The Young Prizefighter, Pt.1

 

“Break!” shouted the ref as he tried to pull them apart.

 

While Tom did oblige, holding one gloved hand to show he was not engaging, his opponent still clinched to him like a hungry leech.

 

“Fuck sake, I said break!”

 

The burly ref dug both hands between the two and managed to pull them apart. He then called time and spoke to the boxers.

“Keep clinching like that and I'll deduct a point, got it?”

With a clap of his hands and a upward slice, he resumed the battle.

 

“Fight!” He barked.

 

It did not take the older Journeyman twice to quickly pounce on his young prey. He leapt in and managed to land a solid cross onto the younger boxer, before following up with a sharp hook.

 

“Shit, hands up!”

 

After the initial blows, Tom put up his guard and took a few more hits. The welterweight rolled to the right, only to land a miss-timed left-hook. A solid one-two landed on his nose. This knocked him back into the centre of the ring. Fortunately, the student took the shots well, re-gained his composure and focused on his opponent.

 

Before him; A skinny bloke with chicken wings for legs and arms stood his stance solid. Mitts up with Murder written in his eyes. The opponent was distinguished with a freshly shaved head and tattoos from his neck to his legs. The skinhead had a snarl etched in his lips. He did not only want to win, he was after his blood. This was only the first round Tom thought.

 

Knowing he had a few preciouses moments, he brushed his sweat drenched fringe away form his eyes. Beneath his perfect nose, a warm, thick fluid flowed out of his nostril. Quickly, he wiped the brow of his lips and glanced as his glove. A bright red steak stained the white leather, indicating he was bleeding.

 

“Fucker made me bleed...”

 

With a distasteful look, Tom then whipped the excess claret off the glove before closing one nostril and snorted out the other. A thick globule t of mucus and fresh blood shot out and landed amongst the many other blood stains on the faded blue canvas.

 

He gestured the inked rake and tapped his gloves together.

 

“Come on ghen! I'm shtill standing. You gonna putch me down or what!” He managed to shout through his gumshield, sounding like he had a speech impediment.

 

That was the prod his opponent needed. He bobbed and weaved forward slowly. He twitched and manoeuvred his shining head as if to find that killer blow. This did not phase Tom once bit as he calmly held is guard up and kept an eagles eye on him despite being jacked-up on adrenaline; Just what he wanted.

 

*Issk!*

 

He threw a wild cross. Good, thought the young Boxer. This is what he was after; Lure him into the trap and make him pay.

He swiftly slipped the attack as he stepped in with his his left foot. Perfect. His distance was not too close nor too far away. It was the perfect distance for his short reach. Once in range, he let go of a powerful corkscrew punch driven from his front leg and it landed beautifully on the tattooed opponent's thin jaw. This was followed swiftly with a perfectly manoeuvred overhand punch that sent him flying towards the cheap ropes, not to mention his head at a perfect right angle. The crowd seemed to be driven on by this and they all cheered and cried out, wincing as if they felt the blows themselves. Quickly, he followed up and threw a sharp jab and a blow to the side of his stomach to keep his opponent on the ropes The young prize fighter then opened up a series of combinations, hard shots on his head to the body, then body to his head; Dissecting him, looking for that opening...

 

The older prizefighter then managed to catch one of his punches and countered with a left hook to the side of his face, putting him to the side and away. For Tom, he managed to dig his soles into the canvas and regained his balance. He paused briefly to catch his breath, before closing the distance between the two of them. He moved his head side-to-side, snapped out a jab to judge the distance, another to try and land on the tattooed mad-man, which was fruitless.

 

“Cunt..” the older fighter gasped as he tried to counter with a straight cross. The student easily dodged this and came back three punches; a double jab and right upper cut.

 

*Crack!*

 

“He definatley felt that!” Tom thought as he rolled with a wild punch. Despite the blow, the other fighter had enough and rammed him against the ropes before unleashing a flurry of shots. He tucked his chin and kept his guard up as he absorbed the attack that was being rained down on his stocky body. His steam soon ran out and luckily, the younger boxer slipped away after only taking a couple of blows. Once again, the two stood in the centre of the ring circling each other. Tom thought how to tactically approach the next contact. Should he go for the body again? Perhaps dummy him into another trap? Or simply counter the next punch his opponent throws.

