Boxing clever.
Like the times we’d all go down there. There’d be me, Barney the slim 5 ft 11 white dude from S London, with the machine gun combinations, Henry the 6ft 1 Nigerian Tommy Hearns look-a-like with the lightning left. Leon the 6 ft 3 Jewish corporate lawyer, who was always giving me concussion, and Rav the Asian kid from some place up North, with the dynamite left hook, the dazzling footwork and the single double and triple jabs that taught me always to keep my guard up. That’s when I learnt about life the hard way. Namely that what you saw on the television was nothing like reality. Coz your TV set, didn’t rough you up on the ropes, butt you in the jaw, dig you in the ribs or hit you in the gut during those wonderful sessions when you and your pals were plotted round some gaff Saturday night/early morning Sunday, feigning left and rights, and screaming at Frank Bruno, Barry McGuigan, or Nigel Benn, to knock the other F**kers head off.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment