Conversations with a Fighter

‘Truth is a pathless land...’ - J. Krishnamurti

I knew I was too late - but I was committed, and I couldn’t stop myself.

He’d beaten me to the punch, and as time stretched out, as it does in these situations, I took a moment to reflect that this was the most likely outcome anyway - everyone, including all the bookies and myself, knew the kid was just too fast, too good. They’d all agreed goin’ in that the only thing that might save me from a knock-out was my stubborn chin. And after eight rounds, the fortress had begun to crumble.

I’d been cut all over - the worst bein’ just beside my left eyebrow, and my left eye was filling with blood. Not that bein’ able to see would have made a big difference - he was too fast anyway: all night long - step in, pop back, each time leaving a red welt on my face. I was dazed, but in the zone, y’understand - I felt like I could take his shots for hours... until one got me right on the button, that is - there’s willpower, and then there’s lights out...

I knew it was bed-time...

But the punch never came.

He’d feinted with his right, and was loadin’ up for a left hook, when my own left hook smashed into the side of his face. His eyes rolled back and his body stiffened, and he crumpled straight down onto the canvas.

For a second my brain did a trick, thinkin’ it must be me down there - like an out-a’-body experience or somethin’... Then I felt the pain in my left hand and realized: No, kid - you got another shot at the title..!!

I lost my championship fight, as predicted - even after my miracle against Randolph, none of the insiders gave me much of a chance against Ty Williams. Still, I made it nine rounds - until he finally put me out with a vicious combination: left jab, left hook, right uppercut - see ya...

Too strong, too fast - and too young. I knew my better days were behind me. I retired.

But I couldn’t stay away from boxing, of course - I was happy to get into coaching at my gym, even though the pay was shit. It was still a thrill, y’know? - bein’ around all them hungry young fighters... Most of ‘em thought I was the greatest... A local hero... Almost a champion - twice... In a lotta ways, it was better than fightin’ - ‘cause now it wasn’t me gettin’ beat up in there... And a lotta them kids had raw talent, but they didn’t know nothin’ - no tactics, how to use the reach... And a lot of ’em didn’t come in tough... But I showed ’em all of it - the footwork, the flow, when and how to be aggressive, how to throw an effective combination, how to cover up, how to pace y’self. And they was all of ’em tough after a year or so with me.

Like I said, I stayed heavily into boxing - and even my wife Sally didn’t mind. I was still a decent husband - I came home each evening after work, and she cooked real good, and some nights we’d get a little bit drunk - but not too much, y’understand... Haha, well I won’t get too personal... But yeah, we got along great - still do, matter a’ fact... She’d been well pleased when I retired - she never did like seein’ me get my face beat in. Said it spoiled my good looks. That always made me laugh - which hurt sometimes, a’ course... But she especially liked the fact that I didn’t hafta go on the road no more, and train for weeks at a time. And the no sex thing - you know that’s never gonna go over well.

And most of all was the matter of our boy, Chester. He was two when I stopped fightin’, and that was good for everybody, y’know? I still got to watch my kid grow up - and I didn’t miss too much of it... Sometimes I think all I missed was the dirty diapers... ’Course, I never tell that joke to Sally. I don’t think she’d find it too funny.

When Chet was about five, I started lettin’ him tag along to the gym with me sometimes. That was one thing Sally didn’t like, and she told me so: “Luke, I don’t like the idea of you takin’ Chester down there. I don’t want him seein’ all that violence and stuff - he’s too young..!”

“Aw hell, Sally - it’s all just punchin’ bags an’ skippin’ rope, fergodssake...”

“Lucius Saunders, I do not want our boy to grow up to be a boxer - I won’t have it! ..It’s good for other kids, whose parents are fine with it - but I am not! He’s a good kid, and a smart kid, and I don’t want him gettin’ his brains beat in... I don’t want him around it.... He’s too young...”

“Listen, Sally... Lemme just take him once in a while... I’ll keep him busy jumpin’ rope. It’ll be good for him - just a bit a’ excercise... Besides, it’s the one place where I can show the kid how smart his old man is, hey..? C’mon, Sally...”

Sally rolled her eyes. “..Yeah, I suppose you are pretty dumb...” She gave me that look the woman you love gives you when you both know she’s got you by the balls. “..Alright, Lucius - have it your way... He can go on Saturdays - if he’s got all his homework done... He can jump rope... And he can watch a bit... And you can show him how god-damned smart you are.” She smiled, effectively relaxing her grip, so to speak. “..but NO BOXING!”

