Winner By Decision

The wisest of us all will live long enough to tell you that you ought not to relive the glory days, cus they shouldn’t never have left you. Sometimes though, I just can’t help it. It used to be, I’d be sitting there in front of the color TV when all of a sudden Emma’d come in shouting over the Odd Couple about this or that, and I’d just look at my hands, you know, kind of all sorry-like, but they weren’t gonna do nothing for me. So I just set there nodding at poor Emma babbling on about who knows what. She’d say "I’m gonna cook dinner now. You ought to be a little bit more appreciative of the things I do for you around here! I aint no dang maid, and you sure as heck don’t pay me."

She kept on saying that she hates to raise her voice. I hate it when she does that too, it’s an unpretty thing that just about pierces my ear drums. I can’t listen to it for very long or I start to get the fight back in me and Em’s never been too receptive about when I get the fight. Well, I’d start yelling at her, "Quit your belly achin and let me get back to the TV."

I still work out, sure as sunshine. Just about the only thing not working in my favor is this here beer gut. I keep thinking maybe one day, someone at the gym’ll see me throwing shadow punches and wonder about where I came from and what I did. I Keep thinking like, maybe someone’ll step up and want a piece and then I’ll get to show em, at least once more. It never comes, they just watch my beer gut bounce like one hairy sweaty tit under my used to be pecs, while my old man flab swings in the wind of tired punches.

I can’t do the jump rope for barely three minutes.
Aged like a cheap wine.

And I feel it too. Days like today where I get off from work and come home after a long day of hauling camera equipment around the Panavision loading bay. Studio exec types dressed in suits that cost more than my highest prize fight win. I often wonder why people spend so much money on just one thing when they could eat, or drink, or take their family out. Anyway, I just keep on lifting them cameras, I come home, I eat with Em and Pete, and I go to bed.
Well, Em and I had a real good time once and Pete popped out. You can imagine I was a bit surprised, but by then We’d already conceded to marry and I suppose it wasn’t nothing you would call unwelcome. Pete’s just about the closest thing there is to a prize fight pot.
So we got this dumpy little studio with a rickety old AC wall unit, and I took a day job as a dock worker at the local Safeway. This was before Pete came of course. At night I would train after I got off of work and scout out the fight scene. Then I’d come home, and Emma would be waiting at the door, practically with a baseball bat in those tiny hands of hers, "This job your holdin on to," she’d scream at me, "you’ve got to do something, get more hours, talk to the supervisor!"
As if I had some kind of choice in the matter.

"Look for something else. We’re barely living as it is."
We’d have at it for a while. Maybe until she got bored of me talking in circles. Then, she’d look at me with those Hepburn browns, those man killers, the ropes that tied me into this in the first place, and she’d lay that sugar real nice on me.

"Baby, I love you, and I aint gonna let money get in the way of us, but please, don’t cut this one’s life short cus of your stubborn pride." And I kept on tellin Em that things’d work out. Everytime, she’d just be rubbin her belly trying not to raise her voice, "For fear of hurtin the baby."

I thought that was a silly thing, but then when I heard my own voice once during an argument we had, specifically when I said "You goddamn bitch! You don’t know nothin about me!" It had this peculiar raspy roar that just didn’t set well with me. I think it comes from a night of drinking, specifically whiskey, but I’m not too sure. I haven’t drank whiskey in a while now, I think for good reason. Anyway, I apologized to Em, and we sat in bed up late one night, she was just crying while that old AC unit rattled away. I was trying to hold her to me, but she was at this awkward angle cus her tummy was sorta bulging, so the best I could do was to drape one arm over her side, with my arm resting gently on the side of her breast, and kiss her forehead. She likes it when I do that, and it stopped her from crying, so I guess it all worked out in the end.
There were lots of nights where I’d be holding Em till she passed out in the early part of the next day. I wasn’t too sure what was keeping her awake, I just figured maybe she was passed out all day and when I came home maybe she just got one of her emotional things. You know how women are. She didn’t never pull away from me, so I figure it wasn’t me.

