The King

                                                    “The King”

                   

         My name is Chris Rogers, but most people call me “The King”.  I am forty-seven years old, and tonight is the biggest night of my life.  But that is tonight, and this is now.  And right now, I am running in the cold morning air, under the cover of a sky not yet bright with the first rays of the sun, on an old road that shadows the Appalachian Mountains on one side, and a guard rail that prevents cars and people from falling over the ledge on the other side.

         I look at my watch, if you can call it a watch.  It’s more like something made by NASA.  The Polar RS800.  It has a GPS that keeps track of distance, an altitude finder, calculates stride rate and length, monitors your heart rate, and, of course, keeps track of the time.  Currently the night glow display reads 4.8 miles, and the stop watch is in the area of thirty minutes.  I am a little ahead of my pace.  Not bad.  I see the five mile marker ahead.  It’s not an official marker.  It’s a big rock that I moved beside a tree on the mountain’s side years ago, before it was moss covered.  I gather my remaining energy and sprint toward it, stopping the stop watch as I reach it.  It’s not a new record, but it is better than average.

         I walk the last mile home, just like I walked the first mile from the house to the rock.  This is my cool down, where I get my heart rate to settle down.  I put my hands on top of my head, opening up my lungs, and focus on slowing my breathing down.  Nice deep breaths; in through the nose, out through the mouth.  The newly rising sun starts to shine on my face.  It feels good, refreshing.

         I get to my driveway and walk the steep incline toward my hidden house, my breathing and heart rate back to normal.  The house, a monstrosity of a log cabin, looks like it is a part of nature itself.  I worked hard to get this house.  Years of blood, sweat, and tears.

         I walk around the back of the attached four car garage and stop.  Sometimes, there will be deer feeding close to the tree line.  Once, I even saw a bear.  I like to watch them.  It brings a sense of peace over me and a slight smile to my scarred and battered face.  But, there are no animals this morning.  I continue to walk to my deck, climb the steps, and enter the kitchen through my sliding glass door.

         The inside of the house is almost as impressive as the outside.  It isn’t filled with gaudy, new wave furniture.  My wife Gloria and I prefer an older look.  Our kitchen table is made of solid oak and has a rustic look to it.  It was made by the Amish.  Actually, most of our furniture was made by the Amish.  The craftsmanship doesn’t get any better.  I like the Amish.  They don’t say much and I respect their privacy.  A hard working people, the Amish.

          I see Gloria come down the staircase.  She is in her pink bathrobe and slippers.  I can’t help but stare at her.  She is the most beautiful woman in the world to me.  We have been together for nearly fifteen years, and I can say with absolute honesty that I have NEVER looked at another woman for that entire period of time.  Even through the fame and fortune, I have never strayed from my beautiful Gloria.  My “Puerto Rican Princess”, my soul mate, my best friend.

         “Mornin’,” I say with a smile as she makes her way into the kitchen.

         “And good morning to you,” she says as she wraps her arms around me and stands on the tips of her toes to kiss me.  Even though it is a small kiss, my heart starts to beat a little faster.  The passion is still going strong. 

         “Are the kids up yet?” I ask knowing what the answer will be.

         “I heard them get up a little while ago.  They are probably in the basement with their video games.”

         “Of course.  Would you like some breakfast?”

         “Sure,” she says smiling. 

         She picks up the remote control and turns on the small TV in the kitchen, which is already on Channel 4 for the morning news.  I cross to the island in the kitchen and take down two pans.  I’ll need a big breakfast this morning because I won’t eat too much the rest of the day.  I think I’ll make omelets, toast, and a little bacon.  I don’t eat the bacon, but the kids love it.  Before I do that, though, I need to take my vitamins and supplements.  And, there are a lot!  I pride myself in having a twenty year old’s physique.

         I hear the running footsteps from the basement stairs a split second before the door bursts open.

         “Daddy!” 

         My nine year old son Kevin, and my six year old daughter Lizzy emerge from the basement, smiles radiating all around the room.  Lizzy jumps into my arms and I raise her above my head, while Kevin wraps his arms around my waist.

         “There they are!” I yell back with the same excitement and lower Lizzy back down to the ground.  “Are you guys hungry?  How does bacon and omelets sound?”

         “No cheese please, Daddy,” says Lizzy.  My little, sweet, darling Lizzy.  The resemblance between her and Gloria is amazing.  The thick, dark hair, the dark skin, and even some of the personality.

         “No cheese,” I say while standing at attention and saluting her. 

         She gets a giggle out of this and says, “You’re so silly Daddy.”