“He's looking pretty knackered. Let him blow out or break him down...”

 

Too late. He recovered from his initial burst and jabbed out his right. Tom took another on his nose again. He tried to get him back with a left hook but missed instead. Tom's mistake was then punished by a straight shot to his stomach. Almost immediately the wind was knocked out of him and his lungs refused to breath. He pushed himself out of the danger zone and tried to recover, yet the skinhead followed him as if they were both tied to a piece of string. A swift jab and hook kept him a bay as Tom changed direction with his footwork.

 

*DING-DING*

 

The round ended. Tom immediately stopped what he was doing, but his opponent was halfway through a shot. He smacked the side of his jaw, well after the bell rang. Surprisingly, Tom barely flinched and absorbed it like it was nothing.

The ref scowled as he held his arm out between the two.

 

“Wanker.” the older boxer grunted as he panted heavily.

 

Tom smiled and stuck his tongue out to him before casually walking over to his corner.

 

In the Blue half of the corner, someone whipped the stool around and stepped in the ring. Tom then sat himself down and stuck out his gumshield. The cornerman whipped it out before rinsing the blood and saliva off.

 

“Cor, are ya actually toying with this guy or fighting him, huh?” he moaned.

 

Tom shrugged as he inhaled deep lungfuls of air.

“Dunno, I'm tiring him down I guess,”

 

The cornerman rammed water bottle into his mouth and squeezed some water into it. Tom gulped the first motuthful before gesturing for more.

“Should've finished him off in that round, there's not much of 'im. Fair play to you though, you did well to take that body shot though without dropping,”

 

Tom then swirled the water around his mouth and spat it out into a bucket.

“I've had worse beatings,”

 

“Yeah? Well, you might not get so lucky next time. 'Ere, tilt your 'ead back.” He clamped a towel around his nose and pinched it. Tom put his head back. He closed his eyes and took a moment to re-focus and get his breath back after the crippling hit to his stomach. He heard what the rowdy crowd was calling out to him.

 

“Come on! Finish that Crack-head off!”

“He's nothing, should've done him ages ago!”

“Get this shit over and done with, I wanna see the next fight sharpish!”

“Knock the Cunt out!”

 

The towel removed then wiped over his face to get rid of the sweat and remaining blood.

“Do yourself a favour,-” Continued Tom's cornerman “-Stop fuckin' about and put him on his arse, I've got a long night ahead of me. He keeps dropping his left 'and anyway,”

 

“Don't worry, I'm not hanging around for too long.”

 

The ref then started walking towards the centre of the ring again.

 

“Corners: Ten seconds!” He announced.

 

“Good, now get out there.” He shoved Tom's Gumshield back into his gob and gave him a few hearty pats on his back. He rose, adjusting his shorts a little. With one last deep breath and a few neck stretches, he was ready to go again. Ahead if him. He noticed his opponent was looking weak and exhausted, while himself felt relatively fresh. He was still breathing heavily and limply holding his guard up. Tom heard his corner shout out to him, something about livening himself up.

 

“God, just finish this poor sod off and go home,”

 

The bell rang again and the ref stood back from the centre, ordering them both to fight.

 

Tom's tunnel vision instantly focused in as he bounded forward with his Orthodox stance, and wasted no time. He gritted his teeth and threw four hard shots in quick succession: a double-jab, straight cross and left hook. Immediately, the other fighter covered up as he was forced back. He tried to move away from Tom, was quickly cut off from him. The crowd livened up from the burst of action and cheered for more. Tom dipped to his left and smashed a hook to his protruding ribs and then to his head; All with the same hand. A lucky shot from caught Tom on his jaw that stalled his momentum. He mentally swore at himself form being sloppy and not keeping his right guard up.

 

The two then proceeded to exchanges blows, dodge shots, parry jabs and generally move around each other for the next 30-seconds. While Tom was dominating this part of the fight, his inked opponent was still managing to hold his ground and keep going, despite having all of his stamina drained from him.

 

“Bloody hell, what's keeping him going?!”

 

Tom jabbed and quickly ducked to avoid an incoming shot. Suddenly, he was grabbed with both gloves around his head and pushed down. Tom tried to look up, but his foe had all of his bodyweight on top of him. The clinch was desperate and rather unfair. Somewhat immobilised, Tom could only see his skinny Stomach. There was a weird tattoo around his belly button, scabs and sores dotted about...And he reeked of foul smelling, unwashed-for-days Body odour.

