In the Corner

[Asce]

Here is a story I wrote a while back. I have several other short stories I plan to share and a science fiction novel I've been sitting on that I might post in installments depending on the responses I get to my short stories. I hope you enjoy and feel free to tell me what you think. Constructive criticism is appreciated.

In the Corner

The Tornado's power tore across the open space. From the bottom up, the Tornado was a twisting spiral of furry. His left foot hit the mat and the rotation travelled through his heal, and past his knee. If the force could have its own sound effect, it would snap by the time it reached Tornado's hip, and the wind would howl as it whipped around his torso. Tornado's experience tricked his younger opponent into dancing himself cornered. Sunday's punch is now gyrating into the youngster's right side. Tornado's left drilled its way through the younger, taller opponent and buried the pain in his liver.

Brian "The Tornado" Myers had been planting the seeds for this combination for the last three rounds and now that he finally had his opponent cornered, he was going to deliver the message. "I'm not washed up!"

Joe Hernandez is an "up-and-comer" expected to be the "next-best-thing" since turning pro; bull shit. After compiling seven "impressive victories" (whatever, a bunch scrubs), with zero losses and seven knockouts, Hernandez is looking to use the recently unretired Tornado as a stepping stone for his resume on his path to contention. But, at this moment, the "old dog" (fucking promoters) is looking to teach the youngster the differences between experience and talent, and between power and speed.

Tornado felt Hernandez's right side crumble, and could sense his head come down. Like four times earlier in the bout, Tornado followed up the left with a right hook to the head. And, like the last two times, Hernandez's hands went up to guard his temples.

Hernandez took the right hook through his guard despite the pain in his right side. He braces himself again for the hook he's sure will come from the left, like it had in the earlier rounds, but this time the left isn't a hook. Tornado's left flew up from below like he was throwing the switch on Frankenstein's monster and squeezed its way between the elbows. Hernandez's head popped up like an empty pez dispenser, and, if seen from a certain angle, the snap of the punch caused a mist of sweat to shine like a halo in the glow from the bright lights above.

Seven matches is more than enough information to study for Tornado to come up with a pre-match strategy, but there's something to Hernandez that can't be seen on film. Because of the combination of his speedy footwork, his technique, and uncanny foresight; Hernandez has practically gone untouched until now. What Tornado is now learning is about the kid's toughness. Hernandez tightens up quickly and absorbs the following combination from The Tornado. A powerful one-two against Hernandez's guard blew away the fog lingering from the uppercut and brought Hernandez back into the pace of the fight.

Tornado can still see the fire in Hernandez's eyes burning from behind his guard. He didn't expect the youngster to be able to absorb his power as well as he has, but nothing ever truly surprises Tornado anymore. After twelve years as a pro and one and a half as a second in the corner, before coming out of retirement, Tornado had seen just about everything.

The Tornado readies to unleash his full weight on the kid. He took his legs away with blows to the body in the earlier rounds, now it's time to start aiming for the victory. He widens his stance and drops his hips, loaded like a spring ready to uncoil a rapid succession of blows. Once again, the power from his legs boils up and across his back as it begins to wind up. Every hour and minute, and second of training snapped into motion a rage of explosive power. Tornado's right hook howled through the thick air like a wolf through the trees of a dense forest. Hernandez is not defenseless though, nor is he content to sit back and hide behind his guard. He steps out of the corner screaming with an uppercut to counter Tornado's hook. Hernandez's speed is enough to catch up to Tornado's, but it's not fast enough to beat him to the punch. They trade off in the corner to the sound of the bell and the end of a grueling eighth round.

