Getting knocked out— A short story about a boxing fight

“You ready son?” asked coach in a calm manner.

“Course I’m ready boss. I’m gonna take his head off!” I replied.

From the outside I look like Achilles, but inside I’m a toddler lookin’ for his mum. There’s excitement present but a whole heap nervousness alongside it.

“Well, let’s just hope I don’t leave this place getting knocked out” I think to myself.

We get out of the locker room and we’re waiting for the walkout music to play. My song comes on. We start walking towards the ring. That little toddler is starting to grow up. He’s becoming a man. Each step I take towards the ring makes me feel like a giant. I’m excited now.

I’m about to get what’s mine.

Gonna rip that belt off his dead body.

Evaporate the fool in front of his kids.

In my corner now. Coach is talking to me, but I can only hear muffled whispers in this arena.

All I can make out is “right hand”. Other than that, can’t hear a thing over the roaring crowd. The lights go off. Silence falls upon the room. Davis is coming. The lights flare up once more, his walkout music blaring in my ears. Doesn’t matter. All I think about is winning. I’ve gotten so far now. He is just one last step to my dreams.

People call him the “bull”. “Fine, I shall be his matador.” I think to myself.

He gets in the ring; we lock eyes, and none of us back down. We both know this is going to be a bloody fight. Davis is in his corner, I’m in mine. Both of us are waiting to put hands on one another. The referee calls us to the center and gives us our instructions. We remain focused on the objective at hand.

The referee asks both of us if we are ready; we both nod and the fight starts. “Stay alert” I hear one of my coaches shout from my corner, “stay smooth in their big boy” one of my teammates screams. I throw caution to the wind. I throw a piston-like jab, and his head cocks back like a bobblehead. I can already see redness in his nose; “good” I think to myself. I continue throwing punches; most of them land. He has trouble hitting me. I’m too fast for him. The first round is devastating for him. Davis’s nose is dripping crimson red blood. His face red like a tomato, but the arrogant bastard is still smiling like the joker. “Know when you’re beat boy” I whisper to myself.

The second round starts and like the first I’m on him like a guard dog chasing a convict. Another demolition job. It’s like he has given up; he just takes the beating I dish out and sometimes throws a few punches my way with that stupid smile is plastered on his face. Some of them land, some of them hurt, but they are inconsequential compared to what I’m doing to him. The next two rounds go about the same.

“This is a done deal; this smiling clown is going to lose this” I say to myself.

Fourth round ends. We get back to our corners. I’m focused on him completely. The words of my coach are blowing past my ear like the wind. He slaps me “boy you’re not listening! You are doing great in there but he’s loading up that right of his. He’s still got some in the tank and he’s going to try to take over the fight now. You’ve got to be smart about the next few rounds.” I give a frivolous nod. I know this man hasn’t got anything left other than that stupid smile. Thirty seconds left for the rest, but he is already getting out of his corner. He is already in the middle waiting for me.

“That’s odd” I think

“he shouldn’t be up like this”

“I thought I broke him”

“I’ve got to get up and meet him now! I can’t let him think he’s got a fighting chance”

“that bloody smile! I’ll wipe it off his stupid face”

The thoughts of doubt and nervousness come crashing down. I get up from the stool and I feel shaky legs under me. I thought I had already beaten him. I suppose I haven’t done enough.

I get to the center and wait for the last 15 seconds of the rest round to end. They feel more like 15 years. The anticipation is palpable. The fight reconvenes.

We both circle each other for what seems like ages. I decide to throw a jab. He slips the punch and introduces a thunderous right cross to my cheek. I’ve been knocked out I fear. Time’s moving at a snail’s pace. My eyes are open, and I can see everything, but my body is unresponsive. I am falling to the canvas; I can see the faces in the audience. The looks of shock, elation, sadness, drunken cheering, blankness, anger. I see it all as I fall. I can see the numerous camera flashes. Countless photos of me as I crumble to the ground. My dreams wash away in the erupting waves of disappointment and heartache. My vision is slowly darkening as I come closer to my destination. My body hits the ground like a sack of potatoes. It all goes black. Nothing left. In the void of emptiness now.

I wake up confused. I see familiar faces over me; it’s my coaches and teammates. In a daze I ask them “what happened? Where am I?” My coach replies “you’ve been knocked out son”.

My head slumps. A great sigh of disappointment exits my lungs. I look up at my coach and say meekly “I’m sorry coach, I fucked up.” He smiles back at me, kisses my forehead, and says “it happens my boy. You’ll bounce back from this I know!” a blanket of sadness has engulfed me. I know this is not the end, but it sure feels like it.