I got this. He’s already slowing down the old bastard. Regulate that breathing, don’t get too excited. Back up two steps, In the nose, out the mouth. Block that right jab, left hand, right hand drill into his head. Boom! He’s a goner, I don’t even need to watch him hit the ground. “I got you old bastard! Who else here wants some?” The ring shook beneath my feet as the old bastard hit the floor. My voice echoed through the humid gym, men of all shapes and sized looked up at me with not a word in their mouth. “I bet none of you can even get a hit on me. You damn fairies.” Sweat beaded down my brow as I strutted the ring waiting for someone to rise from the crowd. “I’m gonna beat your ass.” The old bastard stood up a foot taller than he did when I first put him down. “You want some more?”
I throw my hands together, and get back into position. The old bastard is big, old, and slow. Yet those hands are dangerous, and although I talk big I’m not a punching bag. I’m a stepper, a mover, with quick dangerous jabs, “You don’t got nothing on me old bastard,” and a silver tongue. He strikes, right hand, I weave backward and throw a quick right jab. He weaves back hiding his body. I throw a left jab and a right jab. Minimal contact. Back up, he stands up pushes forward a left jab, right jab, left jab. Dodge. Dodge. Dodge. Left hook from me right into his jaw. Boom! He’s a goner again. The old bastard.
Yet this time he didn’t fall like he did against my right drill, he stood there arms cocked. He threw a left hook right into my kidney, and knocked the wind out of me for a second. I fell and gasped for air. He drilled down on me with his left hand. I put my right hand up to block it but he knocked me back. “Ey! That’s it you’re done in there.” The coach yelled out to the old bastard. But it was too late he already made me mad. “Na coach. That’s one, one. We got one more fight.” I stood to my feet and caught my breath. You old bastard, don’t even know what you got yourself into just now. I stretched the crick out of my neck and started shuffling my feet. “Go easy on him, he’s only 17.” The coach said to the old bastard, and the gym erupted in laughter. “Aye, coach don’t talk like that in here you gone get someone hurt.”
I throw my hands together, and get back into position. This time though I was bouncing back and forth on my toes. The old bastard was out of breath at the start of the last fight so he’s clearly slowing down right now. Like an old automotive you can practically hear the old bastard’s engine sputtering. He pursues with meek jabs, and I dodge em and circle him in the ring. “Ah, you riled him up now.” One person in the crowd said loudly. Slowly but surely I got the old bastard dizzy. I get around his defense I hit him with a left jab to his liver, he ate the hit like eggs for breakfast. It was just a tap though. Just to test his endurance. He’s clearly fatigued. One good right drill would put this old man on his ass. His eyes meet mine, and he throws a solid right hook into my gloves, then a left toward my body but I blocked it effectively. I float backwards on my bouncing feet, and he pursues on guard.
He’s slow. He can’t even hit me right now. I put my guard down. He throws a solid left jab, it clips me in my shoulder and my right cheek. A hard strike, but not solid enough, I swing in quick with my right hand and hit him on the left side of his face. Boom! He stumbles but he’s not down yet, I throw a left hook and get him right in his nose. Boom! “Yeah! How you like that old bastard!” I pursue him, and hit him before he falls with a right drill that barely connected with his face. “That’s enough!” The coach yelled. “Someone get his pansy ass out of the ring. Kid, after you get cleaned up come meet me in my office.”
The coach sat in the office with his door wide open, I knocked anyway. “Hey coach.” I said as I wiped the sweat from my face. “Yes come in here and sit.” I did. “Listen kid. I’ve been watching your last few fights. You seem to really be making a small name for yourself. The guys been calling you stepper, because the way you move your feet in the ring.” I laughed and nodded, “What can I say? I been practicing.” The coach stood up and sat on the side of his old wood desk. “I’ll cut to the chase. Although you’re young, and you’ve got a hell of a lot to learn, I think we can start setting up real professional fights for you. You can even earn a bit of money to take home to your family while doing it.” My ears perked up, “Really sir? That would be a dream come true…” I quieted down for a minute and the coach noticed. “Do you have some sort of apprehension? You don’t sound too excited about it.” Coach asked, “Na, coach. No apprehension. I love to fight. Really, it’s the thing I do best. What I’m thinking about now is just how to become the champion. The peoples champion, you know? A fighter that can really change the world, like Patterson.” I said, and coach just looked at me with the eyes of a worn old fighter. “That’s what I’m thinking about.” I said as coach stared at me clearly waiting for a clear response. I cracked a smile, “Yeah, let's take it one fight at a time.”