The uppercut to Tornado's chin is twice as fierce as all of Hernandez's punches from the previous rounds combined, as such, so is the impact of Tornado's hook across Hernandez's left cheek. The full weight and power of both fighters swinging and putting their bodies behind the force of those swings, multiplied the forces of the impacts. Hernandez's head swung to his right. Tornado's head popped up just like Hernandez's had second's before. At this point, the fight had officially gone beyond technique or speed or power, these two punches lit a fire in both fighters that will rage across the ring for the coming rounds. Both fighters, neither hearing the bell, snapped back into their fighting stances and began to recoil for another exchange of blows. The eruption of the crowd couldn't be heard in the ears of either fighter. They are the only two people on the face of the earth at the moment and nothing but an act of God is going to stop them.

Just then, a glaring whiteness appeared before the two of them. "Break! That's the bell. Back to your corners."

Both boxers stood there, glaring at each other over the ref's shoulder. The old pro that he is, Tornado turns his back on Hernandez and the ref to make his way toward his corner. Hernandez is not as composed though, frustrated after having been cornered, he slams the butt of his glove across the top rope of the ring and slowly walks to where his second waits for him; not once taking his eyes off Tornado's expansive back.

"Brian, sit down," I say to him as he refuses to take the stool. "That was a nasty upper, sit down and concentrate on recovering your breathing."

"I'm good bro," he says after I pull his mouth piece out and before I give him a squirt of water. He spits the water into a funnel that has a tube going to a bucket below the ring. The spit is a dull pink color from the mixture of blood that's intermingled with the saliva and water. The inside of his mouth is torn up from the blows he's taken throughout the match. "I don't wanna sit. I might not get back up if I sit."

I move to the side so the cut man, our father, can get in the ring to work on the swelling around his eyes. Brian and I are both second generation boxers, but neither I nor our father ever though Brian would have the success he is currently facing when he came out of retirement. Our father isn't much of an athlete and much less of a boxer, but his knowledge of the sport and his ability to teach make him the perfect trainer for young talent.

Its funny when you look at how things turned out between us, Brian and I that is, the two sons of one of the best trainers in pro-boxing today, George T. Myers. Fortunately for me, as I used to think, the two things I inherited from my father were the two things I wanted the most from him; his name and his boxing knowledge. As for my athleticism, that was the biggest difference between my older brother and me, I took after our mother and he took after our father.

You should have seen me in the ring. The old man used to call me a natural, and once he beat every bit of boxing into me, I was the most feared contending out there. By the time I became number one, I had racked up an undefeated record of twelve victories with nine knockouts. And, I was geared up for my first title match.

My brother on the other hand, was the mirror image of my father in his prime; talent level and all. As far as anyone could tell, his carrier was headed in the exact direction our father's went, to the corner. Brian retired from fighting with a record of fifteen wins, seven losses, and fourteen knockouts. Not a bad record for someone without a lick of athletic talent. But, what Brian lacked in speed and natural ability, he more than made up for with power, tenacity, and knowledge. And, now that Brian's returned to the ring after my retirement, his strengths more than out weight his faults.

"Seconds out," is yelled across the expanse of the blood and sweat soaked mat. Tornado looked across the vast emptiness between him and Hernandez, who is hopping along in his corner, surely a show of defiance. Hernandez doesn't want Tornado to know he's still hurting from the exchange at the end of the last round. Tornado knows better though, he knows that exchange isn't the only source of the pain Hernandez is feeling. After taking five of Tornado's bests shots, five of his Sunday's best, Tornado knows Hernandez's side must be killing him. The liver-blows were more than just a set up for a combination. They were seeds planted in the mat beneath his legs. These seeds would grow into weeds and entangle Hernandez's legs in sloth. Tornado had been working at taking away his speed the entire match by repeated blows to the body. Though Hernandez certainly is tough, the dancing in the corner is a show. He thinks he's fooling Tornado into thinking that he's not damaged.

Hernandez burst from his corner like a freight train from a dork tunnel. Tornado was waiting for this. Frustration bled cracks across Hernandez's face. Tornado knows this is about to turn into a brawl, he knows that he had taken away most of Hernandez's lateral mobility.