“..Can he hit the bag..??”

Sally put her hands on her hips and looked to the sky. “You vex me, Lucius... You slitherin’, connivin’ snake... You do vex me somethin’ fierce...” I just stared at her calmly - never show fear at a time like this, trust me.

Sally shook her head. “..You contrary sack a’ turd... Well, you gonna do exactly what you want anyway.... But I’m tellin’ ya, Luke - no boxing!” I kept staring at her, not sayin’ a word. “..He can hit the bag a little bit...”

“Oh, Sal, you’re a gem! ..My little Georgia peach... Come here, girl...”

“..Oh, Luke, stop that... Get off me!! ..My god, you vex me sometimes...”

So, thanks to Sally bein’ so magnanimous and all, Chet was allowed to come down to the gym with me on weekends. The homework was never an issue - how much homework y’think they give a five-year-old? Chet was smart anyway - like Sally said - and he could do his 2+2′s and all that shit without my help...

“Hey Chet - lemme ask y’somethin’... If you got one tomata’ can standin’ in front a’ ya, and you hit him once right there, with all you got, an’ he falls down, an’ doesn’t get back up again - how many tomata’ cans you got left?”

“Zero!” Chet shouted.

“Hey - that’s right! ..And if you count all the way up to ten, an’ he’s still lyin’ there in a heap, like he’s asleep or somethin’ - then what does that equal?”

“A knock-out!”

..Yeah, Sally didn’t think that was funny at all...

But I did the best thing I coulda done - I told Sally she should come along to the gym too. She pursed her lips at the thought when I first brought it up, but I said: “Honey - this way you can see it ain’t so bad... You can keep an eye on both of us too, right?” It was this last point that convinced Sally, of course, so she started comin’ to the gym whenever Chet came along with me. ’Course, Chet didn’t mind - he was still a young boy, not yet near the age where he’d be embarrassed ‘bout havin’ his mom around.

And despite herself, Sally actually found the whole scene at the gym very interesting. Naturally she’d felt a bit intimidated, first time she walked in there with Chet, but word quickly spread as to who she was, and all the young men put their best feet forward in an effort to be cordial and respectful to Sally. I took it a step further by introducing her to all the boys there, taking it slow so she could get to know them all at least a little bit.

“I told you they was good kids - didn’t I, Sal? ..The assholes and the primadonnas - we either straighten ’em out, or send ‘em packin’...” Sally could only agree.

What’s funny about the whole thing is that Sally found she really liked boxing - especially since it wasn’t me getting hit, and they always used headgear at the gym for the sparring sessions. It wasn’t long before Sally was dragging Chet to the gym with her some evenings after school. ’Course Chet didn’t mind at all - he loved it down there.

I guess the funniest thing about it of all was that Sally actually had an eye for it - an understandin’ of the game, I guess you’d say. She started spendin’ more and more time at the gym, by my side as I trained my fighters in and outside the ring. She learned everything I was teachin’ my boys, and I must say she started to become a pretty good coach herself. She was still torn about Chet gettin’ into boxing, but he was happy as a clam just to hit the heavy-bag and skip the rope, with his mama encouragin’ him and pushin’ him along. His dream at that point was to be able to work the speed-bag, which seemed like a magic trick every time I showed him. Yeah, the speed-bag’s a tough one. He wasn’t even tall enough to reach it.

You might say we became a regular ol’ boxin’ family. In fact, by the time Chet was eight or so, Sally had relaxed enough about everything that we began goin’ to the pro fights on a regular basis. I had connections, so I was always able to score good seats near ringside. We’d watch the fights together, and sometimes it’d get violent, y’understand - maybe some blood an’ shit - and Sally would remember Chet, and put her hands up in front of his eyes or somethin’, an’ Chet tryna tear her hands away from his face, and eventually Sal’d get caught up in it again, and I’d start talkin’ technique and stuff with ‘er, and pretty soon she’d leave Chet alone, and we’d get wrapped up in that business for a while... It was good learnin’ - we both became better coaches through all that observin’, no doubt about it.

One weekend we drove all the way up to Philly to see a big boxing card. My friends up there told me who the headliners were, but they didn’t say nothin’ about the under-cards. I was surprised when they announced the fighters for the third match - one of ’em was Jacob Randolph, the young hot-shot I’d been lucky against, right before I fought Williams.

