John's Bout
In the year since the youth center had received the table from a community benefactor, no single
team dominated the competition. Rather, the fortunes of any one given team were cyclical. A
team may reign as champs for a while, get beat by a challenger, then start the long trek to claim
the title of "best fussball team." These honors are the most fleeting being always subject to
challenge. Finding themselves on top, the team would defend against all challengers, trying to
hold off the inevitable as long as possible. The teams were surprisingly stable, once they formed
they stayed together until one or another of the boys on the team quit coming to the center.
The team of Tim, John, and Charlie had held the title of fussball champions for short periods of
time. More often than not, they were the challengers, trying to beat the current title holders.
John and his compatriots would not be playing too well of late. The three boys found themselves
busy with all the activities that come with the beginning of the school year. Tim was out for
Frosh/Soph football, Charlie trained hard for cross-country, and John competed on the youth
center's boxing team. After a summer of training, the Fall local club fights leading up to the Jr.
Olympic bouts had started. In fact, they only had time for one quick game tonight since John had
to spend most of the evening training for an upcoming bout. Since the coach had not yet arrived
to open the gym, John decided he had time for one game. That is, if the table became vacant in
the next few minutes and no one else was waiting to play.
"Hey John," Charlie called from somewhere inside the crowd, "come on over."
Navigating a path thorough the crowd of teens milling around, John joined his friend. What's
going on? You have the table next or are you just waiting around?"
"No on both accounts," Charlie answered. "Just hanging out, checking out the competition, and
the scenery," he indicating the team currently dominating the table and the girls milling around as
part of the onlookers. "These guys are good."
"We could take them with a little practice. Remember when we beat them last year? It took 'em
three weeks to finally beat us. The old ladies from Sunshine Manor across the street could beat
these clowns."
"I really don't think so," Charlie questioned. "They really are good. Must have rigged the table
or threatened to punch out the first team that beat them. I don't think they have lost in over a
week."
"I still say we could beat them if we tried," John responded a little annoyed at his friends lack of
confidence.
"That's the problem. We haven't been trying lately. With as crowded as the table is, and with all
I'm doing this year, I'm lucky to get a game or two in a week's time. Of course, we always could
go over and play at the bowling alley," the boy suggested.
"Sure, and at fifty cents a game I'd be broke by the third or fourth game and be forced into a life
of crime Coke machines to fuel my fussball habit," John chuckled.
"You got time for a game tonight?" Charlie queried. "Cause if you do I hear Carl is looking to
beat you at anything because of that little incident in the weight room."
"I was hoping to get in a quick game before my workout, but not with that jerk. Playing him is
no fun. If you win, he accuses you of cheating, and if you lose, he doesn't let you forget it. I'd
rather take summer school English with Mrs. Cesta than play a single game with him." After a
pause John added, "he wouldn't know what a friend was if he had one."
"I don't think he wants any," Charlie surmised, "what he wants is respect. I think that's why he
learned to box. If he can have any friends, he can at least threaten the weak and scare them into
fearing him."
"Yeah," John agreed, "but he knows that I'm not intimidated by him because we have sparred
before. He may be a bit better than me, but not by much. So, He tried to get at me in other ways.
He knows I won't fight him outside the ring because we'd both be thrown off the boxing team if
we did. But, if that turkey tell one more person that I'm a lousy boxer or that I'm a coward, I
may punch him out."
"He wants you off the team, that's for sure," Charlie agreed. If he can get you thrown off the
squad for whatever reason, if will just increase his control over those he tries to bully. Why don't
you go to the coach and explain it to him. Tell him its either you or Carl. Hell, you know that he
would dump that loudmouth off the team in a matter of seconds if he had a reason."
"Not my style," John replied, "besides you don't give coach an ultimatum. He's liable to tell you
not to let the door hit you in the butt on the way out. Besides, Carl would claim that I got him
thrown off the team because I could never beat him. He'd still be talking trash about me. I guess
we will settle it in or out of the ring, sooner or later," John sighed.
