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Life as a homeless man with poor vision was never easy. I could hardly see the pieces of change people chucked into my hat- never mind throwing and blocking punches for Christ sakes. But here I was, with no boxing training whatsoever, stepping in the ring as a professional fighter.
See, the opponent for this guy, this guy they called "Rockin' Billy Ray Cyrus (lookalike)" had pulled out at the last minute. The promoter had come out onto the street to look for a fill in. "Hey you!'' he yelled "Hey you! Bum over there with the wine bottle! Wanna make fifty bucks!"
"Well yeah I'm a ****ing hobo, what do I have to do?" I asked drunkenly
"Jump in the ring and box some fruit loop who thinks he's the next Marvin Hagler!, come on pal we're on in five minutes!" he grabbed me and had me gloved up and in shorts within minutes. I was five foot five and one hundred and twenty five pounds. At age 45.
"Man I'm gonna get hurt" I complained.
"Don't worry kid this guy can't fight for ****, he got knocked out by a mailman last month, and some guy fresh from over the border a week before that!"
I put my nerves aside as I hopped in the ring, I needed this fifty bucks to get another bottle of wine.
My opponent came to the ring, ranting and raving about throwing fists with anyone and being coached by James Toney. As the bell rang we moved to centre ring. I was blind drunk and I was basically legally blind anyway, so I couldn't see ****. I swung a haymaker, missed, and swung a left, felt it connect on something, and heard a thump. I think I must have knocked the son of a ***** out, I thought to myself. Better keep swinging just in case.
"8, 9, 10, you're out kid, why the hell do ya even bother anyway!"
I had won! What the ****! Oh well, back to the gutter where I was sitting ten minutes ago, but with a fresh bottle!
I heard the other kid babbling as I left the ring
"H-how did he knock me out I-I threw fists with the best of them I-I Sparred J-James T-Toney, I-"
"Look Rockin' this ain't your sport kid. And cut off that damn mullet you ain't Billy ray Cyrus for christ sakes!"
And thats the story of my first, and only, pro boxing match.
See, the opponent for this guy, this guy they called "Rockin' Billy Ray Cyrus (lookalike)" had pulled out at the last minute. The promoter had come out onto the street to look for a fill in. "Hey you!'' he yelled "Hey you! Bum over there with the wine bottle! Wanna make fifty bucks!"
"Well yeah I'm a ****ing hobo, what do I have to do?" I asked drunkenly
"Jump in the ring and box some fruit loop who thinks he's the next Marvin Hagler!, come on pal we're on in five minutes!" he grabbed me and had me gloved up and in shorts within minutes. I was five foot five and one hundred and twenty five pounds. At age 45.
"Man I'm gonna get hurt" I complained.
"Don't worry kid this guy can't fight for ****, he got knocked out by a mailman last month, and some guy fresh from over the border a week before that!"
I put my nerves aside as I hopped in the ring, I needed this fifty bucks to get another bottle of wine.
My opponent came to the ring, ranting and raving about throwing fists with anyone and being coached by James Toney. As the bell rang we moved to centre ring. I was blind drunk and I was basically legally blind anyway, so I couldn't see ****. I swung a haymaker, missed, and swung a left, felt it connect on something, and heard a thump. I think I must have knocked the son of a ***** out, I thought to myself. Better keep swinging just in case.
"8, 9, 10, you're out kid, why the hell do ya even bother anyway!"
I had won! What the ****! Oh well, back to the gutter where I was sitting ten minutes ago, but with a fresh bottle!
I heard the other kid babbling as I left the ring
"H-how did he knock me out I-I threw fists with the best of them I-I Sparred J-James T-Toney, I-"
"Look Rockin' this ain't your sport kid. And cut off that damn mullet you ain't Billy ray Cyrus for christ sakes!"
And thats the story of my first, and only, pro boxing match.
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