My three rounds against Perry Williams. (A true story)

[Harry]

He was a tough, barrel chested man with slicked back grey hair and a handlebar mustache. He always wore a necklace with a pair of gold boxing gloves hanging from it and they rested on the collar of his blue wife-beater tank top. I only ever knew him as "Coach."

Coach had just finished fastening the chin strap on my head gear and was now busy smearing a dollop of Vaseline onto my nose and chin. He was giving me last minute instructions, reminding me to "keep your guard up and don't drop your right hand before you throw your jab!!" A bad habit that was about to cost me...

My hands were tightly wrapped into a pair of old, sweat soaked 16 ounce boxing gloves. I still remember how heavy they were and how tiny they made my wrists look.

I was a 19 year old kid looking for a real opportunity to face my fear. This was it.

There was no question. I felt the fear. It was coursing through my body. But it was mixed with a surge of adrenalin and a strange, almost giddy excitement!

I stepped into the ring. My left leg over the second rope, my head under the top rope. My stomach felt queasy and my legs rubbery.

Across the ring was the opponent that Coach had chosen. His name was Perry Williams. At about 5' 10" he was shorter than me, but built like a brawler, with shoulders that kept making me think of duck pin bowling balls. They were almost perfectly round.

He had shoulder length blond hair which he wore in a mullet that splayed out from the back of his head gear. His forearms and legs were thick and hairy. He looked like the Minnesota Vikings logo minus the horns.

It has now been almost twenty years since I faced Perry. But I still remember his missing front tooth and the crucifix that he wore on a silver chain around his neck.

I had watched him box before and although his boxing skills were about equal to mine, he was a hard, solid puncher and could take some shots as well.

We met in the middle of the ring. I looked at him and tried to show him nothing in my eyes.

His bright blue stare was intense and the corner of his mouth twitched just a bit. He could have been a little bit scared, or a lot psychotic. I didn't know.

Coach was in the ring giving us instructions. But I can't really remember what he said.

We touched gloves and moved back to our corners, waiting for the bell.

Coach struck the ball peen hammer against the old bell twice "BING BING!"

In a boxing match, as in a street fight, it's the first punch that takes the longest to throw. And Perry and I spent the first few seconds going back and forth, nervously bluffing with our fists.

As a lefty, my plan was to throw my right jab and then following it up with a straight left hand. I had knocked a guy out and off of his feet one time with my left in a high school parking lot fight so I knew that it was my power punch.

I dropped my right hand slightly and Perry seized on my mistake by throwing *his* right first. WAM!! He punched me straight in my teeth!

I knew what had just happened, but it took a second for my brain to fully comprehend it. It didn't hurt at the time, but it startled the hell out of me! I couldn't believe that he had just punched me in the mouth!!

Mike Tyson once said "everyone has a plan, until they get hit." And at that moment, I completely understood what he meant. In an instant, all of my fear had been replaced by what I can only describe as a primal rage. My sympathetic nervous system had chosen fight over flight and I let both hands go in a fury. This was no longer a "sweet science." This was a fight.

I threw punch after punch at the source of Perry's sweaty mullet without any thought of defensive strategy. Perry put both hands in front of his face and ducked his head down.

When I was a kid, my older brother and his friend Scott used to get us younger guys to fight one another (mostly for their entertainment). We would all meet at Scott's side yard where we would cover our hands with layer upon layer of gym socks and then slug it out as Scott kept kept track of our one minute rounds with an egg timer.

One time I had fought a kid named Joey Maloney. Joey was a really mouthy kid and always had something to say on the school bus.... (You know the type).

He had been taunting me for weeks because he had gotten the best of me one day on the side yard *after* I had just taken a thrashing from Scott, who was four years my senior and much bigger and stronger.

I had had enough of Joey's mouth so I challenged him to an after school battle. We layered on the socks over top of our winter gloves and went at it in the snow as Scott kept time with his wrist watch.

I was in command from the start and peppering Joey's head as he went into his defensive position.... But then I got careless and dropped my guard. That's when Joey blindly threw a right hand that caught me just below my left eye. It HURT!