Sometimes I come home and she’s just setting by the window in a chair at the table. And her hair is combed and brushed all straight with those curls at the bottom. And she’s in one of those maternity dresses, but it’s got these embroidered roses in certain spots. I like lookin at her when she wears that dress; I like to look for the roses, it’s the kind of concentration I use to keep standing when I’m taking hits, only I feel it for Em.

Round about four months before Petey, I landed a fight. Some string cheese thought he could take me. Well, when I mashed him up in three rounds, and had only bruised ribs after the fight, I figured I won it alright. I still remember him, that manager of his sneering at me while he lifted the top rope so the split up string cheese could climb through, looking back at me with his nose crooked in two places. I jabbed him square in the nose, felt it mash under my glove. It was a weird feeling, the first time I’d hit a man like that. After that, you could guess he went down and I figure you’d win money on it.

The pot was $2500 after the bookies and manager’s and gym fees. People said they’d nickel and dime me, but I was just happy to walk out with two months worth of rent. I rested for a few days, took a vacation from work, which is to say I gave them the finger. On the fourth day, I woke up and took Em to breakfast. I bought her ham and eggs, and she loved it.
I ate a short stack and drank about five cups of coffee. It’d been awhile, and I felt I needed a jump start. Then they brought out the sirloin and eggs, I ate that too. Then Em and I split an order of biscuits and gravy, that is to say she took a bite and I finished the rest. And Then I finished what Em didn’t eat of her plate. She orders this thing of orange juice, a real big skinny bottle and they bring it to our table. Em calls it a Carafe. We split it with thirsty gulps. It’d been years since I’d drank orange juice without a vodka kick.

So I’m taking these fights fairly regular at this point. Em’s happy about the money, but she sure didn’t like me comin home, "with all these awful bruises. Don’t you cover up?"

"Listen Em, I’m fine alright." She’d just keep poking and prodding at my body and my face.

"My goodness, look at the size of these bruises. My poor man, my poor poor man." Poking and prodding. I’d be setting there trying not to flinch.

"Jesus, Em, come on." I was starting to get angry. Maybe she’d see it?

"The things people have to do for money."

No matter how messed up I’d managed to get myself, she’d always be there. If I didn’t win one, the pressure was on for the next one. Sometimes, the night before a fight, I couldn’t sleep. And the ones that made the money weren’t always the legal ones. I came home with a busted jaw or lip or eye more than a few times, bleedin all over Em while she held me, while she put ice on me.
I came home once after fighting this guy in an alley. I mean talk about slapped together. We’d both been drinking, and agreed to step outside if we could find people to bet on us. Well, you wouldn’t believe how many people standing around at a cheap dive bar produced money when the prospect of blood came into play. So we stepped outside and I let loose on this guy, I mean just jammed him in the face, or the ribs, but he just kept on taking it. I was seeing his skin get hit, the wave of impact when my fist crashed into his ribs. I heard his stifled groans while I tried to knock the wind out of him. I saw men screaming and waving money around. I felt blood flowing through me, and how alive that was. The slap of bare flesh on bare flesh, being able to see where you were doing the most damage, that was the biggest thing... His grin just kept getting tighter and tighter. His eyes narrowed, and he let loose, one punch to my gut so hard I started coughing blood.

And then the screaming and everything stopped, and there was just me and this guy, and then the second one is a left straight that sends me staggering backward. And then I crashed into the brick wall, I turned my head and I saw people waving money and screaming but I couldn’t hear nothing. He was on me again, that grin wide, his eyes opened and ready. A knee to my stomach, and then he brought down an axe handle smash that hit me square in the back. I remember hitting the floor face first.

Hours dusted by before I woke up on my living room floor, and Em had Petey nestled to her breast and she was blushing cus she was emberrassed about being caught like that when she started yelling at me. She’s crying, rightfully so, but I produce my money clip and there’s $700 dollars I got from hustling pool, and she tries to smile. I tell her I’ll be alright. She goes and gets the ice, setting little Petey on my battered back. "Let your son punish you if you won’t let me."
"Now, that was a cold hearted thing to do..."

And the worst part was the little runt had the gall to laugh at me. How embarrassing to be pinned by an infant.

