To Train Up a Champion - Part 2
#2 of To Train Up a Champion
"The temptation for greatness is the biggest drug in the world." - Mike Tyson
Olivia had gone to bed the night before, sensing that something was wrong with her husband. The usually easy going, care-free folf hadn't told her about the argument he had with their oldest cub about exiting the amateurs and moving into professional prize fighting, but when the she wolf woke up and saw her son and husband consciously avoiding one another, she instantly figured out what the problem was. Normally on the day Ian would fight, he and Martin would be out in their gym getting ready, but today Ian had gone out by himself while Martin was out in the living room watching television on his chair. Sighing, and still in her pajamas, she went out and sat down on the couch next to his recliner.
"What's wrong?" she asked, already knowing the answer.
"Nothing," said Martin, not even looking at her.
"I know better than that," said the she wolf, her voice calm. "You're upset that Ian wants to turn professional after his fight today, aren't you?"
Martin looked over at his wife, seeing the concern in her bright blue eyes. "He's not ready for the big time yet, Olivia. I had more than twice the fights he's had in the amateurs before I considered turning pro. But, like he told me yesterday, he's not a cub anymore and he's going to make whatever decisions he wants."
"Martin," said Olivia, taking the remote from his chair and turning off the television. "I don't ask for much, but I want you to try and make amends with Ian. Please, please do this for me. If you don't smooth this thing out soon, all the other kids are going to start asking me what's wrong with Daddy and Ian, and I'm going to have to make up some story so they won't get upset. Don't make me do that, Martin. Don't make me lie to our children."
Martin sighed. "There's no reasoning with that boy, Olivia. He's got it into his head that he has what it takes to be the next heavyweight champion of the world right now, and he still needs to learn a lot more boxing skills. He'll just get himself hurt right now."
"He's beaten twenty out of twenty opponents," observed the she wolf.
"Second rate amateurs and tomato cans," said Martin, shaking his head. "If he thinks that's the level of opposition he'll be facing in the heavyweight division, he's in for a terrible surprise."
"Martin," said Olivia, gently holding her husband's paw. "Please do this for me."
Martin looked into his wife's eyes again, seeing that she was close to shedding tears about the matter. Sighing deeply, he patted her paw. "Don't worry, honey. I'll go have a talk with the boy right now."
Olivia got up with her husband, giving him a kiss. "Thank you," she said softly.
Not looking forward to the chat he'd be having with his oldest boy, Martin took his time getting outside. The morning was cool, crisp with dew on the grass. Martin shielded the rising sun from his view as he trudged along to the gym. With his paw on the door, he once more sighed, preparing himself for another argument with his hard-headed son. Opening the door, he saw Ian was at work on the heavy bag, throwing a combination of jabs and power shots into the one hundred pound bag. Every big shot made the bag shake violently; the chain holding it to the frame rattled away. Ian's back was to his father, so he didn't take notice of Martin just yet.
"Hey," said Martin in a loud, but controlled tone. "You ready for the fight today, son?"
Ian turned around, seeing his father with a wide smile on his face. He went over to Martin, pulling his gloves off. "Yeah, I'm ready, Dad."
"Good," said Martin, trying to find the right words. "I was hoping that you and I could talk about last night."
"Last night?" asked Ian. The younger folf rolled his eyes. "Did Mom send you out here?"
"Yes she did," said Martin, seeing his son was getting defensive. "She's starting to get upset because of this disagreement you and I are having. I'd just like to see if we can come to some kind of resolution before this mess blows up and makes her really unhappy."
"Okay," said Ian. "Mind if we sit down first?"
Martin pointed over to the ring in the middle of the gym. Sitting along the edge of the western side of the squared ring, Martin sat down next to his son. He was going to have his words carefully. "Alright, you want to turn professional after this fight, correct?"
"Correct."
"Here's my concern with that, Ian: Most amateur boxers have at least fifty fights before they turn pro. I had fifty-five myself. The reason for that is they need experience, and they need a good understanding that the pros are a completely different ball park altogether. You're only fighting three rounds right now, but that goes up to twelve when you enter the real world of prize fighting. My concern right now is that you might not be able to handle going the distance."
"But I've got natural talent, Dad," said Ian.
"Yes you do," agreed Martin. "But talent is no substitute for experience, hard work and a good attitude. Those three things will get you further in life than just raw talent will. You think talent alone would have been enough to beat Barry's Dad for the middleweight championship?"
Ian had grown up watching not only all of his fathers fights, but also both of his grandfathers and his great grandfather. He'd seen them so many times he could choreograph them blindfolded.
"I don't think so," admitted Ian.
"Right," said Martin. "I worked my ass off before that fight because I knew that your namesake was going to be my toughest fight ever. We each wanted what the other had so we could unify our division. Believe me, it was tough, painful and I knew that Ian could knock me out because he was so incredibly fast on his feet and with his paws. But I studied him for countless hours, knowing that if I could pressure him against the ropes and get him to drop his left paw, I could go in with the right hook and knock him out. That sort of thing takes patience, it takes time and it takes maturity as a fighter. Talent alone will never get you that."
"I understand," said Ian. "I just think that if I don't do this now, I might be wasting the best chance in my life to gain the title, Dad. I know you want me to have more amateur bouts, but that would just hold me back."
"I don't think so," said Martin. "Your in great shape, and you've got massive strength, but there's still a lot you need to learn."
"Like what?" asked Ian, slightly annoyed.
