Post by Church on Mar 31, 2011 1:59:25 GMT -5
Tyreke Bell blinked his eyes. He was having a hard time focusing. It could be because of the hellacious right hook he just took to the temple. It could be because he was laying flat on his back looking up into a bevy of glaring lights. Either way, it meant his payday just got considerably smaller. He closed his eyes and listened as the bell rang and his opponent let out a shout of excitement. Good on him. Knockouts are hard to come by…but from Tyreke’s point of view, this wasn’t how he envisioned his Saturday night.
After the fight, Bell had to go through the motions. Get up, give the crowd an appreciative wave and receive consolation applause. Tap gloves with the man who just took $50 off his payday. Nod graciously. Head to the locker room. Answer questions from local writers like they actually cared whether his 7-4 record was cause for concern.
You see, this is what most boxing movies don’t convey. For every Cinderella story, there’s ten thousand boxers just like the man known as Church. He was just average, if not slightly above. The Baltimore boxing scene was nothing compared to the bigger cities, either. These boxers spent their “career” fighting as an undercard bout to a main event between two local boxing heroes…maybe a legitimate somebody once every two or three years. The pay was shit. So bad that most of them had full time jobs, which hindered the time that they could spend training. This wasn’t Rocky. It wasn’t Million Dollar Baby. This was just life.
As Church sat in the locker room, pressing an ice pack into his right hand, he heard the gruff voice of his trainer approaching him from behind. “Shouldn’t have dropped your guard.” Unc Paul claps one of his gigantic hands down across Church’s shoulder. “Ya done good, kid. Showed a lot of heart and improvement. You’ll get ‘em next time.”
“Huh…” Church just nodded his head solemnly. To be honest, the words spoken by Unc had went in one ear and right out the other. Trainers like Unc had all the time in the world…but all Church could think of was the three months of training he’d put in for a $25 payday and another knockout defeat on his record. Unc saw Church as a 24 year old with his entire life ahead of him…but Church saw himself as a 24 year old who life was passing by.
“I hear there might be a middleweight opening in just a few weeks. What do ya say, kid? You need a vacation or you ready to jump right back into the fire?”
“Yeah…” Church wasn’t even listening at this point.
Unc’s face scrunched up in confusion. He peered around to see the vacant expression in his pupil’s eyes. With a knowing smile, the old trainer nodded. “So, you’re going to be fighting the Pope and the corpse of Harriet Tubman. That work for you, Church?”
“Whatever works best, coach…” Bell continued staring off into the distance.
Unc let out a laugh that was so booming it snapped Church out of his trance. He bent over and leaned in so his face was just inches from his student’s. “That’s ya problem, kid…ya got all the talent in the world, but there are times when ya just don’t listen. I’m discussin’ ya next match and you’re just starin’ off into the distance like ya girl ran off with an accountant or something.”
“Huh…sorry,” Church apologized. “I’ve just got a lot on my mind, Unc. You know how it is.”
“Oh, I know how it is, Church. I’ve had a lot on my mind before. Sick parents, a second mortgage, a bad back actin’ up, students leavin’ me to turn into gangsters. I’ve ‘bout seen it all, kid. So tell me, what could possibly be more important right this second that havin’ a chat with your trainer?”
Instead of responding, Church took the ice pack off of his hand and rummaged through his gym bag. Once he found what he was looking for, he pulled out the disappointing paycheck and waved it in Unc’s face. He gave a frustrated sigh as his old trainer snatched the piece of paper from him.
“This?” Unc chuckled and waved the paper around Church’s head. “You’re worried about money? You ain’t but 24 years old, boy. There’s plenty of time to make money left in your lifetime.”
“Maybe…” Church admitted begrudgingly. “But I can’t keep train enough to amount to anything as long as the paychecks are this low…and the paychecks will be this low until I start putting in some serious training. I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place here, Unc. Shit like this…it makes it real easy to see why so many niggas end up on the streets.”
“Tha fuck you say?” Unc’s voice went from calming to irritated in an instant. He tossed the paycheck back into Church’s face. “I thought you was better than that shit, Church. But as soon as you got a problem, you wanna run back to your old crew and make everything better? How prison sound, Church? How ‘bout dead? Because that’s where them gangbangers end up. I thought I’d taught you somethin…”
“You did,” Church offered weakly. “You taught me everything I know about boxing.”
“Ain’t just boxing,” Unc insisted. “I teach ya to be a fighter. In the ring, in life, shit gets tough, ain’t it?” Church nodded in agreement. “Well fight back, boy! Ain’t no time to take a dive just because shit ain’t goin’ right!”
“I ain’t takin’ no dive,” Church shouted back, offended at Unc questioning his drive. “I just gotta find some other shit to do until this problem works itself out. Maybe branch off into some MMA or something. That’s getting pretty big now, ain’t it?”
“Hell naw!” Unc said, putting both hands to his head in an exaggerated manner. “Gettin’ in a cage and fightin’ like a trained pitt bull ain’t for none of my boys, Church. You want some roided up meathead to grapple ya up and try to break ya arm? You seen what happens to strikers in that cage fightin’ mess?” Church nodded, never having checked out MMA. “Ain’t a pretty sight.” Church’s face dropped, prompting Unc to put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I know shit’s rough, Church. Tell ya what, I’ll ask around…try to find you somethin’ to make an extra buck or two. You just keep comin’ ‘round the gym and training when ya can. We’ll get through this together.”