I started thinking it might be time for a new job.

I took a few nights off from fighting to go look for a job when I stumble across a gal I hadn’t seen since high school. As it turns out, "I’m engaged to this guy that owns a gym."

"A gym? Well, like what kind of gym?"

"It’s a big one, a chain."

Not like mine, "You mean a real gym?" And she giggled at me.
So, we got to talking and she asked me what I was doing those days. I explained the bruises, and tell her about Petey. She laughs and offers me five bucks when I tell her I don’t have enough money to have a picture of my son. The she says. "I want to introduce you to my fiancée’."
A few hours later, I was shaking hands with him, one of these juicer types, I mean huge, but sweet as sugar. He offered me a job as janitor. Says he’ll give me free gym privileges, even allow me a boxing trainer. I’m thinking I got it made.

A couple of weeks go by, I sent them a gift basket with wine, that is to say Em pushed me to send it. Everything is going just fine. I was training, I was strong, I was fast, I was a fighter man. I mean, I was already in shape, it was just a matter of chiseling the marble. Em liked to see me getting back into shape, it got me away from drinking, but I was spending an awful lot of time at the gym, not really bringing much home. So Em gets on my case about it, and I figure she’s right, Petey growin up and all, so I ask my trainer to find me a fight, or to point me in the direction of one more accurately. So he gives me this guy’s card.

I take the train the next morning, and go see this guy downtown, some boxing promoter. His office is this not too well ventilated glass box in the city. It’s in the bad part of the city, so I had to keep my wits about me. I kept on thinking while I hopped from bus to bus that I was doing this for Em and Petey, that it would have to stop soon cus I was already starting to feel it, but that for the time being it was a chance to get ahead. I just needed two fights I figured.

So this promoter guy hooks me up with this fight, some Mexican. He was pretty fast, till I hit him a few times in the gut. His knees got wobbly like everyone else, and then it was just a matter of the right blow to the face. That night, I came home to Em with a clean shaven well kept face. My hair had been cut, and I smelled of cologne. Sure, I looked the same I always did, but I had just finished a fight and I was standing tall. Em about died of happiness. Petey smiled too, this one toothed grin that just said, "Good job Dad."

The next few months were mostly dry. The gym was gone cus this last fight put us ahead in rent. Work came and went, mostly just seasonal help. There was this one time I worked a christmas tree lot, and man, you wouldn’t believe how well that gig paid. The hours were a bust, but man, that check sure did make it worth it.

Emma got a job too, she ran tables at the diner not five blocks from our house. It was part of a larger complex, and she got day hours too, so one of us could watch Petey at all times. So by 8AM, Emma was gone and that left me and Petey to our devices. He was a lot like me, he didn’t like to do too much, just sit around and watch TV. He liked watching me exercise. He had an appetite like you wouldn’t believe, but then again, look at his old man.

This worked itself out a bit past when the fight money ran dry. Petey had his first birthday. We didn’t have much money so we got him cake mix and Em baked him a real pretty cake. It had all sorts of colored frosting on it, and it said "Happy Birthday Champ!"

Em surprises me with the things she does sometimes. It’s like I’ll be sitting in front of the TV, and she’ll be in the kitchen, and like the door will be closed so I can’t see what’s going on in there, but like two hours later and on a thirty dollar a week budget, she comes out with some masterpieces.

So for his first birthday I taught him how to throw a punch. Em figured I ought to give him something entertaining, but I asked her, "What’s more fun than hitting stuff?"

So I told him to shift his weight into it. I taught him where the power ought to come from. Well, he tried hitting my hand but he missed and fell on his face. That didn’t go over too well with Em, and she made me go to the store and buy him something.

So I remember standing in the aisles at the drugstore looking for something to buy my one year old son. I could buy him a coloring book and crayons, but nah, he’d just scribble all over it. I wanted something we could do together, so I bought a puzzle. It was a picture of a space ship flying away from our planet. It looked pretty tough to put together, way over 500 pieces.
Petey and I sat together, him on my knee, till he was blowing out the candles on his second birthday before we put that puzzle together. I remember he just kept on looking at it, so we had to get it glued. Em stepped up to the task and she did a fine job.

