but this ain’t a title fight, so you can have three.”
I say, “Two be fine.”
Commission man look at me like I don’t know the business, shake his head. I been in this game all my life, and Pats in it longer than me. We know what we need. What we don’t need is loud. Ain’t no fighter what can win a fight by himself. He like a racehorse. Even John Henry can’t win without the jockey. But you get too many mouths going in the corner and the fighter tune them out, he close down his mind and don’t hear nothing. That’s why me and Pats work alone.
I the chief second, the only one in the ring with Reggie for the introduction, the only one in the corner inside the ring between rounds, unless Reggie be cut. In the one minute we get, I got to grease him and tell him what he got to do. If he cut, Pats go in with his medicines to stop the blood. I work the water bucket outside the ring and talk. Otherwise Pats be outside washing the mouthpiece, catching the spit, watering the boy and cooling him down he need it. He use ice bags and stop-swell to bring down mouses and lumps. I get the stool into the ring, Pats get it out. He get the bucket up and down, unless he working a cut, then I do. All this be fast, no time to mess up. That why me and Pats work alone. Title fights same thing, we smooth like a BMW. Some corners be like a Chinese fire drill, everybody talking like they think they Eddie Futch. Between and during the rounds, I do the talking. I leave something out, then Pats say something, but most the time he quiet. Now, while the fight going on, outside the ring Pats be talking to me. I depend on it.
Reggie a fighter who have bad luck getting title fights because he too good. Everybody duck him. He 45 and 8 with 2 draws that he should have won. Eight of his KOs come from body shots. Had one title fight down South Africa but lost to the champ by a split decision. You lose on a split decision in the other boy’s hometown, you know you win. America judge give it to Reggie by two, what is right, it a close fight. Italy judge only give it to South Africa by two, and Italy judge a ho’, he be bought by the Africas. Nigga South Africa judge give it by ten to the Zulu. Three other times Reggie on the way to title shots, but he lose and have to start all over again. Like the last time five fights back. Now Reggie win his last four straight, two by kayo.
My boy Reggie fight so pretty they call him “Valentine” Reggie Love. He come in wearing pinky-red satin trunks with white trim and a white heart on the leg. He wear high pinky-red shoes with white laces. He wear a pinky-red satin robe almost to the floor that have a puffy white satin bow in the middle of his back two feet wide that got ribbons hanging down to the knees. Me and Pats be wearing pinky-red, too, can’t miss us, ’specially Pats with his white hair and the busted, spidery red veins in his nose and his red cheeks. We something. We a corner.
After the weigh-in, the TV man come for the interview for before the fight. Dashiki say he in a hurry, say he want to go first. Reggie still drinking Pedialyte and bad be wanting to eat. He starting to hate Dashiki.
Dashiki a nice boy, serious and proud, he all muscle and bone and no loose skin. Twenty-six years old, and he hongry to be the champ, the way he suppose to be. Say this his big chance and he not letting it slip. He know that if he beat Reggie Love, that put him in line. Boy say he 27 and 0 with 22 kayos, say he got power in both hands he going to use to hurt the old man. Say he going right after Reggie. Say he want to take Reggie out early because he know Reggie a slick boxer, and that Reggie want the fight to go all the way so he can cop a decision. Dashiki say that he set everything up with his jab and come with his power behind that.
Dashiki say, “I hit him either hand, the old man go to sleep.”
What Dashiki don’t know is that we be listening behind the black curtain. What he can’t see be Reggie
I say, “Two be fine.”
Commission man look at me like I don’t know the business, shake his head. I been in this game all my life, and Pats in it longer than me. We know what we need. What we don’t need is loud. Ain’t no fighter what can win a fight by himself. He like a racehorse. Even John Henry can’t win without the jockey. But you get too many mouths going in the corner and the fighter tune them out, he close down his mind and don’t hear nothing. That’s why me and Pats work alone.
I the chief second, the only one in the ring with Reggie for the introduction, the only one in the corner inside the ring between rounds, unless Reggie be cut. In the one minute we get, I got to grease him and tell him what he got to do. If he cut, Pats go in with his medicines to stop the blood. I work the water bucket outside the ring and talk. Otherwise Pats be outside washing the mouthpiece, catching the spit, watering the boy and cooling him down he need it. He use ice bags and stop-swell to bring down mouses and lumps. I get the stool into the ring, Pats get it out. He get the bucket up and down, unless he working a cut, then I do. All this be fast, no time to mess up. That why me and Pats work alone. Title fights same thing, we smooth like a BMW. Some corners be like a Chinese fire drill, everybody talking like they think they Eddie Futch. Between and during the rounds, I do the talking. I leave something out, then Pats say something, but most the time he quiet. Now, while the fight going on, outside the ring Pats be talking to me. I depend on it.
Reggie a fighter who have bad luck getting title fights because he too good. Everybody duck him. He 45 and 8 with 2 draws that he should have won. Eight of his KOs come from body shots. Had one title fight down South Africa but lost to the champ by a split decision. You lose on a split decision in the other boy’s hometown, you know you win. America judge give it to Reggie by two, what is right, it a close fight. Italy judge only give it to South Africa by two, and Italy judge a ho’, he be bought by the Africas. Nigga South Africa judge give it by ten to the Zulu. Three other times Reggie on the way to title shots, but he lose and have to start all over again. Like the last time five fights back. Now Reggie win his last four straight, two by kayo.
My boy Reggie fight so pretty they call him “Valentine” Reggie Love. He come in wearing pinky-red satin trunks with white trim and a white heart on the leg. He wear high pinky-red shoes with white laces. He wear a pinky-red satin robe almost to the floor that have a puffy white satin bow in the middle of his back two feet wide that got ribbons hanging down to the knees. Me and Pats be wearing pinky-red, too, can’t miss us, ’specially Pats with his white hair and the busted, spidery red veins in his nose and his red cheeks. We something. We a corner.
After the weigh-in, the TV man come for the interview for before the fight. Dashiki say he in a hurry, say he want to go first. Reggie still drinking Pedialyte and bad be wanting to eat. He starting to hate Dashiki.
Dashiki a nice boy, serious and proud, he all muscle and bone and no loose skin. Twenty-six years old, and he hongry to be the champ, the way he suppose to be. Say this his big chance and he not letting it slip. He know that if he beat Reggie Love, that put him in line. Boy say he 27 and 0 with 22 kayos, say he got power in both hands he going to use to hurt the old man. Say he going right after Reggie. Say he want to take Reggie out early because he know Reggie a slick boxer, and that Reggie want the fight to go all the way so he can cop a decision. Dashiki say that he set everything up with his jab and come with his power behind that.
Dashiki say, “I hit him either hand, the old man go to sleep.”
What Dashiki don’t know is that we be listening behind the black curtain. What he can’t see be Reggie
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