Battling Boxing Stories. C. J. Henderson

of solid punches to the body from Adams so he could land one of his own to the other fighter’s nose. Blood sprayed out over the crowd and I knew Adams wouldn’t try that again.

      At the end of the eighth round Bobby was slow as he came back to the corner. “It’s close,” I told him. “He’s not looking good. He’s slowed. He’s more tired than you. The bleeding from his nose won’t stop, you busted it up real good. He’s going have to take you out if he wants that title rematch. You can’t afford to cover up. But neither can he. He’s going to have to stop protecting his nose and punch. I want you to counter with straight lefts and rights to the center of his face. Something will hit his nose. Then hook him with both hands. Can you give me a four punch combo? Can you do that?” I was yelling at him. “You can win this fight now, in this round, but you’ve got to go all out. He’s not going to quit, you’re going have to take him out. Four punches! Four fucking punches!” I held four fingers up in front of his face.

      He nodded at me and smiled. I couldn’t believe it. The kid had been in the fight of his life, had taken a terrific beating in the middle rounds and he was smiling at me. I had to smile back. The kid sure had a lot of heart.

      The bell rang and I hauled him off of the stool, practically shoving him out into the ring. In Adams’s corner, they were doing the same thing to their man. His massive shoulders were slumped and the blue of his boxing shorts was streaked with smears of wet blood. He was moving away from Bobby who was tried to cut the ring off and corner him.

      “Oh, shit!” Jimmy yelled behind me.

      I turned. He was pointing out into the seats, to the aisle where Bimmy was leading Mrs. Adams and the two kids back to their seats.

      “Stop them before Bobby’s sees them.”

      Jimmy jumped off the ring apron and went over to a vendor hawking beer to the crowd. He grabbed a large container and ran up the aisle and threw the foamy liquid in the Adams woman’s face.

      “You sonofabitch,” Bimmy shouted while taking a swing at Jimmy. Mrs. Adams was wiping away the beer from her face while trying to kick Jimmy at the same time. The two kids started crying and I could see a mass of uniformed security rushing down the aisle toward the melee. Jimmy counterpunched Bimmy and then rammed his shoulder into him, sending him back into Mrs. Adams who fell down in the aisle with Bimmy landing on top of her.

      The cops were all over of them, dragging Jimmy, Mrs. Adams, Bimmy and the two kids back up the aisle and out of the arena. Mrs. Adams, thoroughly infuriated by her dousing with beer, kept trying to reach over one of the cops to punch Jimmy, all the while screaming profanities that had the crowd laughing.

      In the ring, Bobby was on his toes throwing straight lefts and right like I had told him. Adams must have heard his wife screaming, he was distracted for a moment and Bobby came down off of his toes, using a flat-footed stance to muster all the power he could in ripping two solid left hooks to the body. He tried following upstairs but Adams was kept his right glove high, protecting his nose.

      Bobby was back on his toes, circling, then suddenly went flat footed again and threw another hook to the liver and followed with another hook to the head that again landed on Adam’s glove. Adams tried jabbing to keep Bobby away but the jabs were tired, half-hearted and Bobby slipped around them as he had McCarthy’s. I could see Adam’s right side clearly now, there was sickly bulge like a thin inner tube protruding between a couple of swollen ribs.

      “Four punches,” I yelled at Bobby. “Give me four punches.” The kid had the heart to do it, I just knew it.

      Bobby had the angle and threw a left hook around the right jab, the solid noise booming through the auditorium, causing the crowd to gasp. Adams hunched over and Bobby glided two steps the other way and threw two right hooks to the liver. This time, Adams’s left glove moved down in automatic response to the pain and Bobby threw another right hook that smashed Adams’s nose against his cheekbone. Adams dropped to the floor, bent over, choking on his blood. He spit out his mouthpiece as the ref stood over him waving his arms that the fight was over.

      I ran over to Bobby and lifted hum up in the air. “You did it kid, you’ve got more heart than any fighter I’ve worked with.”

      He was laughing. “Five. I gave you five.”

      “What?”

      “You asked me for four more punches, I gave you five.”

      I started laughing too. “Like I said, you’ve got heart.”

      Harry was in the ring now, rushing over and pumping Bobby’s hand. “The crowd loves you,” he said. “You won them over.”

      Bob Arum was right behind Harry, shaking Bobby’s hand. “Great fight, kid. You got a lot of heart.” A broad smile was on his face. He turned to Harry. “Think your boy is ready for Margarito?”

      “Does he have any kids?” I asked. Bobby might just have a little too much heart.