Awkward Ride Part 2
by
W.X Hunter

THE FOLLOWING IS BASED ON A TRUE STORY.
Part Two of Three.

“Come on Pete,” the teacher suggested to a boy.

“Step out Pat,” Arthur wanted to give me a rest before fighting Scott.

 A nine-year-old boy ran up to Arthur - fully equipped, but for the boxing gloves handing Arthur a glove. Arthur laced up the left glove. The boy gave him another glove it also belonged to a left hand. Upon discovering this, Arthur laughed with hilarity. The boy darted off to obtain the correct glove.

 When he returned some seconds later the teacher was still amused. I was not amused. The fact that I was to be in the ring with Scott next did not enhance my receptiveness for humour and even if I was not about to fight an aggressive athlete I would not have found that funny.

Pete ran at Scott and started punching ferociously. Scott let the boy hit him as he crouched down in red corner only protecting his face. They were all amused at this sight a boy punching at a man and even in my fearful nervous state, I managed a wry smile. Scott would move backwards like a waiter does in a crowded restaurant, occasionally pushing Pete’s shoulder until Arthur called them to a halt. He explained some footwork technique to the boy and they continued.

“Out you go Pete that’s enough for you today”  

I knew what Arthur would say next
.
“In you come Pat” with a smile.

The dozen or so people in the gym tailored their training in order to have vision of Scott and myself sparring. Ricardo, probably the best boxer in the gym was skipping rope and facing the ring instead of the mirrors. I liked Ricardo. He trained from 6pm to 7:30pm and was the fastest and most gifted. Ricardo was an absolute top bloke. A law student, he also managed a trendy nightclub called “Beber” which can take an hour to get in. On one occasion, he saw my mates and I waiting. Ricardo proceeded to take us straight in and gave me $100 drink card. One of the bouncers asked him “How do you know this guy?” referring to myself. Ricardo replied “Pat  is one of the guys I train with. He helps me with the south paws.”

A real compliment, most flattering.

I enjoyed sparring Ricardo. He obviously went easy on me. While my skills were inferior, at least I was good "south paw" practice. I watched Ricardo compete in the Victorian titles. He lost the final. Ricardo may have been the best but Scott hit the hardest. The exercise bikes were all being utilised as the ringside seats.   




When I entered the ring, Arthur’s demeanour altered “Now Scott is bigger than you and he is a puncher .I was 71 kg’s he was 80kg’s I knew this because I weighed myself on the gym scales after him last week.” Keep that guard high move to the right and stay centre of the ring and Arthur turned to Scott “Just light Scott”

Just as we were about to start the Gym’s phone rang. It was very loud, as it had to be heard over Johnny O’Keefe, Elvis and Chuck Berry. Arthur went to answer the phone. 

Scott and I had to wait.

I paced around my side of the ring not facing him. I did not really feel like making conversation with Scott.

What was I supposed to say?

I imagined “Hey Scott I have been drinking some quality Margaret River wine would you like me to bring you some next week?

Fearful, nervous and pensive. I impatiently waited.
 
As Arthur returned from the phone call I noticed Azim dressed in a suit looking as though he was ready for work I later found out he worked the door at a strip club.
Azim sat on the bench of the weights station an interested onlooker.


“Hands high Pat off you go. Light Scott”, Scott nodded.

My vision channelled on Scott black boxing gloves. Scott threw a wild right hook missing me. I moved to my right and blocked two hard punches. Scott was attempting to get in range and hit me while I was kept my hands high. I threw a jab it missed but I connected with my left. Scott hit me with a solid left hook.

“Hands high!” I heard the familiar cry.

I was backing away and moving to my left. Keeping my hands above my head like a praying mantas I moved around the ring watching Scott’s boxing gloves especially the right. While Scott was not hurting me I was prolonging the inevitable. My aim was to survive and not be hit and because of this I was destined to fail. Scott annoyed by my back peddling and lack of confrontation switched his attack from my head to my body. 





Scott threw a hard right hand to my stomach that floored me.
I sat dejected somewhat undignified. Waiting for my paralysed lungs to function. I was alright I had been winded much worse of time on the footy field.

“Come out the both of you”

I walked out of the ring with my gloves on my head inhaling as hard and deep as possible. With a desire to perform better when our imminent next encounter arose.
    
     Penny a woman in her mid twenties and Matt were next in. I had sparred Penny before and she was pretty good. Matt was in his late thirties one of Arthur’s longest students he was deliberately pulling his punches as not to hit her. I turned to the mirror and did a right, right left combination. My only eye contact was with the blue eyed 21 year old man staring back at myself. Angry and frustrated at my insipid fear laced performance. I took three deep breaths. Eventually anger and frustration transformed into pragmatic thought. The reality was that I would be resuming combat with Scott again. Gathering composure I began to think rationally. I had been in the ring with Scott for two minutes and while I fought only to survive I was unhurt. Winded, despite the hard body punch which effects had subsided. With increased confidence determined to attack despite my fear, I promised myself to be less intimidated. 
 