 

“Eurgh! Get off me you smelly, dirty Prick! Get...off!”

 

With a guttural grunt Tom swung a hard right hook to the body and hit him with all of his power from his upper body and back leg. The smack it made from the contact of leather and sweaty skin filled the whole hall. Tom heard him cry out. That got him.

He then shoved the stinking guy off with his shoulder. Once he looked up, Tom saw for a split second that both of his hands were down. Both of his eyes looked exhausted and ready to give up.

 

Tom's muscle memory reacted before he could even think. He smashed a hard solid right hand into the jaw of his opponent. He watch him fly back and fall onto the worn canvas in slow motion; As if time slowed down for a second.

 

The crowd roared with vigour and excitement soon as they saw their first victim fall down from the first knock down of the night.

Bemused, yet aware of what has happened Tom simply looked down and stared at the crumpling heap before him. The referee then rushed in and prevented him coming any closer.

 

“You! To the white corner, now!” He ordered.

 

Noticing the nearest one from the corner of his eye, he leisurely ambled his way to it. He simply stood there and awaited the outcome. The arbitrator loudly counted down the seconds for everyone to hear, even showing his fingers to the fallen fighter.

 

“...Three...Four...Five!”

 

Tom Looked over. His challenger looked like he wasn't getting up any time soon. As he was greedily wheezed for air, one limp arm propped him up a little. He started to slowly lift his feet up...

 

“...Seven...”

 

A leg wobbled and buckled under the weight.

 

Tom smirked to himself. “Checkmate.”

 

The bell rung repeatedly soon as the ref waved his arms to signify the end of the of the fight. It was game over. Once more, the crowd cheered into life, more this time from finally seeing the knockout they was after. Applauses and wolf-whistles filled the venue to salute the victor.

Despite the victory, Tom took it as a bonus. He briefly raised his arms up before putting them down again. He then unwrapped the Velcro strap on his gloves with his teeth and slipped them off. Then, he made his way over to his cornerman, brushing past a couple of officials rushing into the ring.

 

The cornerman watched Tom walk towards him as he lent forward on the ropes, lightly applauding him.

 

“Well done! You whacked him proper there,” He complimented as he removed the gumshield.

 

Tom handed back the gloves to him. “Eh. What can you do,”

 

A surprised look was all the cornerman gave him. “You just knocked 'im spark out, aren't ya the slightest bit 'appy about that?”

 

Tom melancholy shrugged. “Just another boxing match for me, my friend”

 

The ringside assistant rolled his eyes. “Alwight, if you want to look at it that way, that's fine by me. Shake his 'and at least”

 

Tom strolled over to where he knocked down his foe. He noticed he was sat up as the ringside nurse attended to him. He got cautiously got closer, squishing past the referee and announcer.

 

“Hey.”

 

His opponent looked up, still dazed by the hit. His eyes suddenly lit up, looking rather surprised.

 

Tom held out a taped and bandaged hand to him.

“Good match mate. You stood your ground well.”

 

It took a moment to register for his fallen foe, but he held up his gloved hand and weakly shook the gesture.

 

“It was a good shot, I'll give ya that.” He managed to mumble.

 

Tom briefly nodded before going back to the corner for a quick drink of water. He noticed how suddenly alive the venue became soon as the music started playing for the interval. People shouted crude, yet meaningful compliments to him. All what Tom did was simply acknowledge them.

 

“How's he doin'?” asked the cornerman.

 

Tom spat out the mouthful of bloodied water.

 

“He's pretty fucked, by the look of it.”

 

“Ha! Told ya.”

 

Then, there was a small round of applause. They both looked around and noticed that Tom's opponent managed to finally stand up. He clutched his rib as he profusely told the ringside nurse that he was fine. Along with this, the frightful referee beckoned Tom to come over.

 

He took the hint and walker over as a couple of whoops were called to him. He stood beside the ref and allowed him to grab his wrist. He done this may times before. For both good and bad reasons...

 

“Ladies and Gentlemen!-” announced the ringside promoter, “-...Our winner tonight: Tom 'The Saint Thomas'...”

 

Tom Felt his hand lift up into the sweat filled air, concluding him the rightful winner.