A Million Little Pieces - James Frey [180]
I turn my attention to the television. Various experts are making predictions about the outcome of the fight. Matty, who is sitting on the other side of Leonard, talks to the men on the television in his way of pseudo cursing, calling them either smarty-pants Mofos or pantywaist Fruckers. Someone tells him he should give it up and just start swearing again and he tells them no way no way, I ain’t ever gonna fricking’ swear again.
The Commentators announce that it is time for the fight and the Room becomes quiet and all the men focus on the television. The fighters make their way to the Ring. The larger man, who is the challenger, enters first. He is about six foot five, weighs around two hundred and forty pounds, and has a body like a bear, which has thick layers of muscle and a thin layer of fat. The smaller man, who is the current Champion, is six foot three and two hundred and twenty-five pounds. Unlike his opponent, there is not an ounce of fat on his body and his dark skin glistens as if he’s been carved out of polished steel. Both of them are covered with beads of sweat, which indicates that they are warmed up and ready to fight. It is going to be a fun night.
After the National Anthem and the introductions, the bell rings, starting the first round. Rounds in boxing are three minutes long with one-minute breaks in between each of the twelve rounds. In most fights, the fighters spend the first two rounds feeling each other out for their respective strengths and weaknesses. They then spend the rest of the fight avoiding the other’s strengths and exploiting his weaknesses. There is none of that bullshit in this fight. The fighters rush toward each other and immediately start throwing huge dangerous punches. The only apparent strategy is to try and destroy the other fighter as soon as possible. About thirty seconds into the fight, the smaller man lands a right hand directly on the larger man’s jaw. The larger man’s legs shake and he stumbles backward. The smaller man pursues him, traps him against the ring ropes, and spends the next minute mercilessly pounding the larger man’s ribs, stomach, shoulders and jaw. When the smaller man’s arms tire, and he can no longer throw punches, the larger man starts his counterattack. He pushes the smaller man back and starts beating him in the same way that he was just being beaten. At the end of the round, both men stumble back to their corners. I am on my feet cheering and yelling the entire time, as are most of the men on the Unit.
The next four rounds follow the same pattern as the first. The bell rings, the fighters meet, they try to knock each other out. There is no defense and no strategy. Both of their faces start to swell, both start bleeding from their mouths, from their noses and from cuts above their eyes, both start to accumulate welts from the ropes and leather burns from the gloves on their chests, backs, and shoulders. Nobody in the Unit sits down the entire time.
Whether they will admit it or not, all men love fighting. Watching it or engaging in it ignites in us our true selves, the selves that have been diluted by thousands of years culture and refinement, the selves that we are constantly told to deny for the greater good. To stand alone in front of another man and to either hurt him or be hurt is what men were built to do. Boxing allows us to live with the most base of those instincts, and to still feel a sense of what it is like to fight.
The sixth round starts. Both men look exhausted, as if their bodies don’t want to fight anymore, but their minds and their hearts won’t let them stop. They walk methodically to the center of the Ring and start slowly circling each other. They each a throw a couple of harmless jabs, straight punches with their weaker arm designed more to keep an opponent away than to hurt him, and then the smaller man strikes. He throws a wide, winging left hook that lands directly on the larger man’s jaw. The larger man goes down, as if his legs have been swept from beneath him, and he lands on his back, his eyes straight toward