The fight was scheduled for eight rounds, and as it began, I could see that Randolph had taken a few steps down, so to speak. His opponent was some young kid who looked good, but I could see he had no skill, wasn’t too quick, couldn’t defend his way out of a paper bag... You know the kinda fighter I’m talkin’ about - a tomata’ can, basically... The kinda guy young Randolph woulda wiped the floor with, y’understand? But at least the kid looked hungry, and showed some heart - which is more than I can say for Jacob Randolph.

He came in flabby, and I could see right away that there was no fire in his eyes. He looked tired, uncertain - hell, he didn’t even have a sweat on when he came in... Yeah, he showed flashes of skill - only thing that saved him in that fight. Just enough rounds in his favor to earn a split decision. But he still almost got knocked out by an obvious right hand that had no business ever reachin’ his chin. That one made me cringe - which is rare for me when I’m watchin’ a fight. It wasn’t just the punch itself - it was that it had been such a fundamental blunder, such a gross lapse in concentration, such a rookie mistake - which made it way worse: Jacob Randolph was no rookie - he shoulda damn well seen it comin’...

Anyway, the punch had come right near the end of the 6th, and Randolph was barely able to beat the count. The ref was in the middle of askin’ him if he was okay, when the bell rang and saved his ass. In the 7th he went on his bike, just runnin’ all over the place in a daze, tryin’ not to get clobbered... By the final round his head had cleared a bit, and his cornermen had yelled at him enough that he got his shit together a little more, and put in a good last three minutes, actually snapping his man’s head back a few times with his jab, which had finally come to life.

It was the good finish that saved him - plus maybe a little bias, since he was known and the other guy was just a nothin’ fighter. When they announced the decision, I could see the relief on Randolph’s face - I think he really thought he’d lost that one... But I gotta tell ya, I was so happy for him. I surprised myself, actually - I was cheerin’ louder’n all the rest of ’em put together... Just because... Not really sure why...

Randolph stood in the middle of the ring, bloody and ugly, and exhausted, and he looked out over the audience, though his left eye was swollen shut, and a nasty black and red. Then he started in surprise as I caught his eye. I gave him a big smile and a thumbs-up. I was truly ecstatic that he’d won - he musta seen that. He managed a smile back with a little nod. I thought he looked more embarrassed than anything.

After the fight, I finagled my way back to Randolph’s dressing room. I left Sally and Chet to watch the next bout, knowing that gettin’ behind the scenes was a dicey prospect at best, even on my own. I hardly knew Randolph personally, and I didn’t know any of the other guys, but I did know a couple of trainers and some of the security staff from way back. They checked with Randolph and his people, and said it was okay. So I went in the back to see Randolph.

He was perfectly polite, though he seemed none too enthusiastic about my bein’ there. I know how a man’s ego can be, and I’d run across people before who’d whupped my ass - not the best feelin’ y’ever gonna have, y’get me? ..Anyway, we chatted - mostly kept it light, though I did make mention of his better moments in the fight - the last round certainly being his best. But I didn’t gush, ‘cause I didn’t want to embarrass him - we both knew he was a shadow of what he’d been, and we didn’t need to draw attention to the fact by talkin’ specifics too much. I let him lead the conversation mostly, though I did tell him a bunch about my wife and son, and that got a real smile outta him.

All in all, we ended our little visit better friends than we’d started as - not that we’d ever disliked each other in the first place, y’understand. Both of us were gentlemanly enough in that respect. I shook Jacob’s hand, and left.

About six months later, back in Baltimore, I was down at the gym with Sally one day, puttin’ the boys through their paces, when in walks Randolph. It took Sally a minute to recognize him, but I knew him right away - in fact, he looked more like the young Randolph: clean-shaven, and slimmer I thought... Yeah, he’d definitely slimmed down a bit...

Of course I was really surprised. “Holy shit!” I exclaimed, then quietly to the younger boys: “Pardon my french...” This made them laugh, and Sally rolled her eyes. I turned back to Randolph. “Well hello, Jacob! So good to see ya!” We shook hands. “I had no idea you were in Baltimore!”

He smiled. “Hey, Luke... Great place you got here...” I could tell he was bein’ sincere. Y’know that look in a man’s eye sometimes? Fighters get it - some of ‘em get it just by walkin’ into a real gym, and smellin’ the sweat, and the hunger... Hearin’ the heavy-bag when it pops... I could see that look in Jacob’s eyes - that awe - like he was a kid again, or somethin’. It was a look that had been totally absent last time I’d seen him, up in Philly - a fight he’d won, fercrissake...

