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| >> Static Item >> Short Story >> Other >> ID #1434634 |   |
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Three Minutes to Glory This can't be happening again. Please God, not again. The world was spinning around him so fast he couldn't focus. There was a buzzing in his head that was so loud he almost didn't hear the bell that ended the ninth round. He never saw the right hook that connected half a second after the bell. He staggered backwards and into the arms of his trainer, who drug him into the corner and held him there, suspended, until the stool was under him. He folded onto it like an accordion. "Jimmy? Jimmy, are you alright?" His father's voice seemed distant, as if he was speaking through a pillow. He tried to answer but couldn't catch his breath. The temperature in the arena was stifling. It was like breathing in a steam-filled sauna with a wet bag of cement on his chest. He tried unsuccessfully to spit out his mouthpiece. His father, who was also his trainer, dug his fingers past his swollen lips and gouged it out for him. "Jimmy, open your eyes and look at me." He heaved in two big gulps of stale, smoky air and muttered, "Yeah, I'm alright." Which came out as, "yah-imawite." Suddenly, three very sharp sensations hit him at once. A cold, wet bag of ice was crushed against the back of his neck. A large cotton swab, smothered with adrenalin, was jammed into the gash above his right eye, and a crushed ampoule of ammonia was pressed under his nose. Reality hit him like a sharp, stinging jab. He started to focus. "I'm alright." He lied, knowing it was the only answer his father would accept. The ring doctor stepped through the ropes and flashed a light in his left eye, then his right, which was swollen almost completely shut. "Can you see out of that?" the doctor asked with a serious expression of doubt. "Yeah," he lied. This doctor had a reputation for stopping fights. After nine rounds of the fight of his life, with the world title up for grabs, he could not let that happen. The doctor held up his hand to the right of the damaged eye and asked, "How many fingers do you see?" He couldn't see anything on that side. His father, standing behind the doctor, blinked quickly three times. "Three, I'm fine, doc." He tried to smile but only produced a bloody grimace. The doctor started out through the ropes. "Okay, but if he takes too many punches I'm stopping this." "It's a fight, not a ballet." his father retorted as he squatted in front of his son. "Do you want me to stop this?" his father asked, pulling the front of his trunks out with one hand to help him breath easier and squirting water from a green bottle into his son's mouth with the other. "I'm fine, Dad. What round is this?" He knew but needed to change the subject. "This is the last round. He's killing you with that right hook, Son. Start circling to your right, take that away from him. Do you understand?" Jimmy nodded and grimaced as the second trainer replaced the blood-soaked swab in the cut over his eye with a new one, pinching it into the wound in a desperate attempt to stop the flow of blood. "Now listen to this, Jimmy. You're behind in the scorecards. He took the last four. You need a knockout. Try to stay close to him. He can't find you up close." "Okay," Jimmy managed as he spat bloody water into a bucket next to his stool. Then, his father said aloud what Jimmy had been thinking at the end of the round. "Jimmy, don't make this another Dallas." He looked into his fathers unforgiving eyes. He could see the disappointment even though he knew his father was trying to hide it. Dallas, Texas had been a rift between them for more than two years. Dallas, where he had been knocked out in the final round of a fight he had been dominating. A fight that would have launched him into a title fight with a champion he had a chance of beating. Unlike the one-sided fiasco he should not be in now. Jimmy felt his heart drop like a stone. The ten-second buzzer sounded and his father quickly started applying Vaseline on his son's face. Jimmy looked into the crowd with his good eye to where his wife was sitting. Even from here, with one eye, he could see the tense worry on her pretty face. She had been crying as she watched her husband take a beating in a fight he should have never accepted. Like his father, she did not believe that he was ready for a title shot. They knew he was being used for only one thing. He was a tune up for the champion's real title fight with the number one contender. It was unspoken knowledge that his father did not think his son would ever be a champion. His father, who had trained him his entire career, took this fight when it was offered, knowing in his heart that his son could never win. Then Jimmy saw the empty seat next to his wife. The one that his mother would have been in, had she not succumbed to cancer two months earlier. She had been the driving force behind her son's success. She had an unwavering belief in him. He knew how proud she would be of him right now, win or lose. The bell sounded to start the tenth round. Jimmy advanced toward the center of the ring and the most important three minutes of his young life. He was amazed to see how fresh his opponent looked as he bounced up and down, pounding his gloves together and glaring at him. Jimmy wanted to bounce, but was too tired. As the fighters touched gloves, the champion leaned in and said, "I guess that's enough tuning up, now you're going down. I'm the champ and you're the chump." Jimmy shrugged his shoulders. "Whatever you say, Champ." The