         Kevin is getting Orange Juice out of the refrigerator.  He is more like me.  You can already tell that he is going to be tall.  I stand six feet four inches, and I can imagine him growing to be even taller.  He is a very smart kid, and I am extremely proud of him.  He loves all sports, and he excels in all of them.  What parent doesn’t like to brag about their kids?

         “Are you ready for tonight, Dad?” asks Kevin. 

         Gloria looks up from watching the TV to look at me, a small look of concern briefly crossing her face before completely vanishing.

         I look from her to Kevin and say, “I’ve never been more ready.  But, you don’t need to worry about that.  Right now, you need to eat some breakfast and get ready.  Don’t you have football practice today?”

         “Yeah, I do,” he says and then pours himself some juice.  As he recaps the juice, he looks at me and says, “I know you’ll win Dad.  You always do.”

         I smile and start cooking.



********

         Breakfast was nice.  We sat together as a family, enjoying talking with each other and spending time together.  This was a rule that was non-negotiable in my house.  We eat as a family, at the table.  No TV’s, phones, distractions, period. 

         After breakfast, we had said our goodbyes and I started to drive to my Gym.  Gloria didn’t say much.  She hated what I did, but she would never say that.  She never traveled to any of my fights, or watched them on TV.  She always wanted me to stop.  Tonight, she would get her wish.

         Lizzy was still a little too young to realize what was going on.  All that she knew was that there were a couple of days a year that I would leave, and then come home with a few boo-boos. Kevin looked up to me.  I was his Superman.  He knew that I was going to fight tonight.  He also knew that this was going to be my last fight, and I think he was a little disappointed inside.  He would never admit that to me, but I had the feeling that he was.  After all, his Dad was “The King” of Mixed Martial Arts (MMA). 

         I had been fighting for over twenty years.  Each year I got older and a little bit slower, but the competition got younger and faster.  But, I still beat everyone that was thrown at me.  I was fighting in the biggest MMA organization in the world.  I held a record of seventy wins and zero losses.  No losses.  No one had ever come close to that win to loss ratio.  It was a world record.  I had been the Heavyweight Champion for over twelve years. 

         However, I was truly getting too old for the game.  So tonight, it would end.  Win or lose, I would forfeit the Championship Belt to the organization, and have them do what they wanted to find another champ.  It wouldn’t be my concern.  My only concern was to go out on top.  This may prove difficult.  But, I was fighting for the first time in front of my home crowd.  This may give me the advantage that I need.

         My last fight was close.  I fought all five, five minute rounds and left it in the hands of the judges’ scorecards.  That was the first fight that I thought I wouldn’t win.  Somehow, the judges ruled in favor of me.  That was against a rising young star (like so many others before him) named Clyde “The Hellhound” Stupar.  Tonight, I would meet the Hellhound again.

         I arrived at the Gym and met with my trainers.  They were already waiting for me like they always have.  I can’t say enough for the two of them.  They have taught me everything that I know.  And they did it without looking for any celebrity status or personal gain.  They are like brothers to me. 

         Javier Remosa, a black belt in Ju-Jitsu.  He grew up in the jungles of the Amazon before coming to America to live with distant relatives.  As the MMA sport started to thrive, so did he.  He is seen as the top trainer in the business and has been for well over thirty years.  He has been my hero.  The man is pushing seventy, but you would never know it to look at him.  He stands at about five feet ten inches tall and about one hundred and eighty pounds.  He is very well built, with legs that are as solid as tree trunks.  He shaves his head bald and is very soft spoken.  I don’t think I’ve ever heard him raise his voice. This is the man that I tried to model myself after.  I hope that I have made him proud.

         The other is Jasper Morris, a former Marine and my strength and conditioning coach.  Jasper and I had met when we were both local carpenters, after he had fulfilled his military obligation.  He is a fiery, stout, bulldog of a man.  He actually introduced me to the sport.  Shortly after showing me a few fights, we started to work out together.  He saw the potential in me to compete, and pushed me to get where I am now.  He planted the seed, so to speak.  He is a great friend and has never been more than a phone call away.

         I throw down my equipment bag and say good morning, bowing to Javier.

         “Ok, what are we working on today?” asks Jasper, getting right down to business.

         “Well, I did my cardio this morning, so maybe a small workout.  I don’t want to burn out.”

         “I think that we should look at more tape,” says Javier, in his whisper-like voice. 

         “More tape?” says Jasper, who would much rather work out than sit in front of a TV watching previous fights of the Hellhound.

         “You forget that he should not have won the last fight,” says Javier, giving both of us a stern look.  It stings my pride, but it is the truth.

