Image by elfgoh via Flickr

Smokin’ Joe Lancaster, boxing world champion, was almost deafened by the heaving stadium. He was about to take on a former world champion, Sugar Ray Deadly.

Corner man: “Come on Champ. Show him who’s boss. He’s cr****ng his pants!”

The bell went.

The two combatants strode to the centre of the ring. Straight away Sugar Ray flicked out some stinging jabs. God he was fast! Joe prodded out some jabs of his own but his opponent dodged them with ease. Back Sugar came: jab, jab, jab, then skipping away.

Joe tried some different angles. This man might be making a comeback, but he was still too fast for Joe. Much too fast.

Smack!

Joe was sitting on his pants! The referee was counting! His head was swimming. Why? He dimly remembered being caught flush on the jaw.

With an enormous effort he shook his head, found his bearings and listened.

Referee: “…eight, nine.”

Joe drove his legs, and was back up. As Sugar went for the kill, Joe instinctively swayed aside and grabbed his opponent in a massive bear hug. Again and again he dodged and grabbed. Until that merciful bell went.

The second round started. For a few rounds Joe hung in there. But he took a heavy pounding. His own punches made little impact. Sugar evaded trouble with that blinding speed.

Suddenly there was red everywhere. Joe was badly cut over the right eye! At the end of the round  his “eye man” went frantically to work. That cut was pinched and prodded and God knows what else. Then smeared with globs of grease.

Back out went Joe and the pounding continued. Both eyes were swelling into massive pin-cushions. The bell!

Corner man: “He’s tiring champ! Hang in there son. He’s getting desperate. Just hang in there!”

Out he went again, for further punishment. This guy was just too quick and clever for him. Why couldn’t Joe’s corner see that he was getting outclassed, and battered?

Thud!

Joe was down again. He looked at his corner. They were all frantically waving him up. Joe duly complied. And held on again.

Next round, his other eye was cut too. Then he was cut below the right eye. His cut-man worked frantically. In the ring, his opponent stepped up the pace too, clearly sniffing a kill. Joe took lots of body shots: his ribs were rattled and he was winded a few times. The pounding continued.

Now Sugar went into a frenzy. Combinations rained down on Joe’s swollen, bloody head! Sugar went for the kill! Joe hung in there. The bell!

Suddenly there was cheering everywhere! Joe slowly raised his head. Opposing corner-men were waving their arms about. They had pulled Sugar Ray Deadly out of the fight! Someone said something about Sugar punching himself out and being unable to continue!

Joe’s corner went wild in celebration. Praise was heaped upon his head. Sugar slumped there, bitterly complaining, you could see. Joe’s opponent looked virtually untouched. Ironically, Joe’s corner men were still patching him up in the midst of celebration.

Back in the changing room, Joe was still surrounded by doting admirers.

Corner man: “That’s put Flash Harry in his place there champ. Fighter of the decade, you are, man!”

Another corner man: “Yeh, only you got the guts and the character, Champ!”

Joe wondered.

Months later, Joe was embroiled in his next defence. Again he had taken a pounding, for four and a half rounds. Suddenly he got clipped on the jaw. He slumped to the canvass, eyes closed.

“Nine, ten, OUT!”

Joe shook his head and lifted it up, looking dazed and bewildered.

Inwardly, however, he smiled to himself.

Paul Butters