On the Ropes (Down for the Count) (14 page)

Jimmy’s chest is heaving with anger as he walks backwards to his corner. I know Frankie’s plan is working; I needed to get him riled up. Manhandling him always works, it dates back to our fight when we were kids. He wouldn’t have taken the fight seriously if I didn’t. He would’ve just goofed off in the ring like usual. Jimmy only takes real bouts seriously, but when it’s a sanctioned fight, look out! He’s balls to the wall, and the other guy is lucky to walk out of the ring.

Pausing for a moment, Blaine waits for Jimmy to get in his corner, then continues on with the introductions. “I’m pretty sure the fighter standing next to me needs no introduction; but I’d like to present the best fighter on the East Coast and ‘the face’ of my gym, Gabriel ‘
The Saint
’ Vega!” he takes my wrist and raises it in the air while the crowd begins to cheer. The cheers for me are much louder than for Jimmy, which only pisses him off that much more. I watch him as he paces back and forth in his corner. Blaine is standing next to me clapping with the biggest smile on his face. This truly is a proud moment for him. I search in the crowd for Salem; she’s smiling at Blaine and batting her eyelashes.
Ugh, give me a damn break.

I begin to bounce up and down in place, pounding my gloves together and Jimmy is still giving me the evil eye. I begin to channel my inner Apollo Creed, “You! I want you!” I yell, pointing to him in his corner. He just glowers at me.

“You ready to start this fight?” I turn to Blaine.

“Absolutely,” he responds, looking down to the time keeper and giving him a nod. He quickly exits the ring. Jimmy and I are left staring each other down, waiting for the sound of the bell.

Ding.

Jimmy comes charging at me, full steam ahead, but I hold him off with an uppercut and a few jabs. At the rate Jimmy’s going, he isn’t gonna last three rounds. He’s taking swings left and right, but not landing any. I guess I really pissed him off.

“Jimmy, take it easy. You’re gonna tire yourself out,” I hear Frankie yell from the crowd.

He turns his head in Frankie’s direction, and I land a punch right to his jaw. He’s stunned; Jimmy’s all over the place, tripping over his own feet as he tries to regain his footing. He falls and kisses the canvas; the crowd moans collectively.

He’s on all fours with his head hanging low.

“Jimmy, what the hell you doin’? Get up!” Frankie is now at the side of the ring.

I’m standing over Jimmy. “Come on, Jimmy, get up,” I beg quietly.

“Get the fuck away from me,” he groans.

“This was supposed to be all in good fun,” I tap him on the back.

No sooner do those words leave my mouth, he’s on his feet and in my face. He punches me in the gut, and as I double over from the wind being knocked out of me, I feel his infamous right hook land square on my jaw. Instinctively, I swing a powerful uppercut, which I land. The two of us are now throwing punches left and right, neither of us backing down.

That’s when we hear the bell ring, signaling the end of the round.

The crowd is completely silent as Frankie comes running up the steps. “Jimmy, get your ass over here!” Frankie points in the direction of my corner.

I see Jimmy roll his eyes at Frankie as he saunters across the ring, taking his sweet ass time. This isn’t going to sit well with Frankie at all. As Jimmy approaches us, Frankie grabs him by the scruff of his neck and leads him the rest of the way to my corner. “What the fuck is wrong with you two?”

“You told us to give them a good fight,” I explain.

“You call that a good fight? You looked like two teenagers trying to kick the shit out of each other in a schoolyard brawl.”

I laugh.

“This isn’t funny, Gabriel. You guys looked like amateurs out there, like this is the first fight you’ve ever fought. Who’s gonna wanna come here when you’re fighting like that?”

“Well, technically, we don’t train here,” Jimmy chimes in.

I can’t help but smirk at his comment. He’s absolutely right, neither one of us does train here.

“Shut up. You know what I mean. And if you haven’t forgotten, Gabriel will begin his training here soon enough, so technically…” Frankie draws the word “technically” out, “he does train here. Now get your heads out of your asses and go fight like you have some skill.”

Both of us nod at Frankie’s words. This is just the tip of the iceberg as to what we’re going to hear from him. Our entire drive back to the gym, he’ll be chewing our asses out for the stunt we just pulled.

The time keeper waits for Jimmy to return to his corner.

Ding.

Both of us come out much more conscious of our actions this round. Frankie’s watching us like hawks, so we’re not going get away with anything. Jimmy and I stick to our typical training moves this time around. We pace ourselves, and before we know it, our fight is over.

Blaine once again enters the ring. “Ladies and gentlemen, this concludes our demonstration. I hope you enjoyed our fight this morning. If you haven’t signed up for a tour, please see Shanna at the front counter, and she’ll be happy to get you signed up for one.”

Blaine quickly turns his attention to Jimmy and me. “Wow! I thought you two were gonna rip each other’s heads off,” he says in shock.

“Yeah, sorry about that. We got a little carried away,” I apologize.

“No, don’t apologize, the crowd loved it. I wish I could do this every weekend. It would be great having new fighters in here every week.”

“Maybe you could hold tournaments here,” Jimmy suggests.

“Tournaments? I never thought of that.”

“Yeah, you could host them every five or six months,” I add.

“That’s a really great idea. Thanks, guys!” he claps us both on the back. “I’ll see you guys later? I’ve got to meet up with a few colleagues.”

“Yeah, sure,” I say, as I watch him ease himself through the ropes and climb down the stairs.

“Come on, Jimmy, let’s hit the showers,” I tap his back with my glove.

He quickly jerks his body away.