referee pointed to the timekeeper to start the final three minutes. The crowd noise increased with the beginning of the round. They had seen Jimmy's blood. The first three rows were splattered with it. They sensed a knockout by the champion was imminent. Jimmy circled to his right, shortening the distance between him and the killer left hook that was the champion's trademark, knockout punch. The champ threw a series of quick, sharp jabs that opened the gash above Jimmy's eye starting a new freshet of blood. Jimmy ducked a hard right and landed two body shots. He knew that scoring points was a moot point but his arms felt like they were filled with concrete. He threw an awkward jab and a heavy right at the champ's chin which opened him up for the left hook that landed hard to his temple. Jimmy staggered back against the ropes. The champ moved in sensing Jimmy had been hurt, winging powerful punches, each one designed to end the fight. Jimmy covered up and tried to block as many as he could. The crowd was chanting the champs name over and over. He tried to counter, springing off the ropes and lunging forward as soon as the champion stepped back. The fighters grappled momentarily and the champ pushed Jimmy back toward the middle of the ring. Jimmy could not see the left hook coming in fast and hard and the veteran champion knew it. The hook landed solidly on the side of his chin and Jimmy felt his knees buckle. Everything stopped for what seemed like a very long time and then started moving in slow motion. He staggered forward, eating a hard right that dropped him to his knees on the canvas. He was hurt, stunned, but not out. That loud buzzing noise was back. From his knees he looked around the ring. He saw his father in the corner. He was holding the second ring rope and looked as if he were about to step into the ring. In his other hand he had a white towel, poised to throw. He was staring at Jimmy with a look of disappointed disgust. He turned his head towards his wife. She stood, looking down at her hands which were clutching her bunched shirt. He could see his defeat in her face as well. Then his eyes fell on his mother's empty chair. Suddenly, Jimmy was no longer in the ring. He was at his mother's bedside in Philadelphia's Mercy Hospital. Wires and feeding tubes snaked from her frail body. She looked tired and worn-out from her fight with a foe that could not be beaten. She had put up the bravest fight he had ever witnessed. He knew that this was two months ago; on the day before she had died. He had just told her how scared he was. He was not afraid of losing the fight, that is a fear every good fighter has faced and overcome. It is part of being a fighter. What he feared most was disappointing his family and disappointing his father, again. She looked at him with her bright, green eyes. Eyes that had never held disappointment in him. "Jimmy, I want you to listen to me now and remember this. A long time ago, a great man said something that will always be true. He said that nothing can stop the man with the right mental attitude from achieving his goal. Nothing on earth can help the man with the wrong mental attitude. Son, I love you and I believe in you. I have always believed in you. Now you have to believe in yourself. You have a great champion in you. Get the right mental attitude and use your strengths. Never let anyone stand in the way of your dreams, including your father. I love you, Jimmy." He had seen her only once after that and although she could not speak, her eyes told him everything he could ever want to know about strength and determination. Then he was back in the ring. The referee was standing over him, " ...Six, ...seven ...." He looked back at his mother's empty seat. He knew he could not let her down. He rose to his feet, wiping the blood from his face with his gloved hand. He told the referee that he was ready to continue and as the ref backed off; he stood and waited for the champion to come to him. As expected, the big man came charging in recklessly, just as Jimmy had two years ago in Dallas. The champion flicked the right jab at him and threw the killer left hook, just as Jimmy knew he would. This time, Jimmy was prepared. He did not have to see it; he knew where it was coming from and stepped into it, shortening its distance, taking away its power. He ate it for position and threw the right uppercut with extreme malice. It connected solidly on the champion's chin, stunning him momentarily, freezing him with his arms down. Then Jimmy let his own left hook fly, landing cleanly, and knocking the big boxer off balance. As the champion staggered sideways along the ropes, Jimmy followed him throwing haymaker rights and lefts, each one landing. The champion hit the ropes in the corner and bounced off. Jimmy threw his right with every ounce of strength he had left. It caught him square on the chin. The Champion of the world crumpled like a rag doll. The referee started his count. The champion never moved. The fight was over. Filled with adrenalin, Jimmy leaped onto the ropes for the fans who now chanted for him. Jimmy "Jesse James" Marshall was the new Middleweight Champion of the World. During a press conference a few days later, Jimmy announced his new trainer. 1992 words. Not counting this and WritingML tags. For the Quotation Inspiration contest.
© Copyright 2008 Scott Kuttner (Bronxbishop) (UN: bronxbishop at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved.
Scott Kuttner (Bronxbishop) has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work. |
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