Gloves Up

Ding!

The bell sounded for the opening round and Jackson moved towards his opponent on nervous legs. Bits and pieces of his training and preparation raced through his mind, his opponent immediately began feinting and circling to his left.

"Can't let him dance, gotta pressure him." He moved to his right to cut off his opponent and found himself reeling from a left- left- right combination. "Where did that come from? Jeez he is fast." Shaking his head, and fighting to keep his opponent in front of him, he again sidestepped to his right, this time letting loose with his own left- right combination. His left to the body connected solidly, he felt his opponent twitch with the connect, the right hand met his opponents glove, and soon after, the excitement over landing his first punch was replaced with shock as he was bombarded with 6 straight punches. Left to the head, left to the head, right to the body, left to the body, right to the head, left to the body. He tried to trade punches but his foe was already circling to the left again and his punches found nothing but air. "God he is fast, too fast, I can't find him." Warily he began his slow half step pivot and turn, desperate to keep his foe in front of him. Jackson could hear his trainer yelling hysterically in the corner behind him, "You gotta let your hands go kid! Don't stand around, be active, and Let your hands go! Side- step pivot just like we practiced! Don't let him circle left, CUT HIM OFF!" Once again the fighters came together in the center of the ring. Jackson had been trying to time his opponent's movements, waiting for the perfect time to sidestep and cut him off. His foe didn't give him the chance, as he continued to circle left; he stopped suddenly and moved back to his right. Jackson, focused on moving to his right as his opponent moved left, was caught standing flat-footed; dipping his shoulder slightly the boxer lunged in with a vicious lead right hand. Jackson stumbled back; countering out of reflex his left hand shot out and missed completely. His opponent had already begun circling left again. Head ringing and legs weak, Jackson found himself in a fight he couldn't win. He continued to stumble back until he felt the ropes at his back. Leaning heavily on the ropes he realized just how weak his legs were, he was surprised he had stayed up this long. That right hand had hurt more than he expected, suddenly he realized that he was experiencing a boxers worst waking nightmare, he was hurt.

Instinctively he raised his gloves to protect his head from the punches that he knew were coming. Left- right- right- left- right. "Move kid! Get the hell off the ropes, get OUTTA THERE!" Jackson tried to remember his training, numbly he tried to sidestep his opponent and move back into the center of the ring, he was easily cut off and received two shots to the body and one to the head for his trouble. He tried to trade shots, but his punches had nothing on them. His opponent was faster and stronger, he batted away Jackson's jab and lazily leaned away from his right hook, countering with a left hook to the body he connected solidly with Jackson's rib-cage, bending him over in pain and shock. The next thing Jackson saw was a flash of leather as an uppercut shot upward. The last thing Jackson saw was the referee kneeling over him waving both arms above his head.

Hours later, Jackson sat in the locker room with a wet towel over his head. The medical staff had long since departed, declaring him bruised and battered, but alive to fight another day. His mother had come in crying, begging him to come home and leave the boxing ring forever. His younger brother, always joking about being the only one who could knock him out, stood off to the side hidden in the shadows of the low-lit dressing room; he didn't want anyone to see his tears. A few of his friends, the promoter, his cut-man, they had all come and gone. Jackson sat alone, letting the warmth from the boiler room behind him sooth his aching body. He felt sorry for his mother and brother, in fact he felt for everyone who had come to see him fight, an odd emotion coming from the loser, but in a way they were under more pressure than him. They have to sit and watch as their loved one does battle against another man, whether he wins or loses they are powerless to help, "it must be hell for them" Jackson thought to himself.

"C'mon kid! We got work to do you and me." Looking up throw swollen eyes, Jackson managed a weak and painful smile at his trainer and long time mentor Mitch Gustafson. "That guy was fast Gus." "Yea I know kid, you told me in the ring." "I did? I was thinking it but I don't remember telling you that." "Yea well, you were on your back when you told me kid. Let's get on home before they lock us in here eh." Gathering his things, Jackson slung his gym bag over his shoulder and draped the towel around his neck. "You know your mother wants me to get you to stop fighting." "Yea I know Gus, I can't stop now though, it was only my first fight, I felt good in there, I mean I lost an all but I really felt good in there tonight." They walked down the long tunnel underneath the arena, boxer and trainer both with their own thoughts. Into the light briefly as they passed underneath a hanging overhead light and then into darkness again, only to repeat the process.

The arena had long since emptied when Jackson and Gus made it out to the street. A lone street sweeper came huffing by and the cool breeze blew fight flyers up against Jackson's legs. He stooped to pick one up and stood staring into his own face. "Amir Bradshaw (11-0) Vs. Jackson Cage (0-0). "You had no business fighting that kid tonight Jackson, he's got you on experience by a mile, but you went toe to toe with him and you didn't quit. You got the heart to be a great fighter! And that's the first thing you need. You got the raw ability, and that's the second thing you need. The rest you're going to find in the gym, through blood, sweat, and tears. Rest up, take this week and let your body heal. You're going to need it." Gus turned and walked off; leaving Jackson standing bathed in the glow of the marquee outside the arena. Jackson stood for a moment, thinking about his fight, replaying the events and dedicating them to memory. "I got my butt kicked" he thought grinning to himself. He was folding the fight flyer and slipping it into his gym bag as the lights on the Marquee shut off darkening the street. "Yea I lost one, but that's okay -- I'm going to be a champion!" Jackson adjusted his shoulder bag and turned to tell Gus that he would be ready in a week but his trainer was already out of sight. "I'm going to be champ." With that Jackson turned and headed home with his head held high. O-1