The night we put it in the dining room was the night I got the call for that second fight.
So I took the buses downtown again and got the scoop from that manager fellow. He was telling me that this guy was a push over, he was from the East Coast, and his jaw was made of fine china, and this and that. I took a look a his picture and started to get mean about him.
Training went on for about two weeks, and I dropped twenty pounds. The way Em and I were at it, Jesus, there could’ve been two on the way. Petey was a handful, making lots of noise, and wanting to jump on me. I figured he wanted to wrestle with his old man, but I played too rough. Em had a fit about it, but I told her, "I ought not to play with kids. I don’t have hands for children."

"Don’t be ridiculous. You got hands for me."

"Well. That’s different. He aint soft for me like you are."

Her eyes were starting to look tired. Motherhood became her though, I saw that even with the strain, she loved us both, with everything she had.

"He don’t mean any harm. You just got to learn to play nice with him."

"Humph, more like I have to learn to play, period." The fight was close so I things got a bit colder. Em knew this was the time to let sleeping dogs lay.

Two nights before the fight I was on the job. At this point, I was working for a mail order company, again running stock: packages, letters, those sorts of things. My supervisor addresses me about my appearance.

"You need a haircut, and we’ve heard complaints you’ve been drinking on the job."
Everyone is around to hear this.

So I grit my teeth, and muster up a smile. A boxer that needs a hair cut two nights before a fight. What, was he nuts? The alcohol thing just got dismissed off the bat, if he was gonna bust my balls about that he might as well have fired the whole damn crew.

"I’m sending you home and giving you a written citation."

"This is bullshit."

"Excuse me?"

"Bullshit. You and your god damn operation. You’re all bullshitters and we see it. Rest assured buddy, we see it. You just remember something, we send the mail. You get the consequences."
So I took a walk home from work, that is to say they fired me. And I got back home in not too great a mood.

Em comes at me with all these questions, things like: "What happened? How come you don’t look so good baby? Why won’t you let me make you dinner?"

So I ask, "Where’s Petey?"

"He’s at the neighbors, they agreed to watch him when I talked to them. You were in the shower. Talk to me, what’s going on."

"Nothing. Not a damn thing. I got a fight, that’s all. I just get wired before a fight. You been around babe. You know."

"You telling me you come stomping in my living room with those heavy feet of yours and there isn’t nothing wrong with you?"

I could tell she was trying to corner me. I think my eyes were telling too much. That’s why I didn’t gamble much. "Woman, if you don’t quit this line of discussion I’m going to be forced to raise my voice."

"I’ll raise hell if I damn well please!"

So I hit her.

And then I looked up. I saw these two glowing orbs standing in Petey’s bedroom and it took me just about a second to realize my son just saw me hit his mother. And then I felt her cheek mash under my knuckle. And then I felt her skin split open and heard that muffled thud. She didn’t scream or howl or even yelp. She just sat there with this look in her eyes that I hadn’t never seen before.

I went to the bathroom and I washed my hands, that is to say washed Emma’s blood off my hands. She was in the kitchen probably washing herself too. We didn’t say too much that night. She made dinner, I ate alone. Petey went to bed.

The night of the second fight was uneventful. I was pretty much in this lull until the bell rang. Then it was all beast. I don’t even remember who I was fighting. I just know that if I didn’t kill him, he knew he’d seen some shit. The pot was five grand. That is to say, that’s how much I took home. The promoter made off with a lot of it, but I didn’t mind much, it was all I really needed to put me two months ahead.

So I bought two plane tickets to Jersey, split what was lift of the money, that is to say I gave them all but a thousand, and I sent Petey and Emma to Jersey.

The oldest of us will tell you that it has to do with reach. A fighter with more reach can avoid punches while landing solid hits. They’ll point to guys like Lewis and Tyson. Bunch of one hit wonders if you ask me. Rocky Marciano was the only boxing champion to ever retire undefeated. He held his title for four years during the 1950’s. He had terrible reach, but like the rest of us he learned to over come.