         “Ok, let’s watch the tapes.  I need to know him inside and out.  I’ve got to try and end it.  Submit him if I can.  If it goes five rounds to a decision again, I’m in trouble.  I never thought anyone could outlast me, but this guy is like a machine.”

         “”Yes, a submission is vital.  If you stand up with him and trade punch for punch, it is to his advantage.  You need to get him on the ground.  Use your wrestling skills.  You are better on the ground.”

         This was true.  I was a state champion wrestler in high school.  I also outweigh the Hellhound by almost twenty pounds.  My big disadvantage was his reach.  I stand six foot four, but he stands almost six foot nine.  He is very tall and very lean, but his punches definitely hurt me last time.

         “You have the better Ju-Jitsu.  Use it,” Javier continued.



********



         It was almost time.  The three of us were sitting in my dressing room in the Arena, waiting for a fight to finish.  I was next.  My final fight.  I was nervous.  I was pacing the small room, curling and uncurling my taped hands in and out of fists.  Only two things ran through my head:  Number one, the Hellhound is very impressive, which I already knew.  Number two, if I was going to defeat him, I would have to look for a submission.  This would be no easy task.  The two hours of watching tape revealed as much.

         There was a knock at the door and an official wearing a head set popped his head inside the room.  “You guys are up.”

         “Already?” asked Jasper in a shocked voice.  “Didn’t this fight just start?”

         “Knock out twenty one seconds into round one,” said the official as he left and closed the door behind him.

         Jasper stood up, and walked to where I was.  He didn’t say a word, and he didn’t have to.  I stood up and put my hands out in front of me.  He slid the thick, black leather fighting gloves down my hands and started to tape them in place.  These aren’t like boxing gloves.  The thick leather part covers my knuckles, while my fingers are exposed at the end, like biker’s gloves. 

         He secures them in place and I turn away to stand in front of the mirror.  I have done this routine before every fight that I have ever been in.  I look at my reflection, asking it, “Do you have what it takes?”  Tonight, I see an older face.  Wrinkles just starting to form at the corner of my eyes, white scars placed randomly throughout my face, a nose that is in its fourth different position, cauliflower ears on both sides, almost completely covering the ear canals.  Lastly, I see the fire in my eyes.  “Yes, I still have it in me,” I think to myself as I nod my head and let out a roar.

         I turn from the mirror, fling the door open and make my way to the hallway that will lead out to the Octagon.  Javier and Jasper are at my flanks, the adrenaline flowing through all of us.  I can hear the announcer getting ready to introduce me.  The lights are turned down in the Arena.  I can feel the entire place shaking with the cheers from the fans.  I have never heard a place as loud as this.  Jasper leans up into my ear and says something to the effect of, “They are here to see you!  Don’t let them down!”  He yells it, and I still have trouble hearing him.

         A spotlight turns on and shines down to engulf me and my entourage as we make out way to the Octagon, an eight sided steel cage.  Fans are reaching over the barriers on both sides to touch me.  I stop beside the cage, and the referee checks my mouth piece, gloves, and cup.  Javier is smearing Vaseline on my face.  I’m ready to go.  I enter the Octagon and make a running lap around it once.  The fans are getting louder.  Is that even possible?  I think I can feel the Octagon vibrating from the noise.

         Then, just when it is at its loudest, the noise dies down and erupts with “Boos”.  Here comes the Hellhound.  I watch him as he slowly walks down the aisle.  He looks bigger than his listed weight of two hundred and thirty pounds.  He has a look of pure hate on his face as he stares at me.  I am giving him the same look in return.  This is all part of the sport.  You cannot let anyone know that you are intimidated.  I’d be lying if I said that I’m not.

          I could hear Jasper yelling my name from outside of the cage behind me.  I turn to look at him and Javier jumps up onto the outside.  I move closer to hear him, and focus on his mouth to try and read his lips.  He says, “The pressure is on him.  He is the one that has to beat someone that has not ever been beaten.  Be patient, when the time is right, go for it.”  That’s why I love that old man; he knows exactly what to say, and when to say it.

         I turn back around, and the Hellhound is on his side of the cage.  The referee is standing in the middle and motioning both of us to come to him.  We stand nose to nose, each of us showing that we do not fear the other.  The ref gives his speech about a clean, fair fight, and then we touch gloves and go back to our corners.  I’m sure that the Arena is reaching its peak noise level, but I am oblivious to it.  I am focused on the Hound.  The ref asks each of us if we are ready, and then waves his arm signaling the beginning of the first round.