Tornado quickly moved out of his corner and met Hernandez in the center of the ring. Like before the bell rang in the last round, he widens his base and sinks his hips in preparation for a hitting match. Regardless of how many rounds he has left in the match, Tornado knows he can't let it go to a decision. For every punch that he lands Hernandez lands two. The numbers and the score are on his side, but Tornado's power is undeniable. No matter how many punches he takes, he knows that his are hurting more.

Guarding and dodging have become a thing of the past, reserved for the luxury of the earlier rounds; and, if they did happen, were pure signs of training and muscle memory. The two men stand there, in the center of the ring, face to face without budging. The roar of the crowd is deafening, but neither fighters notice. There are only two people in their world and they are holding each other up with tenacity. For the entire round they trade off. Hernandez lands a beautiful one-two only to have the outside of his left eye split by another one of Tornado's vicious right hooks. He lands another one-two to the crown of Tornado's head only to receive another left to the body in return. Neither man backs down till the bell rings signaling the end of the ninth round. Once again, the ref has to dive between the two pugilists in order to stop the round.

My older brother came out of retirement just to avenge my loss to the present champion, who, including this match, is only two victories away. As I stand over him and watch our father tend to the swelling around his eyes, eyes that are so swollen I wonder if he can even see, I am amazed at my brother's courage.

"Jr." I hear faintly.

I am in awe at my brother's guts. My left eye, blinded by an illegal elbow, aches at the sight of my brother’s condition. I can hear breath coming out in wheezing gasps, a sign of an obvious broken rib or two, but he does not complain.

"Jr.!" I hear our father yell out to me.

"Yeah?"

"Are you going to give your brother some of that water or are you going to stand there watching him suffer?'

Brian is standing just like before. He's still afraid to sit down. I pull his mouthpiece out and squirt the water into his mouth. I squeeze the bottle too forcefully though and squirt the water directly to the back of his throat. It causes him to choke for a moment and he gags and coughs to clear the water.

"Jesus Christ, son. What the hell's wrong with you? You trying to kill him?" The anger etched across our father's face bores a whole in my pride.

"No...it's ok..." Brian manages between gasps. "I was... fading... I needed that."

"Don't talk." Father yells, still angry at me, "concentrate on catching your breath. You're doing fine just keep it up. His speed is not as fast and his punches look like they've lost something. Your power's getting to him. Don't let up for an instant. He's a tough bastard, but you’re tougher. Remember that."

Brian bobbed his head in acknowledgement. The words coming from our father carried more weight than just their meaning. They were full of pride. When the doctors told me that the sight in my eye might never return, which it didn't, my brother took it the hardest. Because of a freak accident, our father couldn't be ringside during my title fight. I was the natural expected to take the belt from the champ in his third defense. Brian was my second for that match and ever sense, regretted not throwing the towel, and allowing me to continue knowing I couldn't see out of it and that the champ was going to continue to work it over. He was afraid of how I might react after the match, and he was right. I never blamed Brian for not throwing the towel; the fact of the matter is I probably would have never forgiven him if he had; even if it had saved the vision in my eye.

"Second out." I stuffed the mouthpiece back in Brian's mouth and began to make my exit from the ring. Before I could make it through the ropes I felt Brian's gloved hand grab my arm.

He gave me a nod and his eyes spoke all the words his lips couldn't, "Don't worry bro, I'm fine. This is only a stepping stone to our goal. I didn't move up a weight class just to lose here, I'm gonna win. "

"Second out." This time the warning was meant for me specifically.

Edited September 22, 2012 by Emotional Outlet

[† Emotional Outlet]

Interesting. I don't know much about or have a lot of interest in boxing, but it was pretty cool to see things unfold--the narrator being Tornado's brother, the fact he used to be a boxer himself, their lineage.

[Asce]

Thank you. I'm a bit of a fan of the combat sport, so it was a labor of love writing this. Though this is my only story of this type (sports oriented), I will be posting others. I appreciate that you read it and enjoyed it.