Round One: In God I Trust (309 hits)
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Submitted by BillyGoat (View user info) at 2008-04-08 07:32:17 EDT
So this is it. This is what I have fought for, for close to two years and here I am in front of my home crowd ready for the bout.
Sitting a few feet away are my family. They have been placed right at the front, to the left of the commentators, who are feverishly reeling out the statistics to the cameramen.
Dad, as always, having come from a family were outpourings of emotion are frowned upon- sits dignified on his chair, staring up at me his son as I jog on the spot geeing myself up for the fight. He never grins- come to think about it- I have never seen him grin- but has a slight upturn on his upper lip which indicates that he approves. Unlike my brothers behind him, he doesn't whoop or cheer- because he isn't as westernised-well not to their extent anyway. So he sits like a nobleman, never wanting to crease the suit that he has proudly worn to every fight ever since I won the British title.
That shtick doesn't fool me and I know that Inwardly he's jumping for joy and I can see him taking side shots at the camera-no doubt to impress his friends who are watching on their television screens back home. He is saying look how good a set of balls I'm trousering. His crotch is in my line of vision-ew.
Mum, poor mum, ever the softy, holds on to dad, her head almost disappearing in his armpit. I sometimes wonder why she comes to my fights anyway, coz each punch seems to go straight through me and lend squarely in her heart. Poor mum, I'm glad she doesn't hold the white towel 'cause if she did, each fight would last less than a minute-not because I had won, but because she'd have forfeited on my behalf. I have a feeling one of these days; she'll get really scared and throw in her hijab instead. Crazy thought, but who knows, it might happen.
What's aunty Maj doing, whooping and cheering. That woman makes me laugh every time with her silly shenanigans. Someone tell her to sit down. Can't she see little Sandeep is practically hanging by the teeth on her tit? To think, she comes from the same womb as my dad, it's unthinkable- she is a firecracker, when she is enjoying herself-everyone has to know. But I love my aunt; she has supported me all through my career. While most of my peer group were off to university or job hunting- she stood firmly by me saying that Allah had given me this talent and wasting it would be an insult to Him. I've always kept this in mind and just seeing her beaming smile and un-ashamed enthusiasm makes me want this more than anything. I am prepared to get cut-up for this woman and when I reap the rewards she'll be first to eat off my success.
I rose through the ranks very vast. Very fast in deed and part of that was due to the support of my family and the nation. After netting silver at the last Olympics, things began progressing, Suddenly I was the nations favourite son cited in the same league as the other greats that had graced the sport even though I was still a teenager.
Curious country this, they build you up to be legend before you have peaked. It must be our collective desperation to have an icon, so we latch onto anyone who has a modicum of talent. I don't know man maybe it stems from an inadequacy to produce plausible talent in the face of all the money being spent on various youth start up programs. But I'm not complaining because it's that desperation that spurred me on to achieve so that whether I like it or not... I have become the icon and crowds will pay through the nose to see me.
The crowd is restless. They want to see their local boy in action, so they can forever say: he came from home my time. Just as every one of us goes a bit giddy when we suddenly realise that a celebrity (no matter how insignificant) comes from our little hometown. They wanna show the whole world that they are in full support- a show of unity among a crowd so racially diverse. A picture of modern Britain where the leading icon is not a 'cockney geeeez-uh' from the East End, but an Asian kid from 'ooop' North.
In the midst of the crowd is my promoter. Old Frankie Boy himself. Flanked on each sides by his aides, like some sort of 40's brylcreem dandy . Only thing missing is the cigar to complete the look. He is smiling away, proud, like my father, admiring how his creation has risen to such great heights in such a short period of time. And having known Frank for so long, that smile is laced with knowledge that at the end of this fight there is a cheque guaranteeing 10% of the winnings. But I can't hold it against him; he'll always be welcome in my household. He took a punt and made sure my name circulated to the people that mattered. Locally, regionally, nationally and now if I win this fight-internationally. He, along with aunt Maj has been the cornerstone to my success.