Penny and Matt ceased sparring.

 I observed Arthur demonstrate to Sharon.

“Boom with that right hand boom.”

Standing next to Arthur, I watched my friend Ricardo hit the floor to ceiling ball,
while hoping to glean some expertise from my highly skilled comrade.

“In you go Scott” Arthur ordered.

Arthur  looked around the four kitted up boxers waiting to be called at ringside.
There was Graham - he was a middle aged accountant, who would only spar to the body and not the head. Broady, who had been suspended from Parkdale football club for 6 weeks for striking behind the play. Ricardo last week taught Broady first hand that boxing is about timing, defence and skill not brute strength and power. I was surprised to see Broady back here. There was also a tall fella whose name I did not know. He spoke little and nodded his head when I walked past him. I took this to mean “Hello”. The impression I gathered was he was from Eastern Europe.

 
 The only other South Paw in the gym at the time was Victor.

 Victor was a friendly high tempo fella who was always trying to sell me and everyone at Arthur’s Boxing Gym pay TV. Victor had no notion of the saying’ a time and a place for everything”  - he even used his sales pitch on me while we were about to spar.“It really helps your boxing if you get watch the pros fight,” he would assert
But Victor and I live a transient lifestyle and some places I have lived don’t have television.”

This explanation was virtually ineffective.

“Your Mum would love “Foxtel” he would profess. “When is her Birthday?”
Judging from his latest model Audi his relentless sales pitch was reaping benefits.
I gathered he was coming to Arthur’s Gym for the sole reason of protecting himself in the case of being physically attacked by someone annoyed at his persistent sales pitch.

Before Arthur had finished scanning the options to spar Scott
I volunteered myself, as I knew he would choose me regardless.  





It was Scott and Pat in the ring again. I would compare this situation to club standard batsman in the nets facing one of the world’s fastest bowlers - he can block the ball for only so many deliveries eventually he must play an attacking stroke. Like the batsman I had to start throwing some punches.

Arthur exclaimed “move to your right stay in the middle of the ring”. If you can move around with Scott you can go around with anyone.”

 Inspired by these words.

“Hands high” was our equivalent of ringing a bell

Scott came out swinging his potent left hook. He was fitter, stronger, faster and most of all meaner. Scott could sense my quiet determination to not be absolutely dominated.

 Throwing caution to the wind I thought to myself ‘fuck it’ lets fight. .

I threw a straight left which caught Scott unaware. I moved in rested my head on his shoulder.

This was a safe situation for me.

“Blue Suede Shoes” by Elvis Presley was the sound track to this fight.


“You can do anything but lay off a my Blue Suede Shoes” my favourite Elvis song.



I noticed some drops of Scott’s blood on his white 1997 V.B.A tee shirt. This sight removed all trepidation. I threw a right jab. Scott ducked the punch and moved in to throw his left hook. I blocked this punch, threw a right hook, a straight left and tied Scott up again. We were now in fight. At this moment I was on auto pilot throwing combinations standing toe to toe with my fellow commuter. The reason for my presence in a square with ropes that they call a ‘ring’ was this moment. For me to understand and have tangible proof that I had the ability to disregard fear. Or at the very least overcome it. Scott hit me with his left jab flush on the nose. For a moment I thought it would bleed as I felt it throb. Being hit on the nose, I loathed as not only did it hurt I did not want it bashed out of place. I suppose I was not the worst looking bloke in the world however I did not need to be any uglier.

Without a referee we had to monitor our own fight. Caught in a clinch, Scott and I stepped back, tapped each other’s gloves and resumed. Scott fought me with sportsmanship -‘cheap shots’ were beneath him.

 Scott missed with a left hook causing him to momentarily lose balance. Seizing the opportunity like an impatient shopper does when a new aisle opens at the supermarket. I did not hesitate. Punching Scott with a right jab, followed by a right hook. My opponent back pedalled and I continued the attack on him while he attempted to gather his balance and composure. Hitting him hard with my left, this was most likely unethical in sparring. However no sleep would be lost knowing I had hit Scott too hard. I moved towards him and gave him another hook which landed on his left ear. 
        
Four unanswered punches this was a first.
“Hands high”
        
   Obeying the mantra I focused on Scott’s gloves.  
Fatigue was setting in and a frustrated Scott was on the attack and I was on the defence. I was moving around the ring hoping not to get hit again. I moved to my right and threw a jab. Scott responded with a hook and a straight right. I stepped back and punched Scott in the ribs with my left hand. If this hurt him he was not letting me know. I noticed a little more blood on Scott’s shirt there was not all that much. It was as though he rushed past a guest at a party and in the process had a few drops of red wine spilt on him. Scott came in close and hit me with a left jab and then a straight right which landed on my fore head .Jolting my head back.

Arthur called” time”

It was over. I achieved my goal. I not only survived, I had earned Scott’s respect.
Fighting Azim was productive however not all that satisfying. A similar feeling to when I would beat my former girlfriend in tennis. I found it more satisfying losing a match of tennis and winning one set of a highly skilled opponent than beating my ex girlfriend six sets to love. Although the sight of her in a tennis skirt compensated for a hollow victory. 