“So, tell me now, Jacob - what brings you down here? You’re not fightin’, are you? I woulda heard about it...”

“No, I’m not fighting... I guess you could say I’m taking a bit of a break... My next fight is gonna be in another fifteen to eighteen months - I told my managers that...” I raised my eyebrows - not surprised by the fact that he wasn’t fighting, but more at my surprise at just how much sense it made: last time I’d seen him, the kid was a wreck.

“Ahh, so you’re just in town, and droppin’ by?” I asked him.

“..Um, no, Luke... I’m actually hoping to stay here a while... I wanna go back to school, I guess...”

That raised my eyebrows even more, and I said: “Well, good for you then, bro! Why not, hey? I think that’s great, if that’s what you wanna do... What’rya gonna be studyin’?”

Jacob smiled sheepishly. “..Well... I was hoping to study boxing...” It took me a while to get it. “..Luke, I want to train with you... I want you to... help me find if I got anything left in me - know what I’m sayin’?” He looked into my eyes, and it was like I could see the champion in him struggling to burst out, like he wanted it so bad, but just didn’t know if he could do it... Like he needed someone to tell him yes he could - someone just like me, who knew what the hell he was talkin’ about.

All this stuff really surprised me and Sally, but what was I gonna say - no? Hell, no - me an’ Sal just exchanged a couple of shrugs and a few nods, and that was it - we had a pro in our stable. A pro on hiatus, maybe - but still a pro. And judging by the look in his eye, I had a feeling we just might be able to make him a fighter again before it was time to get back in the ring.

Jacob told me he’d been watching his diet and running a lot, and I could see the difference - the kid was leaner than he’d been six months ago...

“But not lean enough,” I told him. “Jacob, we gotta get you down at least one weight class - maybe all the way back down to super-welterweight. There’s no way you should be fightin’ as a super-middleweight - y’hear me? Y’carryin’ too much weight, an’ it’s slowin’ you down... We gotta find that place where you get yer speed back again, but without losin’ yer power - y’follow me?” He nodded. “So listen - nothin’ but roadwork and salads for the next two months, a’aight?” He gave me a wry grin. “..Okay, maybe a steak twice a week - can’t let our boy go hungry now, can we?” Jacob’s smile registered relief this time. “But I’m serious about the roadwork - we ain’t gonna do much boxin’ for a while.”

“But Luke, I don’t wanna get rusty... We have to do a little bit...”

“Listen, Jake - you ain’t gonna get rusty. You gonna get lean, and quick, and fit... An’ by the time you get back to hittin’ things, you gonna be fast, and strong, and hungry again, and you gonna forget all them bad habits... Now, don’t gimme that look, Jake - you know you got ‘em... All them bad habits gonna be gone, and all you gonna have is your reflexes, and a simple game-plan, and a new hunger... An’ when you get in the ring, you gonna be so strong and lean that you gonna be just about jumpin’ outta yer skin. An’ you’ll have yer man there jumpin’ outta his skin, just fer sheer fright at the sight a’ ya...”

So we got Jacob out runnin’ twice a day, every day, and sometimes Sally an’ Chet came along on their bicycles. We did five miles every mornin’, and again every night. After about a month we bumped the night runs up to ten, but gave Jacob Sunday nights off, and that made him happy.

In between times we kept busy as well - comin’ up with all sorts of make-work projects to keep Jake active, stuff like that. I forced him to play chess with me - for strategy, and tactics, I told him. We both knew how to play backgammon, so we did that too - for risk-reward assessment...

After a while, ‘course Jacob got a hunger for hittin’ stuff. But I told him we still wasn’t gonna do no boxin’ yet - I told him if he wanted to hit somethin’ so bad, to put some old gloves on and go hit the brick wall outside. So that’s what Jacob did, for a half-hour twice a day, poundin’ the wall outside with his music goin’.

“That’s kung-fu style, bro - that’s how they make they hands all tough, like bricks... ‘Cept they do it on wood with they bare hands...” Jacob didn’t look at me - he just stared straight ahead a’ him, sweat pourin’ off ‘im, poundin’ the wall: right, right - left, left - right, left, right, left - pop! pop! pop!

I checked my watch. “Another twelve minutes, Jake - then we’ll take a walk down the river, and have some lunch...” Pop - pop - pop!

