Strategy

Baiting The Bully.

My life strategy was necessitated outside my sphere of control. It was visited upon me when a bully cornered and humiliated me in front of my mother. I started boxing. Morning routine get up early and put a pot of water on the stove. Go jogging and on my return my breakfast pap for my mother and sister and me. Mealie pap, oats or Matabela.

Then after breakfast, off to the school. Late afternoon jog to the Boxing club and train and train and train some more before you are allowed in the ring. You shadow box or tackle a punching bag and skip to get your footwork in order.

It is sweaty and noisy and dusty and you train and train and train some more getting your body into shape. You start developing a six pack and strong arms and legs and you shadow box with second hand gloves and you burn to get into the ring.

Sweat and dust and grunts for at least three months. Jogging doing push up and sit ups in my room. Running and squatting,  shadow boxing on the run, sweating profusely.

You tap and punch and jab and upper cut the shadow into submission and sweat some more. You imagine that bully eating the dust and your sweat dripping on his bloodied face where you bend over him just to help him up because you are not a ducktail or a hooligan.

 Your strategy is developed as a natural extension of your being. Soft hearted dreamer in a man’s world of blood and guts. So you remain a gentleman with a vicious punch and an iron jaw and concrete gut. A gentle demolisher that uses brains and brawn evenly to outmanoeuvre waiting for an opening and then the killer instinct sets in and wham!

Finally you are allowed into the ring against fellow boxers and schoolmates and friends alike. Your strategy develops further and you start advancing. The trainer allows older and heavier boys in the ring against you and the worn gloves sting your face and your nose bleeds soon stop and you learn to handle pain and dish it out as well.

Pear ball pumpkin ball one for your fists and speed the other for your gut and strength. I have big forearms, hard fists and a strong gut as a result of this. Strong broad shoulders and upper body Strong legs but agile even now that I’m in my middle age I walk with a soft tread. Stealthy quiet.

It came about through sports like boxing, Judo and rugby. I am still a dreamer and a reader and lover of books. It does not change me into a raving lunatic but it makes me a dangerous opponent.

At last the first tournament is looming. I have shorts, a jock strap and ball box, I have black ankle boots and a club vest but have to wear my school socks. Money is scarce and do not come cheaply. We go to the venue in the Springs(neighbouring town) Town hall and help the trainers to erect the ring. There is resin next to the steps to make your boxing boots less slippery and give you traction.

I hate the black boxing boots I wanted shiny white ones with smooth soles like the professionals wear.

There is a green and red corners. There are boxing stools for rest periods in between bouts for contestants to sit one. There are towels and balms to soothe cuts and bruises and stuff to stop bleeding.

The hall is filling up and smells of smoke and sweaty bodies and your trainer takes you one side you must spit and pee, spit and pit and pee to get your weight down to required weight for your age group and built.

You get your hands wrapped and strapped and you are given brand new boxing gloves for the very first time. Shiny red ones and a ribbon is bound around your waist a red one as our club fights from the red corner.

The waiting is killing you with all the smoking and shouting after fight after fight continues until you are called.It is an amateur event three rounds per fight each lasting three minutes and believe me those will feel like the longest three minutes in your life and it is exhausting and energy tapping.

Before the tournament at home mom prepared me a drink to boost my energy. A glass of milk and honey with raw egg and cinnamon.

It was my first tournament and my opponent was apparently a champion in his club. My trainer helped me to enter the ring. First grinding my boots in resin then tidying me up making everything is in place and I am ready talking softly in my ear giving instructions.

The match referee announces the two corners and opponents and calls us to the centre of the ring for instructions and warnings and rules about fair fighting. At last I am ready waiting in my corner for the first round my opponent rushing me to surprise me and catch me off guard.

He did not get a right I was prepared and fleet footed and gives him a body punch in the passing. I dance and watch and he fights an attacks me avoiding him and then getting in close to throw body punches to sap his energy.

The bell goes and I go to my corner and sit on the boxing stool put in by my trainer. He wipes my sweat with a towel and continuously gives instruction, “watch out for his left jab up close he likes using it”.etc. I am breathing heavily and am given a sip of water to rinse out my mouth.

In the second round I change my tactics slightly jabbing and tapping and keeping him at arms length when he tries to muscle in I keep on giving him body punches before I back up against the rope bobbing and ducking watching his every move like a hawk. I watch his feet that tell me what he is about to do and then I watch his eyes fearlessly and direct in his face.

I am playing with this boy encouraging him by feinting defeat while I am judging his rhythm and planning my attack and the bell goes. This time, more out of breath. The trainer does his duty towelling, watering and instructing. “You are wearing him down and he is getting reckless on attack watch him sharply and watch him closely.”

The match goes the entire three rounds and in the final round I start attacking. Letting him in close and then darting out, all the time punching, jabbing and tapping at arm’s length. In between I pummel him with body punches and just before the bell goes I land an uppercut that had him dizzy. He was literary saved by the bell.

I am announced the winner and go back to my seating the audience watching the more senior bouts until it is trophy time. I win a trophy for winning my match and a trophy for the most scientific junior boxer of the tournament. Me, little lightweight Fransie, that got bullied in front of his mother.

Thus my dear friends, do not judge me on appearance. When I feint defeat I am at my most dangerous and that has become my life strategy. Beware the bell might not save you from me.

Thus the commander in chief in our school and a more senior boxer than me as well as club champion had to find out to dismay when he tried his luck against me in the park next to the swimming pool. I outfought him with bare hands and rubbed his face in the dust surrounded by jeering school kids who all hated his bully guts and hooligan manners.

By this time I was doing Judo as well and I outwitted him totally throwing him off balance and then relentlessly attacking with my fists.