Fisticuffs Bluff

I didnt always like boxing. When I was little I used to watch TV on Saturday afternoons and filpping through the channels I usually found two men punching each other on some sports show. I didnt like to watch it. It was scary. But as I got older I changed. Something in me grew to love and respect the art of pugilism. I watched Tuesday Night Fights at 9 every week on the USA Network and read all I could in the boxing magazines. One day a family friend brought over a heavy bag and a speed bag saying his kids were too old and they don't use the stuff anymore. The next day I went out and got boxing gloves. After that I hit that punching bag everyday for almost 2 years. I set up a corner in the basemet where I would train. Everyday after school I would come home and change into my sweats and go down to the dark and smelly basement. I started jumping rope to get me loose and to break a sweat. But also to get me focused. I would think about someone who pissed me off that day or said they were gonna kick my ass. Fuck them I thought. I will hurt them so bad. It will feel so good to see the fright and terror in their eyes as I made them bloody. I would usually start working on my jabs, timing my punches and getting my footwork down. As I got into a nice rhythm and I was moving well I would practice my combinations, throwing hard left hooks and uppercuts. My left hook was dangerous. It felt so good to be covered in sweat and completely exhausted. Sometimes I could barely stand. But that was only the begining. Now it was time for the knock out. Now it was time for the pain. I was ready to make it hurt. After throwing jabs and a fury of combinations I moved to my assault. I would hit the bag so hard. I focused every muscle I had and every bit of anger and pain I felt and put it behind each punch. Sometimes I hit the heavy bag so hard that it would fly up and come off the chains. I miss those lonely afternoons in my dark and cold basement. I was completely focused on my training and for a while wanted to go amateur. My mom wouldnt let me. She was afraid I was gonna get hurt. She knew nothing. When I was at the height of my training me and my best friend at the time decided to have a slap boxing fight during recess. The first move I made I weaved in and threw a hard left hook slapping the side of his face with my palm. I knocked him out. He collapsed to the ground instantly. For the rest of the day he walked around with a red outline of my hand on his face. All day I looked at the red imprint on his face and felt pride.