Almost sooner than I expected, it was announced that the next and final
bout of the afternoon was about to begin, and within minutes, I found
myself standing in the center of the ring, face-to-face with Gil Bailey,
and while I tried to establish eye contact with the guy in an attempt
to intimidate him as much as possible, that lousy skinhead just stood
there opposite me, moved his shoulders about as if to loosen them up,
bounced on his feet a couple of times just to keep himself limber, I
guess – and looked up towards the ceiling at a slight angle, like I
wasn’t even there, would you believe it?
After that, I went
back to my corner where Sergeant Raff stood, and he helped me off with
my robe. Acting like I’d done this a hundred times before, I turned my
back to the ring proper, tugged at the ropes, and waited for the bell,
and the moment it rang, I turned around and immediately saw that Bailey
was coming right at me. He threw a quick punch – a straight jab – and I
smoothly stepped to the side and missed getting hit, though only by an
inch or so, and then – just to show him who was boss – I lowered my
gloves just long enough so I could push him, and I grinned slightly upon
seeing him stumble backwards a couple of steps.
Then he
came forward with a right hook that I managed to duck, but the left that
followed landed on the side of my jaw. Luckily, there wasn’t much power
behind it, and a moment later, I came in towards him and got close
enough to throw a short left uppercut that – somewhat to my surprise,
and his, too – caught him under the chin, and even knocked his mouth
guard flying out of his mouth.
“Lucky shot, Cornell,” he
sneered at me, and the referee instantly stepped in to bring a temporary
halt to the fight, and had Bailey’s second clean off the mouth piece
and then put it back in.
For the next minute or so, we
danced around the ring, throwing occasional jabs at each other --
nothing serious, though. And then I remembered what Raff had said at one
point in time about how Bailey would try to maneuver me into the
corners and get me backed up against the turnbuckle, and that memory
came into my brain just a wee bit too late, as I soon found myself right
where I wasn’t supposed to be.
A sharp and stinging left
suddenly caught me against the ear – the one with the lobe he’d once
managed to chew on – and I quickly fired a right at his mid-section, but
the guy tied me up in a clinch with both hands and, leaning in close to
me as he pressed his whole torso against mine, he growled into my ear,
“I almost forgot how fucking good that ear tasted.”
He might have even intended to pour a bit more salt into the
wound, when the ref came in and separated us – and not a moment too
soon, I felt.
With a physical distance having been created
between the two of us just then, I took advantage of the moment in order
to get some much-needed air into my lungs, and it turned out to be
Bad-Move Time as Bailey came at me with a left that I barely was able to
duck under – but then the right that followed connected with my chin,
snapping my head back. Next, he caught me with another quick jab and
then a right cross – the hardest punch I’d been hit with so far – and it
shook my whole body.
My knees buckled slightly – maybe even
more than I thought, ‘cause I noticed the glow of pleasure that seemed
to radiate from the skinhead’s eyes as he came in on me once again and,
putting both his gloves against my chest, he gave me a shove backwards,
and then followed through with a jab, followed by a straight right, and
then a left hook –
I was seeing double, man, and I barely
heard the bell ring as I more or less stumbled back into my corner and,
as soon as I got there, I plopped down on the stool and took in some
more air. Raff quickly moved in towards me and began wiping blood and
perspiration off various spots on my face, and he told me not to worry
about the cut that had started bleeding over my left eye and that he’d
have it stopped before the bell sounded for the next round. And while
all of that was going on, I kept taking in as large quantities of air as
I could, all the while wondering why there just didn’t seem to be
enough of it in the whole auditorium for just me, let alone the hundreds
of people who’d gathered there to see this event. Then I made the
mistake of looking over to the opposite corner, and it amazed me –
although it really shouldn’t have – to see Bailey standing there,
knocking his gloves together like the bell for the next round just
couldn’t ring fast enough, and smiling over at me to deliver the news to
me that I’d better not throw in the towel – not just yet, anyways –
‘cause he still wasn’t finished with me.
The bell rang for
Round Two, and again, Bailey came right at me and hit me in the eye with
an almost leisurely thrown right, and I could sense that that cut had
just been re-opened. But so what! I’d been hit in the eye before, so
what was the big deal, right? And the punches I’d taken in the past had
been a lot harder than that one.
Little did I realize it at
the time, though, but everything Raff had told me had already happened,
and the rest of it was gradually unfolding, just as he’d predicted. In
other words, Bailey kept me on the move, managed to get me in the
corners just about every fifteen seconds or so, and he began punishing
me with body-shots. The first few shots were no big deal, but they
progressively got harder, and the pain caused by the ensuing body-shots
seemed to be steadily increasing – and it never even dawned on me during
that whole second round, that I’d thrown maybe only four or five
punches of my own, and that none of them had even landed, whereas –
I didn’t wanna think about it. All that mattered was that I needed
to hear that bell to end the round, and I needed it to ring real quick.
And where was all the damned air that I urgently needed to fill my
lungs with, man? If I could only make it through this round, maybe I’d
be ready for the third and final round, Bailey would be all tuckered
out, and I’d surprise every cop, firefighter, man, chick, kid, and old
fogey that happened to be watching, and I’d knock Gil Bailey out, and
the whole freaking stadium would rise to their feet – as if they were
one man – and start raising their right fists and chant: “Brett Cornell!
Brett Cornell! Brett Cornell!”
I was hallucinating –
obviously – but I needed to snap out of it, man, on account of the cold,
hard reality of the situation was that I was up against the turnbuckle
once again, and any offensive strategy I might have had in mind was out
of the question. Everything was defense, defense, defense, and I wasn’t
as strong in that area as I needed to be.
And so, before I
knew what was happening, Bailey threw a killer left into my rib-cage. I
leaned into the corner, feeling pain radiating throughout my entire
body. Then he banged me in the right temple with another left, a shot
that turned both my eyes topsy-turvy, and I thought I was going down –
only the ropes held me up, so I was able to survive a bit longer.
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