Worth the Fight
Page 51
The crowd goes insane. Vinny and Max are standing on the top of their seats jumping up and down so hard that I think they might break the chairs. Nico’s mom, who is normally subdued, is screaming with hands on either side of her mouth. And his brothers are high fiving, fist pounding, and jumping up to smash each other with their own chests. The moment of insanity does wonders for my nerves, I can’t help but smile at our crazy gang.
I’m impatiently waiting for Nico to enter the room, but I don’t have to turn to know the minute he steps into the arena. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up and the room that I didn’t think could get much louder ratchets up ten decibels. The sound is almost deafening. I turn to watch him make his way down the aisle, but it’s difficult to see him behind the dozen bleach blonde women in bikinis and high heels who are marching down the aisle in front of him. Each carries a sign over their head bearing various testaments of love to “The Lady Killer.”
I try in vain to see his face as he passes, but I’m too short for his sizeable entourage. It’s not until he steps in the cage do I get a clear shot of his face. One of the brazen, scantily clad bikini girls makes a big commotion bending over in exaggerated form and kissing him on the cheek. It’s only his side profile, but I catch his jaw clench and I smile to myself knowing the kiss was a setup and clearly unwelcome. And then he turns, and his eyes land directly on me. There is no search through the crowd, our eyes just find each other, like metal to a magnet, inexplicably pulled to each other without effort. He just needs to see I’m really here, but it’s just reinforcement, he knew I was here the minute he walked in the room.
After a few minutes, the crowd finally dies down enough for the announcer to speak over them, although they’re still going pretty strong.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, in the blue corner tonight, we have a man set for revenge. He’s been waiting eighteen months for his chance to take back his family’s honor…I give you, Trevor ‘The Aaaaaaaa-vennnnnnnnnn-ger’ Crispino.”
Unlike last time, the crowd doesn’t boo. Even Nico’s family falls silent. There are some cheers from his fans, but most say nothing and I don’t know if it’s out of respect for Nico, his contender, or his late brother. Either way it sends a chill up my spine at the mere mention of the horror that was his brother’s last fight.
After a few more mind-numbing announcements, the two men are sent to their respective corners. It’s funny how my reason for worry changes, yet the worry stays the same. The last time I sat in this room I was worried that watching men come to blows would be a trigger for me. Something that would dredge up the memories of the past that I’d worked so hard to tuck away. But as I sit here today, I’m still worried about Nico’s fight, yet it no longer has anything to do with my own self-preservation. All of my worry is for the man in the ring, how he’ll manage to handle striking a face that is all too familiar. The similarities are haunting and it isn’t even my nightmare. I worry that he’ll freeze and get hurt, or that he won’t and the emotional damage will take its toll later. Either way, it’s hard to see a win for Nico at the end of this fight, no matter who comes out the victor.
I hold my breath as the fight begins and the two men meet in the middle. I want to look away, save myself the pain of watching it all unravel before my eyes, but I can’t seem to allow myself to blink for fear of missing even a second. Nico strikes first, not giving his opponent time to even acclimate before knocking him back three steps with a thundering hit to the left side of his jaw.
As much as I struggle seeing the two men fighting to win something back, something that was taken wrongly from both of them, there is a sense of relief that Nico seems to be back to fighting the way that made him a champion. But my relief is short lived. Not ten seconds after I finally exhale, letting out the breath I had been holding, Trevor lands a kick to Nico’s chest and Nico stumbles, his back hitting hard against the unyielding cage. His back arches with the contact, and I see his face register pain, but he quickly recovers. Sitting so close, I can see the toll each blow takes on their faces.
By the end of the first round, both men have taken and delivered harsh blows dealt with brute force strength. I don’t claim to have any experience judging a match, but, to me, Nico is the clear leader as they take their seats in their respective corners. His blows are stronger, more precise. And he has the ability to recover faster from the ones he receives. But all in all, it doesn’t appear to be an unfair fight.
Again in round two it’s Nico who comes out blazing. He strikes fast and furious and lands a series of kicks which almost knocks Trevor to the ground, but his opponent somehow remains on his feet. Trevor regains his footing and takes aim at Nico, with a windup and punch that Nico manages to avoid by weaving, leaving Trevor plunging forward with the sheer momentum of the hit that never lands. Nico sees an opportunity and seizes it, pounding brutally on the man’s back before he has time to recover from his missed punch. It’s all too much, too fast, and Trevor falls forward, landing first on his knees, before both arms go wide and he plummets face first into the mat below. For no more than a split second, he lays still on the ground. But that’s all it takes. I watch as something passes over Nico’s face and everything changes.
Nico just stands there, blankly staring at his opponent, even as Trevor recovers, taking his time to get up, wobbling to his feet before regaining his footing. It’s as if he’s quit the fight, except there’s still more than two minutes on the clock until the end of the round. But even though Nico might have thrown in the towel, his opponent sees it as an opportunity. He hits Nico with a left, then a quick right. The second punch landing so hard that I watch in slow motion as Nico’s head swings to the side and blood splatters from his nose all over the shiny grey canvas below.
I’m watching in horror as Nico is pummeled, each series of blows taking my breath away. He’s not even protecting himself, he’s just standing there and taking it, like it’s his punishment and he needs to be man enough to accept it. Preach is screaming like a madman from the sideline, trying to snap Nico out of it, but it’s as if he doesn’t even hear him. I wince at each strike, silently begging for the ref to stop the fight. I don’t know the rules, but this can’t be legal. Clearly, the ref sees that Nico has checked out and being in the cage is dangerous to a man that won’t even protect himself. But they let the fight go on and on, and it’s the longest two minutes of my entire life.
