Tenth Round

The Tenth Round

Too old, they said, this young lads gonna be too strong for you. Well here I am at the end of the 9th and I’m telling you I’m gonna win this fight. I look across at him n I can see is feelin scared, his face is a right state. There’s blood dripping from a gash on his eyebrow and his nose looks like it’s been broken, I feel it, I’m on top. He’s got a real fear in his eyes, he knows that in a minute he’s gonna go down.

The boys got talent alright he’s caught me a couple of good jabs to the stomach and he backed me up against the ropes in the last round. But there’s nothing that makes up for ring experience in this game. I gave him a good whack to the downstairs in the last round, I’ll be dirty if I have to be. He aint got the guts to try nuthin, he knows I’ve been around too long to be scared of a street fight. I can see a real fear in his eyes and can only imagine what’s running through his mind. He wants to be at home, his mum makin him a nice hot cocoa, not in the ring with the likes of me. This round I’m gonna put im out of his misery.
I’m gonna really hurt him, make sure he doesn’t get back in the ring for a while. Pound those little puppy cheeks of his to a pulp. It’s for the best that I get this one over as quickly as possible. That’s just what the managers telling me as I sit in me chair

‘don’t get takin in by those flashy punches lad, get in there n knock him out’
‘yes boss’
‘he’s gotta go down in this round, you’re a strong puncher, now go and show it’
‘yes boss’
‘look at me, look at me’
‘yes boss’
‘go and fucking kill him, knock his fucking block off’
‘yes boss’

Then the bell rings and I’m right up for it, this lad aint gonna know what’s hit im. I bang my gloves together like he does in the rocky films just to show that I mean business. No young lad can last 12 rounds against the Basingstoke Bomber.
As e gets up outa his seat he stumbles a bit, like a wounded animal that I’m just about to put down. I give him a jab and he totters round the ring a bit, his legs are really week now, this is my time.
And so I wind it up the big old jab, one last punch and it’lll be all over. He looks pathetic, stumbling round like in one of those nature programmes the wife makes me watch where the lion has taken a chunk out of it’s prey and it keeps on stumbling around.
Forward he comes, all heavy footed. I look down into his eyes and can see some proper fear and then BOOM!
8…9…10 the ref counts over me head. I don’t know what the hell happened but I’ve found myself on the deck and the young whippersnappers standing over me with his hands held high. He’s seen me punch coming and landed one of his own.
The pup spits his gum shield outa his mouth and looks down at me, smiling.

‘too slow Granddad I saw that punch comin from a mile off’
‘ you’re days are over, it’s my time now’

Cheeky young fucker. But I know e’s right, it’s the horrible inevitability of it, age has well and truly caught up with me. I’m not as quick as I once was, my punches are too slow and not as hard as they once were, me boxing days are done.