Story board

I opened up with some jabs in rapid succession, moving forward with each punch, to set the tone and establish what I was going to do. Don't know if Ken had intended for me to think this way, but I was going to 'kick his ass', today. Dalton was a bully, and his time had come.

He clumslily moved back, trying to get out of range. A sly smile grew on his face, as he saw instead of moving around, I was moving to him. He had always thought that I used my faster footspeed to keep away from him. Since I was going to 'stay and fight' for a change, he was thinking he could get some of his shots off.

I think it was Cus D'Amato, Tyson's first trainer who said it didn't matter if one fighter was stronger or hit harder than another, if he had no way to convey his power. Fancy way of saying, 'if you can't hit someone, what good is your power now?' Beth had worked with Dalton, trying to get him to understand that he couldn't just wade in with wide punches, aiming to hurt or maybe knock out everyone. He was too wound up, and his muscles caused his punches to 'loop' instead of coming out straight.

By following Ken's instructions, I was stepping inside of his punches. My faster hands was stinging him in the face ... another thing that he didn't understand is that I had been taking it easy on HIM all this time. You don't have to be 'big' to knock someone out ... you only have to be 'big enough'.

It was a simple thing, to keep my gloves high when he would lauch his sweeping punches and come right back with a three piece conbination. He was going back, in a straight line which made it even easier to land solid punches. Midway thru the round, his nose began to bleed.

He would land some solid punches, but they either caught my gloves or my arms. That was okay. He wasn't Rocky Marciano, so he didn't know how to wear me down. Moving behind a jab, I kept him shuffling his feet, so he couldn't get much on the few punches that he did land on me.

The last minute of the round, I began to open up on him. My hands were too fast for him to keep up with, and even with Beth shouting instructions, he was too confused. I punctuated the end of the round with a big overhand right-left hook combo that rocked him. The bell rang ending the first round.

Ken was wearing a smile when I came back to the corner. I wasn't breathing heavy as he wetted me down and gave me a drink. "Start moving him with body shots," he whispered conspiratorially.

I went straight at him, throwing a lead right hand and then dipping to the body with a left hook to his liver. Dalton's leg genuflucted, and he began to amble around the ring, in an uncomfortable pantomine of movement. This was 'ring generalship', I would tell the other kids, who were watching the sparring more than working on their own. This was the first time they'd ever seen Dalton get beat up, and had thought previously that it couldn't be done. The 'excuse' he would use after our previous sessions, was that 'if we were not in the ring, he would have beat me down.' Today, I was putting the lie to that.

The third round was more of a little bit more. I started to plant my feet and punch freely -- after all, I was the 'little guy', right? I couldn't have been hurting him, that much.

But I was, and I knew it. Beth tried to get him to understand, why you punch a certain way, or when you throw an uppercut, why you stand close and not try use it from the outside. But in being the 'champion of the gym', he never had the motivation to pay attention to the lessons he was given. The third round, I was giving him the 'ol' in and out', sliding between his grasping arms, unloading shots. Too bad I wasn't 'fresh' and hitting him like this; I would have knocked him down.

After the bell ended the thrid round, Beth took off Dalton's head gear. "That's enough, this is his first day this week." She took the towel off her shoulder to staunch the blood from his nose. Wasn't going to be able to do anything about the split lip. He would have to ice his right eye, red and purpling from all the left hooks I was boucning off of it.

I sat down on the bleachers while training went on. Beth came over.

"You looked good in there, but you don't want to run your sparring out. He is the only one strong enough to give you some work."

Leaning back, I replied, "I just wanted to touch him up a little, make sure he understood that I was serious about boxing, that it isn't football." Football players think they are tough enough to fight. But they aren't. Particularly the guys on the defensive side of the ball. Dalton is used to being able to run 15 yards and tackle someone with nothing in his way. That isn't how it goes in boxing. What you are trying to hit, WILL hit you back.

Today. He got hit. He would make himself show up for the two and a half weeks we stayed in town getting ready, but he wouldn't be the same. He'd stop boxing a few months later. Punk.