I smiled. “That’s good work, Jake... I’ma run in the house a minute. When I come back, I wanna see two holes in that wall - y’hear me, boy?!”

POP! POP! POP! POP!

When I told Jacob it was finally time to focus on boxing again, his eyes lit up. He was shortly disappointed however: instead of takin’ him down to the gym, I brought him into the TV room...

“No, you not gonna spar right away - you gonna spectate for a while,” I told him. “We gonna look at some examples - of what to do, and what not to do.”

Jacob rolled his eyes and sat down on the couch as I went to put in a DVD. “..Zaire, 1974... You know the one...”

“Of course - Rumble in the Jungle - I’ve seen it, many times...”

I stared at him hard. “Well you gonna see it a-gain..! ..And again and again, and again... You gonna watch this fight every day, from now on, up to and including the day you step back in the ring.” Jake rolled his eyes again. “..Listen, Jacob - what’s your favorite movie? Or the one you’ve seen the most, know the best, whatever?”

“..Umm... Probably Star Wars..??”

I laughed. “Yeah, that’s one a’ my best too... But it’s like this, Jake - you gonna watch a lotta fights next little while, but this one, you gonna know like Star Wars­, like the back a’ yer hand - y’get me? ..You gonna know this fight, every punch, every miss, every bead a’ sweat... And all them good lessons from that fight gonna just soak right inta’ yer brain... One big download a’ genius...”

Jacob sighed. “Oh well, come on - let’s see it... Again....”

I paused, and gave him a sharp look. “Jacob, up ’til now you’ve only watched it - you still ain’t seen it yet. But you gonna, my friend - believe that.”

So we watched the Zaire ‘74 fight, and all through it I was throwin’ in my two cents: “Y’see that counter - the timing? ..It ain’t just the cover, it’s the movement - he can’t find him! ..Do that... And that! ..Wow, what a shot! See the sweat come off?!? ..Do that! ..Yeah, and that one too...”

When the fight was over, I put on some clips of Roy Jones Jr. “He’s my favorite boxer of all time,” Jake said, “I love watchin’ him fight.”

“Yeah, dude was a genius, no doubt about it.” I clicked the video on, and we watched it. “..Yeah, don’t do that... Or that... Definitely don’t do that! ..Hmmm... You can do that... but I wouldn’t advise it...”

After about fifteen minutes, Jacob got so sick a’ hearin’ me that he just shut the video off. “Jesus, Luke - ten minutes ago you were tellin’ me how great you thought he was! What the hell’d you put it on for?!” I reached over and tweaked his ear. “Oww! ..You son of a bitch..! What the hell?!!”

I looked him in the eye. “Jacob - you don’t understand why I’m showin’ you this, and sayin’ what I’m sayin’? You don’t get it??”

Jacob rubbed at the pain in his ear. “..Well, no - I guess I don’t...”

I feinted at his other ear, and he pulled back in a classic defensive posture. I gave him a wicked grin. “..Not bad, Jake, not bad...” I leaned in a bit closer. “Jacob, you ain’t Roy Jones - not anymore... You was when you fought me - you could get away with leavin’ ye hands down, the head games, all that shit. But you gotta get wise, brotha - you gotta see that you can’t away wid it no more, especially against the top guys, right? The body ages, and you got to accept that, an’ work with it, instead a’ tryna be y’old slick self - which you ain’t... Even Roy wasn’t hisself by the time he was in his mid-thirties - an’ you just about there now... So you gotta get a new approach, and use your mind to compensate for the things yo’ body can’t do no more - y’get me? ..You gotta be more like Ali, and less like Jones.”

Jake’s only reply was: “Ali left his hands down too.”

I leaned in closer, and held a finger up in front of his face. “Not in Zaire, he didn’t.”

A snap and a flash - I still had my hand-speed...

“OWW!! Son of a bitch!” Jacob hollered, as he rubbed his other ear.

So we added video sessions to our regular trainin’ - though it took a while fa’ Jacob to warm up to my approach to the whole thing...

“..Why are we watching this?” Jacob asked me, “M.M.A.’s totally different - even the striking stances - I can’t use any of this..!”

“Jake, this ain’t about the techniques - it’s about the focus, and the toughness... Look at Spider’s eyes - watch how he finishes him... Oh, yeah, it’s his fight - you won’t believe it...”