I have brushed aside every amateur put in front of me, all too weak or slow to halt my run away train. Rising through the ranks, the opponents seized to be part-timers and became full time professionals- with menacing names designed to breed fear, but soon they found themselves on the same festering heap were I had dispatched previous contenders that had dared step onto my path.
I don't take any prisoners. 2 rounds max, that's it, that's all it takes and its game over. I'm always looking for that killer punch, the one that catches them unawares and sends them tumbling to the rope. Only to rebound once more onto my clenched fist, sending them crashing to the canvas while the referee contemplates calling for the paramedics. This has and always will be my style. Like a stealth bomber, I get in there, unload and leave before my opponent has known what hit them- that's how I like it. Quick and up to the point. No faffing about. I'm here to win.
That's what crosses my mind when this new contender emerges through the smoke to the drums of the east. They call him the Burmese Tiger-yet another moniker-when will such absurdities end? He walks at a leisurely pace towards the ring. His arms are held firmly across his chest, and he doesn't looks straight ahead into my eyes. Trust the East to be polite even in a fight.
He enters the ring and disrobes. The announcer introduces the referee who then proceeds to give us our final marching orders. One final look at my opponent and it's on.
We touch hands; the bell rings...the crowd cheers.
Round one.
User Reviews
Submitted by shadow (user info) at 2008-04-10 12:18:35 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
It wasn't all that bad. There were some grammar and word usage issues, and that's something that should be cleaned up, but it was a nice intro to a story.
I especially enjoyed the bits about the people who had gathered to watch him, his aunt, mother and father. That was a nice touch.
Submitted by TheGoat (user info) at 2008-04-09 20:25:35 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
to think i would write as good as Bickerstaff. pshh...this wasn't supposed to be a comparison piece..take it for what it is:a tale about a guy in the ring giving you titbits on how he got to where he is,trying to somehow calm himself down before the fight.
Submitted by orphelia (user info) at 2008-04-09 13:20:48 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Well I liked it :)
Submitted by haikumikoo (user info) at 2008-04-09 04:38:36 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
It takes very little effort to -2, I've been accused of expending energy to -2 before, this thought seems ridiculous to me.
Submitted by Berty (user info) at 2008-04-08 11:34:02 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
Nobody has done any fight fiction for ages because of the awesome bar set by Bickerstaff, but that was a fair old time ago. As a piece it's not in the same leauge, but then nothing is so that's okay.
As for the subject matter, well...
I'm not a boxing fan so I can't comment on any of the things you've said about Mr. Khan (or your representation of him) but there seems a certain lack of sincerity. A lack of identifiying the charachter from the information given about his home life. A boxer from the north from a fairly traditional asian family seems like he'd be less banal in his narrative manner.
Of course what would be EXTRA funny would be if I've said that and you're the actual Amir Khan, but the very idea of a famous person writing on Ubersite is so laughably absurd as to be worth any potential embarrasment.
In conclusion this story is very poor because it's boring, but it's a nice effort in a long neglected area of literacy and is a potential mine of compelling material.
Submitted by Brdn_Nkd (user info) at 2008-04-08 11:09:59 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I assume this is intended to be a series.... there was a lot of exposition here with very little action and does all of the character development have anything to do with the rest of the story? does dad's stoicism or aunties enthusiasm somehow have bearing later? if not it's unnecessary.
if you're bored this was my attempt at writing about a fighter. i was pretty happy with it except for a few minor things.
http://www.ubersite.com/m/111110
ultimately this wasn't horrible, helped me waste some time and seems to have potential to go further so +2 for you.
Submitted by EmissionImpossible (user info) at 2008-04-08 11:04:57 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
urgggh that was shit
Submitted by Ltap (user info) at 2008-04-08 10:53:00 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
I didn't like it.
Submitted by monkeyswithguns (user info) at 2008-04-08 09:10:58 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by sexualchocolate1984 (user info) at 2008-04-08 07:41:34 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
Do me a favour...
...Go fuck yourself.