Story Board

You may like to eat hot dogs and sausages, but you would rather not see them made. Most behind the scenes things in boxing, are for me the same way. You get to see the fears of grown men exposed, and all the talk made for the press and television cameras, beneath the 'main event level', out of sight. Everyone has to deal with those droplets of fear falling in their soul.

For me, it was 'getting into character'.

Listening to KMFDM looping over and over helped me get rid of all the qualms that I may have had before trying to beat someone into a pulp. That was my attitude, because I couldn't let the stain of kindness creep into my heart in the ring. It was going to be a case of either 'him or me'. Most of my career, it had been him. But this was one of the few times I was faced with a real expectation that it could be 'me'.

Couldn't let that happen.

Ken had my hands wrapped and we got the signed off before we gloved up. Beth was getting the bucket set with ice, the End-Swell (pretend there is a trademark, because that is a trademarked term) and the 'kit' with all the gauze, Vaseline, and coagulants to master a cut.

"You guys look real nice, with your new jackets." Both he and Beth had ordered new corner coats, light blue trimmed in navy, a nod to my preference for the color of the UNC Tarheels.

"Too bad we couldn't get Alexander Julian to design these like he did for the basketball team," Ken replied. "Are you ready?"

"As ready as I can be." Beth came away from the dressing room door. "Hey fellas, it is time to walk."

The first time you ring walk for a fight in Atlantic City, it feels like it is a city block from the dressing room to the ring area. The haze from the lights and the intensity of the fans, some of whom found a way to pay $1000 a seat for the privilege of being near enough to have blood and spit spatter on their $3000 suits ... can be a little overwhelming.

Especially when you get there and you have to wait, and wait for the opponent. This was another area of gamesmanship, making you wait until the chalk squeaking in your head breaks. I kept thinking repeatedly ...' I'm ready, I'm ready'.

Jackson's walk was slow, leisurely even. He was who he was, one of the best fighters of our era, and this was nothing but a 'stop over flight' for him as he made a connection to go somewhere else.

"Wow," Ken whispered, "he's big for 160." He kept looking straight ahead, letting that be the only sign of his concern. His partner, usually a chatterbox was uncharacteristically quiet.

The instructions at ring center was more a matter of custom; the real instructions actually take place in the dressing room. We touched gloves, "Nice shoes", I said about his specially designed patent leather footwear. I preferred adiddas Champ Speed for my feet.

Beth was going to be the lead, and she was in the ring as everyone else cleared out. "Take your time, but don't be afraid to punch." She inserted my mouth piece. "Let's knock this sucker out." I nodded.

Turning to the ring center, with the referee checking with the judges to see if they are ready, then to the timer.

And when he points to him ... the bell for the first round rings.