After watching Silva for a bit, I put on a different one. “Muay-thai fighting - check it out, Jake...” We watched that one for a while. “..See that? That’s kicks to his head instead a’ punches... Knees to his ribs... Look at that chin, Jake! See, that’s what you need - that kinda tenacity, that it’s gonna take a perfect combination to knock you out - y’follow me, bro?”

After that, we got into watchin’ some really different stuff, but Jacob came along - he was gettin’ it a bit now. I played him all the Michael Jordan videos I could find... “‘Cause he’s got everythin’, see? ..Every drive-and-dish like a wicked jab, every in-yo-face dunk like a left-hook to the ribs... An’ he knows how far his man can reach... An’ look here - every time he fakes: like a good feint - not too fast, just fast enough so they bite, y’understand? And then he explodes... Timing, brotha - that’s what it is... Don’t analyze it too much - just soak it in, try t’ hook with the rhythm of it all, y’know?” Yeah, he was startin’ to get it a bit. He even stopped complainin’ after a while.

It was about eight months before his comeback fight that we finally got Jacob sparrin’ again. It only took him ’bout four rounds ‘til he was back in the swing a’ things - but better, least it seemed to me, as I was the one in there with ‘im... I had the vest on, the works - haha, I was all bundled up... But Jacob put a punishment on me, tell you what - an’ I couldn’t give him the real fight back that he needed - so we bit the bullet, and hired a couple guys to spar with him. Blake Tomlinson was the best. He was real young, but good... Hey Ricky, you remember him - Charlie’s boy... No, not his son - I mean his fighter, that up-and-comer we saw down in Phoenix last November... That’s him... Yeah, I think he was nineteen, first time we had him down wit us in Baltimore. ’Course he’s a natural super-middleweight, now he’s filled out. But he was perfect for Jake back then - and quick too... And powerful... A good test... Yeah, he’s a good kid...

So we had Blake down there, and a couple other guys, an’ I still got a few licks in, y’know... After a while, Jacob started callin’ my sessions his ‘days off’... Yeah, I didn’t find that too funny at the time... Couldn’t even tweak his ear no more after a while - son of a bitch bin’ like to tear my hand off at that point. He was on his way to bein’ ready - learnin’ how to take the shots, an’ gettin’ real good at givin’ ‘em too. And day and night his eyes blazed like a fierce and wild beast. It was quite a transformation - an’ one I’m proud to say I had a part in.

But you know, even the best of us have weak moments. Randolph was doin’ great in the weeks leadin’ up to the fight - we knew this Ainsley kid was gonna be tough, a real legit contender, but we’d studied him up an’ down, and we knew what to stay away from and what weaknesses to exploit, y’know... I had Jacob unconscious in the gym, workin’ his different combinations. We didn’t over-train, an’ it was all unfoldin’ perfectly. He was peakin’ at just the right time, an’ his weight was fine - he didn’t have to cut at all. He was right there - in the zone, y’understand...

But Jake still had that hill to climb - and he’d never really been close to the top before, ’cept way back when, ‘fore he lost all his confidence after that one mistake to me, when I got lucky... I’d wondered if it still, y’know, haunted him... He seemed to be doin’ jus’ fine - he seemed like a new man, in fact... But you never really know, when it’s that last hill, y’know? ..You just never know if you can do somethin’ y’ain’t never done - ’til y’actually up and do the thing...

“..But what if I can’t? ..I mean just what if... Not tryna be negative - I feel good... But I just mean... where do I go from here... if it doesn’t work out, y’know? ..It’s a relevant question...”

I paused and stared into Jake’s eyes. “Listen, buddy - for starters, now is not the time to be discussin’ it, get me? ..You got a fight on your schedule tomorrow... You deal with that - then you decide what you gonna do next, a’aight? You can’t decide what you gonna do in six months when we don’t even know how tomorrow’s gonna work out. So you deal with that task first - then you make plans based on what happens... And yeah, it might not come out the way we want it - this dude Ainsley is a tough son of a bitch, ain’t that right?”