“Jimmy, you’re not really pissed at me, are you?”

“What do you think?”

“Well, I’m beginning to think you kinda are.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” he snaps at me.

I begin to laugh.

“What the fuck is so funny?”

“I’m sorry, man, I don’t mean to laugh. But, did you really just say, ‘No shit, Sherlock’?” I’m trying to keep the smile from growing across my face.

Jimmy looks up at me, and I can tell he’s also trying to keep from smiling. “You’re an asshole, you know that Saint?”

“I’ve been called worse things,” I shrug my shoulders.

“Fuck! Why can’t I stay mad at you?” he moans.

“Because I’m so irresistible,” I supply, as I sling my arm around his shoulder.

We make our way to the locker room. On the way, we’re stopped several times by audience members telling us how great our fight was and how they look forward to watching me train here. Graciously, Jimmy thanks them for their compliments while I scan the crowd for Salem. I’m interested to find out if she enjoyed our fight like the rest of the crowd did. I spot her pouting in the corner next to the treadmills; alone. Even pouting, with her arms crossed across her chest, she’s beautiful. I just want to bite her cute little bottom lip that’s sticking out.

“If you’ll excuse me,” I murmur to Jimmy and the guy he’s talking to.

I stroll over to Salem, and when she sees me coming, she rolls her eyes at me and turns her back.

“Did you enjoy the show?” I ask, touching her lower back gently.

She jumps at my touch. “I actually thought it was quite barbaric.”

“That? Barbaric?” I laugh. “That was nothing. You should come see me fight against Gladiator next weekend, it’s gonna be a blood bath.”

“Yeah, I don’t think so. There is nothing entertaining about watching two grown men beat each other up in the ring.”

I’m watching her closely, and her eyes are nervously darting around the gym.

“Is there something wrong?”

“No, I’m just wondering where Blaine is,” her face looks pained as she says this.

“I’m sure he got tied up with someone,” I try to offer reassurance. “It’s a pretty big day for him; it must be a very proud moment.” I pause, looking around the gym at the crowds of people still touring the place, “I’d love to have all my hopes and dreams come true like this someday.”

“I’m sure it’s just a phase like everything else in his life,” she attempts nonchalance.

“A phase?” I cock my head.

“You obviously don’t know Blaine very well.”

Leaning in closer, I tease her, “So, are you saying you’re just one of his phases too? And that I have a chance with you?”

“No, I’m not a phase,” she tries to hold back her smile, “and no, there is no chance for you.”

“Well, if nothing else, I at least made you smile,” I reply. “And what a beautiful smile it is.”

“Making me smile isn’t going to get you in my pants,” she plays.

“You ready to go?” Jimmy interrupts our conversation.

“That all depends on doll face here,” I nod my head in Salem’s direction.

“Like I said, you’re not getting in my pants.”

“I’ll take that as a challenge.” I wink at her as Jimmy and I walk away, toward the locker room.

“Is she looking at me?” I whisper to Jimmy.

Annoyed, Jimmy looks over his shoulder and confirms, “Yeah, she’s lookin’.”

“Good.”

“
Rhythm is everything in boxing. Every move you make starts with your heart, and that’s in rhythm or you’re in trouble
.”

—Sugar Ray Robinson

There are two types of boxers: Professionals and amateurs. Professionals are the ones you see on television or in the sports pages. Amateurs are those who are trying to make their way up to the pros or who fight purely for the love of the sport. But the differences don’t stop there. When it comes to fighting in the ring, there are differences in the rules, as well.

Amateur fighters must wear headgear for protection during a fight, but professional fighters don’t. Fights are three or four rounds with each round lasting two minutes for amateurs, where professional fights can be anywhere from four to twelve rounds at three minutes each. Weigh-ins are also significantly different; amateur fighters weigh in just hours before a fight, but weigh-ins for the pros can be up to as much as twenty-four hours beforehand.

The weigh-ins have both advantages and disadvantages. I fight pretty close to my walk-around weight. Other fighters may have to bulk up or drop weight for a fight; whereas, my training and diet for this fight has been fairly easy, since I didn’t have to gain or lose much weight. My main concentration was to get stronger, apply better technique, and build stamina.

Gladiator, on the other hand, usually fights in a heavier weight class. He typically weighs in at a hundred and seventy-five pounds. That means he had to drop close to fifteen pounds for this fight, and that is where the disadvantage of going pro can come in. It’s very easy for a fighter to drop weight for a weigh-in and then during the actual fight, twenty-four hours later, those ten to fifteen pounds the fighter dropped for the weigh-in are back on him. This trick is obviously unfair to the opponent, who can get severely injured by a fighter that much larger. Luckily, this isn’t a pro fight, so I don’t have to worry about that.

Gladiator and I are the last fighters being weighed in today because we’re the main event. I enter the room wearing just my boxing trunks, and flashes from the photographers’ cameras in the audience begin to go off. There are also a few reporters from the local news and the newspaper here covering the event. Jimmy, Frankie, and Patsy follow me in.

Gladiator is standing on his side of the table; I can feel his eyes spearing into me as I near him, and I’m glad the announcer will be seated between us. Gladiator is surrounded by his trainers, and he has at least half a dozen guys in his entourage. When I reach the table, he stands, and I begin sizing him up. He’s just shy of six feet tall and his hair is slicked back.
Man, he’s ripped!
The weight he’s lost for the fight has left not even an ounce of fat on him, even his jaw is chiseled. His eye contact remains unbroken, and I must admit, it’s quite intimidating.