I’m impatiently waiting for Nico to enter the room, but I don’t have to turn to know the minute he steps into the arena. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up and the room that I didn’t think could get much louder ratchets up ten decibels. The sound is almost deafening. I turn to watch him make his way down the aisle, but it’s difficult to see him behind the dozen bleach blonde women in bikinis and high heels who are marching down the aisle in front of him. Each carries a sign over their head bearing various testaments of love to “The Lady Killer.”
I try in vain to see his face as he passes, but I’m too short for his sizeable entourage. It’s not until he steps in the cage do I get a clear shot of his face. One of the brazen, scantily clad bikini girls makes a big commotion bending over in exaggerated form and kissing him on the cheek. It’s only his side profile, but I catch his jaw clench and I smile to myself knowing the kiss was a setup and clearly unwelcome. And then he turns, and his eyes land directly on me. There is no search through the crowd, our eyes just find each other, like metal to a magnet, inexplicably pulled to each other without effort. He just needs to see I’m really here, but it’s just reinforcement, he knew I was here the minute he walked in the room.
After a few minutes, the crowd finally dies down enough for the announcer to speak over them, although they’re still going pretty strong.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, in the blue corner tonight, we have a man set for revenge. He’s been waiting eighteen months for his chance to take back his family’s honor…I give you, Trevor ‘The Aaaaaaaa-vennnnnnnnnn-ger’ Crispino.”
Unlike last time, the crowd doesn’t boo. Even Nico’s family falls silent. There are some cheers from his fans, but most say nothing and I don’t know if it’s out of respect for Nico, his contender, or his late brother. Either way it sends a chill up my spine at the mere mention of the horror that was his brother’s last fight.
After a few more mind-numbing announcements, the two men are sent to their respective corners. It’s funny how my reason for worry changes, yet the worry stays the same. The last time I sat in this room I was worried that watching men come to blows would be a trigger for me. Something that would dredge up the memories of the past that I’d worked so hard to tuck away. But as I sit here today, I’m still worried about Nico’s fight, yet it no longer has anything to do with my own self-preservation. All of my worry is for the man in the ring, how he’ll manage to handle striking a face that is all too familiar. The similarities are haunting and it isn’t even my nightmare. I worry that he’ll freeze and get hurt, or that he won’t and the emotional damage will take its toll later. Either way, it’s hard to see a win for Nico at the end of this fight, no matter who comes out the victor.
I hold my breath as the fight begins and the two men meet in the middle. I want to look away, save myself the pain of watching it all unravel before my eyes, but I can’t seem to allow myself to blink for fear of missing even a second. Nico strikes first, not giving his opponent time to even acclimate before knocking him back three steps with a thundering hit to the left side of his jaw.
As much as I struggle seeing the two men fighting to win something back, something that was taken wrongly from both of them, there is a sense of relief that Nico seems to be back to fighting the way that made him a champion. But my relief is short lived. Not ten seconds after I finally exhale, letting out the breath I had been holding, Trevor lands a kick to Nico’s chest and Nico stumbles, his back hitting hard against the unyielding cage. His back arches with the contact, and I see his face register pain, but he quickly recovers. Sitting so close, I can see the toll each blow takes on their faces.
By the end of the first round, both men have taken and delivered harsh blows dealt with brute force strength. I don’t claim to have any experience judging a match, but, to me, Nico is the clear leader as they take their seats in their respective corners. His blows are stronger, more precise. And he has the ability to recover faster from the ones he receives. But all in all, it doesn’t appear to be an unfair fight.
Again in round two it’s Nico who comes out blazing. He strikes fast and furious and lands a series of kicks which almost knocks Trevor to the ground, but his opponent somehow remains on his feet. Trevor regains his footing and takes aim at Nico, with a windup and punch that Nico manages to avoid by weaving, leaving Trevor plunging forward with the sheer momentum of the hit that never lands. Nico sees an opportunity and seizes it, pounding brutally on the man’s back before he has time to recover from his missed punch. It’s all too much, too fast, and Trevor falls forward, landing first on his knees, before both arms go wide and he plummets face first into the mat below. For no more than a split second, he lays still on the ground. But that’s all it takes. I watch as something passes over Nico’s face and everything changes.
Nico just stands there, blankly staring at his opponent, even as Trevor recovers, taking his time to get up, wobbling to his feet before regaining his footing. It’s as if he’s quit the fight, except there’s still more than two minutes on the clock until the end of the round. But even though Nico might have thrown in the towel, his opponent sees it as an opportunity. He hits Nico with a left, then a quick right. The second punch landing so hard that I watch in slow motion as Nico’s head swings to the side and blood splatters from his nose all over the shiny grey canvas below.
I’m watching in horror as Nico is pummeled, each series of blows taking my breath away. He’s not even protecting himself, he’s just standing there and taking it, like it’s his punishment and he needs to be man enough to accept it. Preach is screaming like a madman from the sideline, trying to snap Nico out of it, but it’s as if he doesn’t even hear him. I wince at each strike, silently begging for the ref to stop the fight. I don’t know the rules, but this can’t be legal. Clearly, the ref sees that Nico has checked out and being in the cage is dangerous to a man that won’t even protect himself. But they let the fight go on and on, and it’s the longest two minutes of my entire life.
