Here's
the first round and most of the second round of the boxing match
between Brett and Officer Gil Bailey (from "BRETT ENTERS THE SQUARE CIRCLE"). I'd like to include the remainder
of the second round as well, but I'm reluctant to do so, as a startling
revelation is made towards the end of that round. (major spoiler).
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.
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.
No comments:
Post a Comment