He wasn't afraid of the other boy. The team meant everything to him and the thought of not
being a part of it was a condition that he really didn't want to thin about. Still, the situation was
like one of those really corny sports stories he used to read as a kid. The showdown was coming
with the bad guy, and while it could be postponed, it couldn't be avoided. But, he was learning
life wasn't like those simple paperbacks that had held his attention just a few years before. He
wasn't quite as confident in his own ability as the hero in the books always seemed to be. He
wasn't sure that good would triumph unless good was packing a quick left-right combination. He
knew that not believing that I'm the best of the two fighters in the ring could be the difference
between winning and losing in the bout.
"It may be sooner," Charlie predicted. "He's looking for you, he doesn't like what happened last
night. Watch your six and don't let him come out of the sun at you!"
John was amazed at how quickly Charlie incorporated phrases from movies into his speech. Just
a few days before, he had heard the expression in a movie about two fighter pilots during World
War II. It meant to be aware of what was going on behind you, lest the enemy fighter pilot sneak
up from behind or come out of the glare of the sun where they would not be seen until it was too
late. Funny, his grandfather had fought in the conflict as a Marine when he was just a few years
older than John was now. John remembered his grandmother complaining that the war was all his
grandfather and his friends talked about when they got together. He recalled that his grandfather
always seemed larger than life when he told the stories of landing on those South Pacific Islands.
The esteem with which he held his grandfather wasn't diminished when the old man confided in
the boy, "I wasn't a hero. I was just a guy, like thousands of others, who just did a job that
needed to be done. And I was scared most of the time I was doing it." It seemed that whenever
grandpa came home from the veteran's meeting he bore the news that one or another of the men
had died. He quickly put out of his mind the thought that his grandpa would not always be
around.
"Yeah, thanks for the warning, I'll 'watch my six' and you cover me just like a good wingman
should." There was a moment of silence as Charlie realized that his best friend had given him a
great complement. They were partners.
"I've got to start my workout, my next bout is in a couple of weeks. Since I won my first bout
last month, I really want to win my next one. You want to hang out in the gym while I do my
workout? I could use the company, besides, you might learn something."
"It not likely a skill I can use on the cross country trail," Charlie protested but quickly added,
"yeah, I'll come up. I always wonder why you train so hard. Aren't you afraid you might get
slaughtered?"
"No chance," John said with just a touch of bravado, "no chance."
"That," Charlie said with a bit of self-deprication, "is what I said as the other team's runners
passed me in the dual meet yesterday."
"Is that what happened, I guess you weren't 'watching your six.'" John grinned at his friend. The
few boys that did pass Charlie on the 3 mile run were upperclassmen, two or three years older
than the freshman runner. Charlie was a natural runner that the coach was expecting great things
from over the next few years.
"I'll be up in a few seconds," Charlie said. He was all of a sudden distracted. John soon saw
why. Carol, a girl from their homeroom had come into the center surrounded by a gaggle of her
girlfriends. "I want to go say 'hi' to Carol and make sure everything is cool for the dance at
school next Saturday."
"O.K. By the way, why do you always whimper like a newborne puppy whenever you see her?"
"That, my friend, is not a whimper," Carlie corrected, "it is a growl, the love wolf is on the
prowl."
John was going to say something, but thought the better of it and decided to just let it slide and
leave before Charlie started howling for effect. He was aware that every minute he spent talking
was a minute less that he would be able to work out. He walked down the hallway to the door
marked "Boys Locker Room." It had the antiseptic smell that results when you have a custodian
who believes that one can never use too much Pine Sol when cleaning floors, urinals, and the
shower room. He quickly changed into a pair of navy blue cotton sweat pants and an old grey t-shirt that his grandmother had salvaged from the racks of the nearby Goodwill Industry Store.
Both were clean and intact, if a little faded.