I started swinging wildly! I caught Joey (who was still in a tuck) with the most perfect uppercut that a 10 year old boy in my neighborhood had ever thrown. It went between his forearms and directly into his nose.

I remember the popping sound his nose made just before the blood began to flow. Joey cried out in shock and within seconds was on his knees smashing handfuls of bloody snow against his nose to stop the bleeding.

He didn't have much to say to me on the bus after that and I didn't gloat. I didn't need to.

It was as if that winter day was happening all over again. Joey Maloney had become Perry Williams. The difference was that Perry didn't give up. *He* punched back. And he punched me hard, landing combinations to both sides of my head and directly in the middle.

After what seemed like an hour, the bell rang and I returned to my corner completely exhausted. Perry's first punch had sent my mandible straight back into my throat and I was certain that he had broken my jaw. At some point during that first two minutes, he had caught me in the nose. It was now swollen and I could taste the metallic blood as it dripped into my mouth.

I was gasping for air as the bell rang to start the second round. We squared off again and both of us were throwing sloppy punches at one another. Only now with a lot less zeal.

I had landed some solid blows to Perry's face in the first round, but he didn't have a mark on him! He was tough. But he also looked tired and was clearly winded.

My rage now gone, I tried to move around the ring a little bit, stepping laterally to my right. I felt like I had no strength left and the gloves had become waterlogged boulders which I could barely keep above my waist.

I noticed that I had managed to punch Perry's headgear out of position and one of his eyes was now covered by it. When he tried to straighten it out, I snuck in a few decent jabs to his head.

Back in my corner, I didn't know how I was going to make it for another two minutes. My chest was heaving and my neck could barely support the weight of the soggy headgear.

Round three began and we touched gloves. There now seemed to be an unspoken understanding between Perry and I; you don't really hit me and I won't really hit you and hopefully we'll both still be standing in 120 seconds.

I was so glad when it was over. I flopped onto my metal chair and coach took off my headgear and gloves.

When I stood back up, my legs were weak and although unbroken, my jaw was throbbing with pain. Coach wiped some of the blood from my nose and lip and I slowly walked to the center of the ring to meet Perry.

The bridge of his nose was a little puffy and red, but his face looked a hell of a lot better than mine did. Damn it.

We exchanged a quick hug, slapped each other's backs and then Perry, with what I can only describe as a look of astonishment, said
"MAN. You hit like a JACKHAMMER!"

My nose was bleeding, my jaw was bruised, my left front tooth was now dead, but I still grinned from ear to ear at his words.

I only boxed one time after that. It was just too tough. But to this day, I think that that is the greatest compliment that I have ever received.

[DSKYZD]

Excellent in every way!

[Harry]

Thank you!

[Capt. Blackadder]

Great story Harry, thanks!

[Boxer]

You know, I think this is just about one of the coolest things we've had on this board....

And I love it! A story about a boxer on a boxer forum.
Thanks Harry.

[Harry]

Kind words, Phil. But I do NOT (nor did I ever) consider myself a boxer.
I just wanted to do something that I was afraid to do.

I think that I sparred a total of six or seven times at that gym. That was about it.

It was funny because the former middle weight champion of the world Simon Brown used to train at the same place. He drove this nice, black Jeep Cherokee with little gold (there seems to be a theme here) boxing gloves painted on the back.

He would show up with two other guys; one guy would continuously spray him down with a water bottle and the other would carry his HUGE boom box (remember, this was the 80's) around blasting Reggae music. As far as I could tell, the guys only other job was to pump up Simon's speed bag every few minutes.

When *we* were sparring, Simon would just look at us and shake his head, wondering what in the hell we were doing stinkin' up his gym.

I was never cut out to be a fighter (not even close) and I've certainly gotten my ass kicked a few times as well.

But pretending to be a boxer for that little while sure was exciting!

Cheers,
Harry

[Biff's R]

At first I thought you were talking about William Perry.

[DJ Downunder]

I was waiting for the punch line.

Sorry..

Great write up Harry.

DJ