Jacob bowed his head and nodded. I gave him a little slap upside. “Hey! look at me, Jacob... Whatever may happen tomorrow, one thing I don’t wanna see is you lookin’ all despondent an’ shit - y’got me?! Not now, and not at any time! I wanna see nothin’ but fire, and hunger, and arrogance in yo’ eyes - that’s all I wanna see! I wanna see nothin’ but the warrior side a’ you - unnerstand? ..I’m not sayin’ don’t be afraid - you oughtta be, ‘gainst this muthafucka - but you ride that fear like you surfin’ a wave, dawg... Don’t become a victim of your fear - make it serve you... Make it part of your motivation... An’ most of all, don’t be afraid of failure... You know why? ‘Cause at the end of the day, it doesn’t matter...” I grabbed him by the shoulders and gave him a shake. “Jacob - it don’t matter, dawg.... You have any idea how far you’ve come? Do you have the slightest idea how proud I am, just to be your friend? An’ bein’ your coach has been... well, like a dream come true... You really turned it around, dude... You made me... so proud...” I don’t mind admittin’ I shed a tear or two at this point. “..Jake... Watchin’ you work, an’ seein’ you get some a’ y’old self back, an’ seein’ you learn how to finally... put it all together... And most of all, I suppose - watchin’ your character blossom... That’s what really matters, Jacob... You’ve given so much joy back to me, man - our two brains workin’ together, and your skills back... Dude, it feels like half a’ me is gonna be in there with ya - know what I’m sayin’?”

He smiled at me. “You are, Luke... You will be... You’re the whole reason I’m back here, with a real shot again... Tomorrow’s all for you, my brother...”

I put a firm hand to his shoulder. “Jacob, listen to me - an’ if you ever remember one thing I tell you, let it be this: when you go out there tomorrow night, you fight for yourself - like a lion, hunting on the savannah..! ..You don’t fight for yo’ mama, an’ you don’t do it fa’ Sally an’ Chet... An’ you don’t do it fa’ Jesus, or fa’ the poor starvin’ children in Africa... An’ you sho’ as shit don’t do it for me... Please - don’t do it for me... It’s not your burden to accomplish my dream... I did my best... I didn’t make it... Twice... Y’know what, brotha? I’m over it. I got great folks all around me. I can’t complain about nothin’... The only way you gonna disappoint me is if you go out there afraid to fail - y’get me, dawg?” Jacob met my eyes. The fire was there - it flickered in the wind a bit, but it was burnin’. We stood up and embraced each other. “..I’m the one that’s got to die when it’s time for me to die... So let me live my life the way I want to...” Jacob pulled back from me and smiled, but I could tell he’d never heard the song. Ah, well, he was young... “Jimi Hendrix, dude... Shit, we gotta get you hip...”

Anyway, it was about four years later we were all down in the Bahamas - me, the kid, Sally, and Jake... We spent most of a year down there, even though Sally didn’t like the idea of Chet missin’ an entire year of school...

“Y’know what, Sal?” I said to her with a big grin, “this is Jacob’s retirement party, an’ we’re all invited - I say fuck it...”

“Yeah, ma - fuck it!”

Hmm, Sally didn’t find that funny. Not in the slightest.

But what’s another year, right? We all said fuck it, an’ went down there for a while, an’ partied a’ course... An’ we did a hell of a lot a’ fishin’, an’ we kept runnin’, even though Jake wasn’t gonna be fightin’ no more - y’know, just because... We just did it for ourselves.

..Oh, but I guess you want me to tell you ‘bout how it all went down that night... Well, I just figured you all knew the story - which you probably all do... But jus’ for the record I guess I’ll say it anyway...

For starters, y’all know how he finished his career - six title defences in three years. An’ he went out on top, though young Johnson almost got ‘im. It was Jake’s chin saved him in that one... Maybe that was my proudest moment ever - seein’ him take all that shit, what he couldna done before, I reckon. The fact that he knocked Johnson out in the second last round was just the icing on the cake, y’know? ..I never woulda imagined such a perfect ending to a career... The man had become a champion in his heart - only place it counts...

But the Ainsley fight - that’s the one people always ask me about - the fight that got him the title shot, after everybody thought he was done...

As everyone knows, the first round didn’t go too well for Jacob - he looked tentative, wasn’t attacking much... Ainsley had his jab goin’ good, and he followed one of ‘em with a right cross that almost took Jake’s head off... I was amazed our boy was still standin’ there: “Holy shit, Sally..! ..Jesus..! ..I don’t know if I coulda taken that punch...”

“Ho-ly SHIT!!” Chet hollered.

Sally glared at him. “You watch your mouth, Chester!”

Chet was entirely nonplussed. “I’m a cornerman... I can cuss if I wanna...”

Sally grabbed Chet by the ear - but jus’ for a second, y’understand - and Chet got the message. I laughed.

“Same goes for you, Lucius - y’hear me?” and when I gave her my best smirk she grabbed me by the ear too, jus’ t’ let me know who’s boss... Chrissake, y’can see it on the replay... Embarrassin’, tell you what... ’Course Sally thinks that’s hilarious...

