Prologue
'He was a quiet man. Well reserved, for a foreigner. But I do often wonder...I mean, what they say about people. The devil with two faces?'
Henry touched his broken tooth and shook his head. He had wanted to say more than that.
'Son,' Brian turned the page of his newspaper. 'When you are dead and buried, your name will live on. But you should understand...a name is mortal too. It just has more time. Give it that time, and you can be sure it will dissapear too.'
Henry wasn't quite sure what he had meant. It didn't register with him to think it through. He was tired, he was hungry. He had just been to a funeral.
Outside, there was a sun stewing just over the hills. He figured it ironic, that the village should experience its finest weather on the day its favourite son was put to rest.
'Brian,' Henry turned. 'Do you ever wonder why a man works so hard to be remembered, only to be forgotten?'
This time Brian closed the newspaper.
'Henry, I am going to show you something.'
The sun covered the Welsh hillsides in glow. Somewhere out there, another man was dieing.
'It was the gloves,' he smiled, 'it had to have been the gloves.'
Enzo Calzaghe took a dusty pair of boxing gloves from the top shelf. An aged glazing spelled the words 'Marciano'.
'These are boxin' gloves, boy,' Enzo grew red in the cheeks. 'Fackin' Marciano had these when he knocked out Archie Moore. Yankee Stadium.'
'So.' Joe turned the page of his magazine. It was a sticker collection. Rows and rows of glossy premier league football players crammed the pages.
'So,' Enzo grabbed the magazine and tossed it into the corner, 'so I don't want you reading that shite!'
Joe lifted his head slowly, his hands were still clutching an invisble magazine.
'Hey, you want me to box, I'll box when I want,' Joe stood up. The two of them met eye to eye for a moment. Father and son. Then, Joe walked across the gym and lifted his magazine out of the pile of skipping ropes.
'Fackin box TO-FACKIN-DAY!' Enzo growled.
Joe put one hand on the door and turned to his father.
'You box today,' he grinned and went out into the open air.
:rofl: keep them coming
'It was the gloves,' he smiled, 'it had to have been the gloves.'
Enzo Calzaghe took a dusty pair of boxing gloves from the top shelf. An aged glazing spelled the words 'Marciano'.
'These are boxin' gloves, boy,' Enzo grew red in the cheeks. 'Fackin' Marciano had these when he knocked out Archie Moore. Yankee Stadium.'
'So.' Joe turned the page of his magazine. It was a sticker collection. Rows and rows of glossy premier league football players crammed the pages.
'So,' Enzo grabbed the magazine and tossed it into the corner, 'so I don't want you reading that shite!'
Joe lifted his head slowly, his hands were still clutching an invisble magazine.
'Hey, you want me to box, I'll box when I want,' Joe stood up. The two of them met eye to eye for a moment. Father and son. Then, Joe walked across the gym and lifted his magazine out of the pile of skipping ropes.
'Fackin box TO-FACKIN-DAY!' Enzo growled.
Joe put one hand on the door and turned to his father.
'You box today,' he grinned and went out into the open air.
I literally laughed out loud hard enough to attract funny looks in the office.
:rofl::rofl::rofl::rofl:
'It was the gloves,' he smiled, 'it had to have been the gloves.'
Enzo Calzaghe took a dusty pair of boxing gloves from the top shelf. An aged glazing spelled the words 'Marciano'.
'These are boxin' gloves, boy,' Enzo grew red in the cheeks. 'Fackin' Marciano had these when he knocked out Archie Moore. Yankee Stadium.'
'So.' Joe turned the page of his magazine. It was a sticker collection. Rows and rows of glossy premier league football players crammed the pages.
'So,' Enzo grabbed the magazine and tossed it into the corner, 'so I don't want you reading that shite!'
Joe lifted his head slowly, his hands were still clutching an invisble magazine.
'Hey, you want me to box, I'll box when I want,' Joe stood up. The two of them met eye to eye for a moment. Father and son. Then, Joe walked across the gym and lifted his magazine out of the pile of skipping ropes.
'Fackin box TO-FACKIN-DAY!' Enzo growled.
Joe put one hand on the door and turned to his father.
'You box today,' he grinned and went out into the open air.
An excerpt from the exciting new story 'Joe Calzaghe and the Chamber of Secrets'. It's going to be P4P Number 1 for boxing books.
lol.
what next floyd mayweather and the philosophers stone..
i get it......
from what little gem did that come from??
An excerpt from the exciting new story 'Joe Calzaghe and the Chamber of Secrets'. It's going to be P4P Number 1 for boxing books.
Prologue
'He was a quiet man. Well reserved, for a foreigner. But I do often wonder...I mean, what they say about people. The devil with two faces?'
Henry touched his broken tooth and shook his head. He had wanted to say more than that.
'Son,' Brian turned the page of his newspaper. 'When you are dead and buried, your name will live on. But you should understand...a name is mortal too. It just has more time. Give it that time, and you can be sure it will dissapear too.'
Henry wasn't quite sure what he had meant. It didn't register with him to think it through. He was tired, he was hungry. He had just been to a funeral.
Outside, there was a sun stewing just over the hills. He figured it ironic, that the village should experience its finest weather on the day its favourite son was put to rest.
'Brian,' Henry turned. 'Do you ever wonder why a man works so hard to be remembered, only to be forgotten?'
This time Brian closed the newspaper.
'Henry, I am going to show you something.'
The sun covered the Welsh hillsides in glow. Somewhere out there, another man was dieing.
from what little gem did that come from??