harassed, coaxed into a fight that he's only agreed to because the small purse will help with his move to Harvard. A group of men have followed him all week, saying mean things about his dead father, about his loving mother, about his family, and about everything else sacred to him, all to get him to fight a man known as 'The Dancer.' He met 'The Dancer' when he arrived, a visitor to this gym. 'The Dancer' approached him and said, "You got some balls coming here."
Always professional, Big John held out his hand and said, "Thanks for opportunity."
The only reply Big John got was spit in his face. 'The Dancer's' supporters have told Big John that he's a champion, and said that he doesn't have, 'a snowball's chance in Hell.' The posters outside even listed him as John 'Snowball' Luther. With all of this trash, Big John felt he recognized the tactics. They're trying to get him angry so he wouldn't fight smart, and he wasn't going to let that happen. So he tried his best to focus, remembering the purse.
So Big John exits the lockerroom and walks to the ring, enduring boos, and insults, and liquids of unknown origin, as the ring announcer announces, "The overrated challenger! With a meaningless record full of fights with pussies!..." and switches to a feminine voice to finish, "John... 'Snowball'... Luther."
Alone in his continuously littered corner, Big John did his best to ignore the crowds hostility towards him. For a moment, his discipline slips and he cases the place, seeing no one he couldn't whoop, and his adrenaline started pumping, ready to kick somebody, anybody's ass.
At that moment, the crowd goes ecstatic. Their champion has arrived with his hometown entourage. The ring announcer, jumpy with excitement screams, "And finally! The Champion! Undefeated! Undisputed! 'Theeeeeeeeeeeee.... Dannnnnnnn..... ssseeeeeerrrrrrrrr!'" Then the announcer finishes, "The Dancer will be taking home the purse tonight," and points at a bag at the scorer's table.
The new decibels rattle Big John, who feels his blood pump harder. He's ready to go.
The referee summons the boxers to the center of the ring, simply to say, "No funny stuff. Back to your corners."
Big John reaches his hand out to touch gloves, but is again denied. He retreats to his corner, and slips his robe off over his gloves. He bows his head and prays, "Dear Lord, protect me in this fight for the sake of my family. Amen."
He hears the ref yell, "Snowball, you ready?"
Big John rises up, turns around and nods. Ready to box.
"Champ, ready?"
The Dancer nods as one of his corner men take off his robe.
"Fight!"
'The Dancer' rushes from his corner to meet Big John in his. Big John is in shock as 'The Dancer' dances around him, bobbing and weaving frantically. Big John hasn't even had a chance to lift his hands, and he's already fighting his biggest fight. He's met his dilemma.
You see, 'The Dancer' as the name implies is a dancer, as Big John noticed by his above average footwork. But there is something missing from the 'The Dancer.' It's something that Big John hadn't had a chance to notice before.
'The Dancer' doesn't have any arms, and simply has boxing gloves attached to his shoulders. So Big John had to ask himself, "How am I supposed to fight him if he can't defend himself?" And answers, "He doesn't have a chance. This isn't fair."
Big John watches 'The Dancer' as he dances and jerks his shoulders in Big John's direction. Big John wonders, "Is he throwing punches? Should I pretend to block these? I don't want to hurt his feelings."
The crowd cheered as 'The Dancer' mopped the floor with Big John, who still hadn't raised his hands or left his corner. Big John did not know what to do. How can he take advantage of this man? He wonders, "What have I gotten myself into?"
Then he remembered. Big John set up The Dancer with a left jab and sent him to the floor with a right cross. The Dancer bounced up quickly, primarily from the momentum of the fall, and was met sent back to the ground with hard right hook as Big John noticed blood already coming from both sides of 'The Dancer's' nose.
This time, 'The Dancer' didn't move after he was done skidding.
In shock, the crowd went silent. Not a peep. Not a whisper. Big John stood there for a moment, noticing the blood on him, and looking over his fallen opponent. The ref screams, "The fight's over. For God's sake. We need a doctor!"
As 'The Dancer' is tended to, Big John gnaws the tape off his gloves, and grabs the purse on his way to the lockerroom to grab his bag and goes directly to the parking lot. He doesn't shower. He doesn't change. He leaves. He met no trouble, no one said or did anything.
During the lonely ride home, Big John never even looked at the radio knob and was in autopilot as he wrestled with his thoughts. He has struggled in his young life, but never had he participated in anything as ugly as he had tonight. He wondered if he had been controlled by anger, and worried that he had made a mistake, and was almost brought to tears as the thought that the Dancer is suffering and may die because of what he, himself, has done crossed his mind.
Wave after wave of emotion crashed onto the suddenly troubled soul of Big John Luther, as he relived the evening over and over, searching for something, anything, he could have done differently or something he could do now to make things better. Then near the end of his ride, Big John found a sudden peace that made him float. The conclusion had arrived in the form of the truth. And the truth is, the Dancer was a boxer who entered the ring against Big John. The fight was clean.
Big John arrives at his driveway, shuts off the engine and bows his head to pray, "Thank you Lord for giving me the strength to do what I did tonight. Amen."
Big John gets out, grabs his bag, and heads to his front door feeling like man, but actually now knowing that he is a man. Before he enters he hears his mother, hysterical, yelling and crying, "Well, he's certainly going to hear about it from me!"
Big John walks into his door. His mother is heartbroken, crying in her chair. His 13 brothers and sisters are there also grim with disappointment. Big John's motion is quiet and his mind blank as the condemning looks of his family penetrate him, the hardest hit he's taken all night. His mother scolds, "You have some nerve coming back here. I just heard you beat up a boy with no arms. You sent him to the hospital. Is that how I raised you? Huh?"
She runs from her chair to hit Big John, who takes it as a simple nuisance, and she yells, "What do you have to say for yourself?"
Big John, sober, calm, and clear, looks his mother directly in the eyes and answers, "I did it out of respect."
PSEUDOSTRANGERS