On the Chin by Alex McClintock

Author:Alex McClintock
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: The Text Publishing Company
Published: 2019-06-21T16:00:00+00:00

CLARET

‘I WANT A good, clean fight. Listen to me and obey my commands. Protect yourselves at all times. Shake hands now and come out punching at the bell.’

Alex Aaty was shorter than me, and sturdier. He had dark eyes, teak-coloured skin and a gentle face that wore a confused but determined expression, like a teenager forced to read Shakespeare aloud. To be fair, I imagine I looked quite overwhelmed myself.

My vermilion fight gloves, provided by the boxing association, were wet with the sweat of earlier use but feather-light and hard, like an old pair of leather shoes. Inside, their seams scratched my thumbs and wrists. I held both mitts up, and we shook hands the only way you can while wearing gloves. He didn’t pound my fists or try to psych me out with a staring competition, which was a relief: I would have lost.

Back in the corner, I rolled my shoulders and shook my arms. My heart sat several inches north of where it belonged. ‘This is going to be easy,’ said Paul.

Not true, but I appreciated the sentiment. It was a wonder I heard the bell with all the blood in my ears.

The referee’s instructions had been simple, but I managed to disobey ‘come out punching’ in the very first second of the fight, confirming, to anyone who had any doubts, my status as a complete novice. The first thing I did was to raise my fist to touch gloves again. My opponent, being just as green as I was, happily obliged. The referee, a middle-aged man dressed in a white short-sleeved shirt, white latex gloves and white pants with no tie, so that he resembled a worker in a cheese factory, shouted ‘Stop!’ in a sharp voice and told us off. Chastened, we both nodded.

‘Box!’ yelled the referee, and waved his hands together.

Alex Aaty bounced on the balls of his feet. The noise of his boots pounding the sprung timber under the canvas filled the room. I figured I’d better do something, so I stepped forward with a probing jab. To my surprise as much as his, it landed right between his eyes. Offended, he rushed forward, winging punches, so I freaked out and did the first thing that came to mind, which was to throw another jab, much harder than the first. This too connected, snapping his head back, and in his blind rush forward he lost his balance and fell to the floor, forcing the referee to step in and wipe his gloves (in case they had picked up some grit from the canvas that might scratch my face).

Things seem to be going as well as could reasonably be expected, I thought, tempting fate. Almost immediately, my blue-clad foe threw a looping right over one of my jabs, then unloaded with both hands, pushing me back towards my own corner. My hands were up, but his punches thudded home. I knew I was being hit but didn’t feel it. The only sensation was the sound

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