         The Hound wastes no time.  He throws two quick jabs, which I dodge and then distance myself. He comes at me again, this time faking a jab and throwing a wild, undisciplined right hook that doesn’t connect.  He’s trying to end it quick.  He wants to be the guy who dethroned the King.  No way, not tonight.

           We circled around each other.  He throws a few more punches hear and there.  I manage to deflect most of them or move completely out of the way.  He’s getting frustrated.  He’s pressing, and I keep backing away and then circling around so that I am not pressed up against the cage.  He moves to come in again, and this time I throw a right hook.  But, before it connects, he counters with a hook of his own and it gets through my defense.  He hits me right near the temple.  I’m rocked.  My knees buckle and I stumble backward a little.  My world is spinning and I have a ringing in my ear.  I am having a tough time finding my balance, but I keep my hands up near my face to block anymore punches.  The Hound is on me in an instant, smelling blood and closing in for the kill.  I fall to the ground and he follows me.  He is on top of me, but I have my legs wrapped around his waist, and I am holding his arms.  This is the time that I take to recover.

         My head is starting to clear, and I start to think about how to advance this position.  I have him in what is called the Full Guard.  This is the basic ground defensive position.  He can do damage from here, but not enough to truly hurt me.  Or so I think.  He gets his right hand free, and lands a brutal punch on my forehead.  I take a couple more smaller punches before getting control of his arm again.  I can feel blood pouring into my eyes. 

          My forehead is basically a heap of scar tissue.  It breaks open very easily and bleeds profusely.  It doesn’t hurt and probably won’t need stitches, but it is impairing my vision.  This poses a problem.  The ref can call a timeout and have a ringside doctor evaluate me.  That doctor can end the fight due to injury.  I know that this can happen any minute.  I can barely see at all through all of the blood.  I can feel the Hound struggling to get his arms free so that he can lay into me with them.  This is when he makes a mistake.  Even though I can’t see it, I can feel it.

         He was attempting to stand up and pull his arms free.  I move my hips toward his body and raise my legs up.  I tighten my hold on his arms, pulling him closer to me.  And then I make my move.  I swing my right leg over his shoulder, and in front of his face, while, at the same time, grabbing his right arm so that his elbow is against my chest.  To finish, I hook my left ankle over my right and pull with all of my strength on his arm, making his arm bend backwards.  He taps  my thigh with his left hand, signaling that he gives up before I break his arm.  I let go.  It’s over.

         As he rolls off of me, I lay on the bloodstained mat briefly.  I can feel a throbbing in my head where I am cut, and a stinging sensation from the sweat trickling into the gash.  I wipe my eyes with the back of my gloves.  Javier is by my side now, wiping the blood from my face.  I can hear the fans now, chanting, “King!  King!”.  They all believed in me, my trainers and family believed in me, and I believed in myself.  I open my eyes and smile, tears of joy trickling down my cheek.

         Jasper helps me up, and the Hound walks over to me.  I can see the look of disappointment on his face.  He embraces me and says something that I can’t quite understand through the cheering, but I know it’s a congratulation of some kind.  He lets go, takes a step back, and bows, which I return in kind.  We both respect each other in this brutal game.  For fighters, that is what it boils down to.  Respect for each other, and respect for the sport.



********



         I can see lights still on through the windows.  I walk up the steps, training bag slung over my shoulder, and open the door.  Gloria is standing near the couch waiting for me.  I step through the threshold and close the door.  She walks to me and takes hold of both of my hands, looking up into my eyes.

         “I won.”

         “I know.  Javier called me a little while ago.  He didn’t tell me about this, though,” she says as she points to my freshly stitched temple.

         “Just a little cut.  I’ve had much worse.”

         “Yes, you have.  But this is the last one, right.”

         “Right.  No matter how much money is offered, I’m done.”

         She kisses me then, softly on the cheek.  “I love you, Christopher.  Now let’s go to bed.”

         I follow her up the stairs, and pause at the top.  Gloria looks at me and raises her eyebrows.  I hold up one finger signaling that I will follow in a minute.  She heads to the bedroom and I go in the opposite direction.  I go into Kevin and Lizzy’s rooms, one at a time.  It is the same scene in each.  Both kids are completely asleep.  I tuck each one in and kiss them on the forehead, before whispering to them that I love them, and close the door.

         Tomorrow starts a new day in the life of Chris Rogers.  The days of training for my next fight are over.  Javier and Jasper can take care of the gym. Gloria can stop worrying, and my kids can grow up with Dad always at their side, and I can live happy, knowing that I have fulfilled my goal of being the most successful fighter in MMA history.