Scott put his hand on my left shoulder and said “Well done”

Hands on hips breathing too heavily to speak I nodded my head. Looking up, I wondered where the drops of blood on Scott’s shirt had emanated. 
Arthur  gave me a debrief.  He was pleased with my performance as it was my best performance against Scott. A ready to box Ricardo gave me a friendly punch to my chest and a wink indicating he was impressed. Arthur unlaced my left glove.
“N i c e w o r k!” he stated. Relieved and satisfied I took off my head gear and drank some water. Subtly watching Scott examine his lower lip in the mirror.

My after sparring routine ended with a fifteen minute ride on the exercise bike, which I enjoyed as I was now a spectator .In the ring was Ricardo and a young man with black hair whom I had never seen before. He was from a gym in Collingwood and had his own trainer who was proudly wearing a Collingwood Boxing Club tracksuit. He looked in his mid fifties, extremely fit for his age and kept repeating” The jab Shane, the jab”.

When they stopped boxing, Scott went over to Arthur, shook his hand and thanked him for the tuition. He approached myself and said,” Good work in there tonight. See you next week”, he stated.
  
“Thanks Scott” I said with sincerity...

  I watched Ricardo gracefully move around the ring. Making his opponent miss, Ricardo seldom received any punishment.
“Hows it going Mate?” Broady said offering his wrist wrapped hand in his complete Boxing attire apart from the gloves.
“Pretty tired” I stated.
“You did well in there, he looks like a tough bastard” referring to Scott.
“You reckon, cheers Mate,” was my response.

Broady handed me a boxing glove to lace up, which I did by making sure it was laced on the outside of the wrist.

“What you get suspended from footy for?” I asked the muscular young man.

“He whacked me, I whacked him, and then they whacked me. Pretty stupid it’s finished my season so I thought I’d give boxing a go instead.”

“Fair enough” I acknowledged.

“Ricardo beat me last week, could not believe it. I am twice his size. “exclaimed the gregarious Broady.

“He’s good Ricardo.”I said stating the obvious.

As I laced up his left glove, I noticed his tattoo on his left deltoid. It was of the sun rising and within the sun was a human eye. I was sure his tattoo was more expensive than Jay’s Tattoo - the fella whose unsavoury behaviour I observed on the way to Arthur’s Boxing gym. On completing lacing a determined Broady’s left glove, I gave him a wink as he was summoned by Arthur to the ring.
 
“Your up Broady,” I said and tapped him on the shoulder.

I pondered the possibility of Scott and Broady fighting each other as they were both gifted athletically and the same weight. Broady just had to learn some much needed skills from Arthur.     


 After showering I went to the mirror to examine my nose. Glad to see no aesthetic damage. Although my nose remained tender.




“Goodbye Arthur”

“See you next week Pat” my teacher stated, whilst not taking his eye off his students in the ring.

Walking to the station satisfied with my efforts, Scott was a hard-hitting tough guy who enjoyed hurting me twice a week. That was the reason for coming to “Arthur’s Gym” Arthur’s tuition would allow me to survive with this man trying to hurt me.
 
  Walking alone to Seaford station I had  remind myself that I had not won a World title such was my self satisfaction. And the controversial vertical haired American fight promoter Don King with would not be offering me any cash .Nonetheless I was pleased with my performance. 
 Walking on to the station I went to the shelter. To my surprise, I found Scott waiting for the train. Although he left training nearly half an hour before me.

“The last two trains have been cancelled, my Mrs is going to kill me” complained Scott.

This should not really have surprised me, as Melbourne has the most inefficient train system in the world or at least out of the four international cities I have been.

“Oh that’s no good”, I stated as I pulled my grey flannel from my bag.

“What’s that book?”,Scott asked noticing it in my left hand.

“It’s Sol Seister by Ernest Hemingway. Its alright I’m not right into it,” I informed.

Scott looked at the cover upon seeing”$2”

Scott said “Well at least it did not set you back too much.”

I appreciated having a light hearted chat with Scott, after just fighting him

“You did well in there tonight,” Scott said referring to our sparring session. 

“Cheers Mate” I said.

 Boom gates came down and the loud sound of bells ringing halted our conversation.
 
“About fucking time”, Scott said reacting to the tardy train. 

We sat diagonally opposite one another travelling on the train. We had a much more amicable rapport.

 The train stopped at Carrum station,our peacful journey suddenly interrupted.Jay ,Troy and Slut along with two other men one wearing a black beanie and tattoos on his hands and neck which looked like moths. With three large rings which he wore on right hand. The other who was wearing a Victorian Bitter tee-shirt. I wondered whether he was paid to endorse the beer company. Jay had a bottle of vodka in his right hand. Scott and I were sitting in the middle of the carriage. An Asian couple sat near the door.
END  PART TWO OF THREE