So anyway, Jake comes back to the corner after the first round, and we all got our duties - in this case, Sally puts the stool out for him and fixes the cuts, and Chet gives him the water and applies the ice-bag, y’know, and I’m standin’ there talkin’ to him, sayin’: “Jacob - yer thinkin’ too much... It’s like yer tryna solve a puzzle... Stop thinkin’!! ..You be the puzzle - got me? You already thought about it in trainin’ - yo’ body knows what to do! Let it do its thing... And you just watch... Watch his eyes... His hands... His hips... You jus’ watch, and respond... And when the time is right, create, and attack... An’ just let it flow, brotha... Find the holes... Don’t do nothin’ stupid... Just be there... An’ do what you do... An’ do what you gotta do..! Y’hear me, Jake?!”

“..A lion on the savannah...”

“That’s it, man... That’s all you need to know...”

And the rest is history, as they say... Jake went out like a lion in the 2nd round, no doubt about it. He was a fuckin’ animal - everybody could see it... He was like a whole new fighter in the 2nd - up and down, all over the place... But the eyes - always there, in the middle, y’understand? Penetratin’... Flushin’ his man out... Workin’ it all out as he went along... Fearless... On the hunt... God, it was beautiful...

I knew by now he had a chin - and he took some shots in that round, no mistake. But he was rollin’ good, and counterin’ good, and christ he made the kid pay for some over-aggressiveness in that round... It was beautiful - feint, step back, counter, sometimes two or three... Crackin’ the left hook, crackin’ the jab... Combinations - one, two, three ­- just like we worked it in training... Riffin’ all over the place... Meticulous... Ferocious... It was science... and art... and guts... God, it was beautiful to see...

Jacob came back to the corner after the 2nd round, and I could see he was hot - but controlled, y’understand. I knew he was good to go, and I said: “Jake - so whaddaya think? You look good... Think you can bring this sucka down or what?”

Jake looked up at me from his stool. “..I think so... He’s open...”

I smiled at my boy. “You see it, hey?”

“..Yeah, man... Left hook... Double-up on the jab... He’s so worried about my right...”

“Mhmm... I think you got ‘im, Jake... I really think you do... But just take ya time, an’ make sure... Don’t do nothin’ stupid, right? ..I’ll pinch ya’ right now - ‘front a’ everybody...”

“Fuck you, Lucius... Don’t worry... I got him...”

And Randolph got him, that’s for sure - everyone knows that... Took him two and a half more rounds, - was the middle of the 5th he put him out, - but it was two and a half rounds of such methodical, gutsy, instinctive domination as I’ve rarely seen in all my days. Jacob’s timing was perfect... His defence was immaculate... Ainsley was a bewildered man by the 3rd round - he didn’t know what hit him... By the middle of the 4th, Jake’s relentless pace had exposed a gap in their conditioning, no doubt about it. Ainsley couldn’t keep up, an’ he was tired - and gettin’ beat up because of it.

He never recovered after that - his right eye was almost swollen shut from Jake rippin’ him all night with his jab, and like I said, he couldn’t keep up the pace... The moment it came, it was like... poetry... because it was the same move he’d tried on me, all those years ago - feint right, left-hook before he can counter... But this time Jake did it right - he timed his man, y’understand? Just enough to get him t’ bring his hands over... and then, BAM! - left hook to the button... Lights out...

Ainsley fell over, and lay there like he was asleep or somethin’. Thankfully he ended up alright - though he didn’t get up for a while, tell you what... And that’s when Jake’s career took off for real, I guess you’d say... Of course, winnin’ the title against Webster was a feat indeed - a lot tougher than the Ainsley fight, no question. But Jake was ready for it now - he knew he could do it - and pretty much all I said to him through that whole fight was: “Yes, Jake... Y’got ‘im, Jake... You’re doin’ it, buddy... You got this, Jake... Like a lion, baby - like a fuckin’ lion... You got this, baby...” This time it took him seven, but he did it - Jacob was the middleweight champion... Pure fierceness - bam bam bam bam... Four clean punches to take his man out... You can’t beat that, baby... Pure poetry... It was unbelievable....

An’ you remember what he said at the press conference? You were there, Rick - you remember - when they asked Jacob what he done to prepare for the fight? ..Yeah - an’ he says to the guy: “..Well, we watched a lotta basketball...”