Church nodded…but halfheartedly. After all, what could an average boxer who didn’t have the time or money to train really offer? As uncertain as he was, something about the tone of Unc’s voice calmed him. If there were any options out there, Unc Paul would be the man to find them.
…Church just hoped they paid more than $25 every two months.
After the fight, Bell had to go through the motions. Get up, give the crowd an appreciative wave and receive consolation applause. Tap gloves with the man who just took $50 off his payday. Nod graciously. Head to the locker room. Answer questions from local writers like they actually cared whether his 7-4 record was cause for concern.
You see, this is what most boxing movies don’t convey. For every Cinderella story, there’s ten thousand boxers just like the man known as Church. He was just average, if not slightly above. The Baltimore boxing scene was nothing compared to the bigger cities, either. These boxers spent their “career” fighting as an undercard bout to a main event between two local boxing heroes…maybe a legitimate somebody once every two or three years. The pay was shit. So bad that most of them had full time jobs, which hindered the time that they could spend training. This wasn’t Rocky. It wasn’t Million Dollar Baby. This was just life.
As Church sat in the locker room, pressing an ice pack into his right hand, he heard the gruff voice of his trainer approaching him from behind. “Shouldn’t have dropped your guard.” Unc Paul claps one of his gigantic hands down across Church’s shoulder. “Ya done good, kid. Showed a lot of heart and improvement. You’ll get ‘em next time.”
“Huh…” Church just nodded his head solemnly. To be honest, the words spoken by Unc had went in one ear and right out the other. Trainers like Unc had all the time in the world…but all Church could think of was the three months of training he’d put in for a $25 payday and another knockout defeat on his record. Unc saw Church as a 24 year old with his entire life ahead of him…but Church saw himself as a 24 year old who life was passing by.
“I hear there might be a middleweight opening in just a few weeks. What do ya say, kid? You need a vacation or you ready to jump right back into the fire?”
“Yeah…” Church wasn’t even listening at this point.
Unc’s face scrunched up in confusion. He peered around to see the vacant expression in his pupil’s eyes. With a knowing smile, the old trainer nodded. “So, you’re going to be fighting the Pope and the corpse of Harriet Tubman. That work for you, Church?”
“Whatever works best, coach…” Bell continued staring off into the distance.
Unc let out a laugh that was so booming it snapped Church out of his trance. He bent over and leaned in so his face was just inches from his student’s. “That’s ya problem, kid…ya got all the talent in the world, but there are times when ya just don’t listen. I’m discussin’ ya next match and you’re just starin’ off into the distance like ya girl ran off with an accountant or something.”
“Huh…sorry,” Church apologized. “I’ve just got a lot on my mind, Unc. You know how it is.”
“Oh, I know how it is, Church. I’ve had a lot on my mind before. Sick parents, a second mortgage, a bad back actin’ up, students leavin’ me to turn into gangsters. I’ve ‘bout seen it all, kid. So tell me, what could possibly be more important right this second that havin’ a chat with your trainer?”
Instead of responding, Church took the ice pack off of his hand and rummaged through his gym bag. Once he found what he was looking for, he pulled out the disappointing paycheck and waved it in Unc’s face. He gave a frustrated sigh as his old trainer snatched the piece of paper from him.
“This?” Unc chuckled and waved the paper around Church’s head. “You’re worried about money? You ain’t but 24 years old, boy. There’s plenty of time to make money left in your lifetime.”
“Maybe…” Church admitted begrudgingly. “But I can’t keep train enough to amount to anything as long as the paychecks are this low…and the paychecks will be this low until I start putting in some serious training. I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place here, Unc. Shit like this…it makes it real easy to see why so many niggas end up on the streets.”
“Tha fuck you say?” Unc’s voice went from calming to irritated in an instant. He tossed the paycheck back into Church’s face. “I thought you was better than that shit, Church. But as soon as you got a problem, you wanna run back to your old crew and make everything better? How prison sound, Church? How ‘bout dead? Because that’s where them gangbangers end up. I thought I’d taught you somethin…”
“You did,” Church offered weakly. “You taught me everything I know about boxing.”
“Ain’t just boxing,” Unc insisted. “I teach ya to be a fighter. In the ring, in life, shit gets tough, ain’t it?” Church nodded in agreement. “Well fight back, boy! Ain’t no time to take a dive just because shit ain’t goin’ right!”
“I ain’t takin’ no dive,” Church shouted back, offended at Unc questioning his drive. “I just gotta find some other shit to do until this problem works itself out. Maybe branch off into some MMA or something. That’s getting pretty big now, ain’t it?”
“Hell naw!” Unc said, putting both hands to his head in an exaggerated manner. “Gettin’ in a cage and fightin’ like a trained pitt bull ain’t for none of my boys, Church. You want some roided up meathead to grapple ya up and try to break ya arm? You seen what happens to strikers in that cage fightin’ mess?” Church nodded, never having checked out MMA. “Ain’t a pretty sight.” Church’s face dropped, prompting Unc to put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I know shit’s rough, Church. Tell ya what, I’ll ask around…try to find you somethin’ to make an extra buck or two. You just keep comin’ ‘round the gym and training when ya can. We’ll get through this together.”
Church nodded…but halfheartedly. After all, what could an average boxer who didn’t have the time or money to train really offer? As uncertain as he was, something about the tone of Unc’s voice calmed him. If there were any options out there, Unc Paul would be the man to find them.
…Church just hoped they paid more than $25 every two months.