Martin tried to ignore his son's tone. "Well, for one, you need to work on your defensive skills. I know that you're a come forward pressure fighter, but that style doesn't always work. You go up against some guy who's a harder puncher than you and you're gonna take serious damage. You need to learn to stick and move, bob and weave. Hit 'em and then move to the outside where he has to come you."
"That's more the style you fought, Dad," protested Ian. "I'm an offensive fighter."
"I know," said Martin, trying to hide his irritation. "But even as a defensive fighter, I knew when I could get on the inside and slug it out with a guy. Again, when I fought Ian I knew that I could hit harder than him, but I had to wait for the right time, then I got on the inside and started maulin' and brawlin' because I knew he had a hard time with sluggers. See? You gotta fight defensively just like I learned how to go on the offense when it was to my advantage. Again, that comes with experience."
Ian thought of what to say, and threw his father a curve ball. "You gonna train me if I turn pro, Dad?"
Martin hadn't expected such a question. He'd been retired from prize-fighting for over five years now, and occasionally provided commentary for fights aired on HBO, but other than his son's amateur career, he'd been busy raising his large family, investing in business ventures and going on fishing trips with his friends. He'd never really considered being a professional trainer.
"You want me to train you?" asked Martin, wondering if this was some sort of smart ass question his son was asking.
"Yeah," said Ian. "I heard Uncle Oliver has enough fighters he's working now, so I don't think he'd have the time for me At least that's what Aunt Lydia told me."
Martin nodded in agreement. His wife's twin brother--who had married Martin's younger sister Lydia--never pursued fighting himself, but instead chose to train boxers. Oliver was considered one of the best in the sport, and it would certainly be difficult for him to spare the time to work with his nephew.
"She's probably right," said Martin. "If you really want me to train you, I will, but I'll expect you to listen to my instructions, understood?"
"Yes," said Ian. "I'll listen to your instructions, Dad," said Ian, his voice not completely sincere.
Martin decided to ignore the tone, wanting to just get this over with so Olivia could be content once more. "Alright then. Better get back to the heavy bag, fights coming up this afternoon, and I know you wanna get back to work anyway."
"Thanks, Dad," said Ian, getting off his rear. Putting his gloves back on, he went back to the heavy bag, standing like he was stuck in cement as he went back to throwing jabs and power shots. Martin looked back once more at his son before opening the door and letting it click shut. He shook his head.
"I gotta teach that boy to dance in the ring," he muttered to himself as he headed back to the house.
Ian was fighting at the same gym that his father and paternal grandfather had begun their foray into the amateurs years ago. The only difference was that the gym had been totally renovated after Martin and his father purchased it with their own money. Conscious of how blessed boxing had made them, the father and son team decided to endow the establishment with their own money. Young kids and teenagers wishing to join could do so free of charge, providing that they sign an oath saying they would be dedicated to the sport, and show their opponents as well as everyone else in life respect. Even if kids dropped out, or were kicked out for bad behavior, the McGregors never charged any of the kids a cent to join. It was there intent to provide a doorway to the underprivileged.
Ian and Martin rode together to the fight. Ian was showing his usual cocky attitude about the fight, saying that his opponent had no chance against him. Martin reminded his son that it was never in his interest to underestimate an opponent. Ian being Ian, he simply let his father's words of wisdom go in one ear and out the other. Martin managed to control his temper, if only for the sake of domestic tranquility.
Martin and Ian arrived early, but the gym was already packed with that day's contestants and their families. It would be a big day for Ian; his last amateur fight and his family would be their too. His mother and all eleven of his siblings, both sets of grandparents, his aunts and uncles as well as all of his cousins from his the McGregor side of the family would be in attendance. The six foot five folf intended to make the most of the day and go out in style before he hit the big time. It was going to be the biggest day of his life so far.
"Better go weigh in, son," said Martin.
"Okay," said Ian, getting in line for the weigh in.
Martin busied himself by going around the gym, shaking the paws of the day's fighters and signing autographs. Everyone knew who he was and they were always happy to meet a retired world champion who had clenched the middleweight and super middleweight divisions. Boxers were known for their egos, as it took courage to get inside the ring and trade punches with another fighter, but Martin had learned long ago to keep his own ego in check and maintain a gentlemanly composure. He remembered his father and late grandfather telling him to never to anything to disrespect the "Sweet Science".
Ian had gone back to the locker room after the weigh in. He'd come in at 233 pounds, and was looking trim and fit; a fine specimen for the heavywight division.
"Hey, ready for the big day?" asked Barry, who'd entered the locker room for his own fight in the middleweight division.
"You bet," said Ian, putting on his emerald green trunks. "Everybody's gonna be here today, and I'm gonna show 'em just how great I am."
"Of course you are," said Barry, laughing at his best friend as he too put on his orange, white and green trunks that resembled the Irish flag. "You great big ego-maniac."
"Ha," scoffed Ian. "It ain't braggin' if you can back it up."
"Yeah, yeah," said Barry shaking his head. "Just shut that big yap of yours and get ready, would you?"
As good of a friend as Ian was, there were times that Barry and Zeb; who had just entered the locker room, worried about the folf's overconfident, cocky attitude. Though Barry and Zeb intended to turn profession some day, they too shared Martin's view that Ian was rushing into it, and that he should gain more experience and better defensive skills before making such a bold move. There advice fell on deaf ears. Ian simply knew he was doing the right thing.
The day had went very well for Zeb Jackson. The bantamweight wildcat put on quite the show for all the spectators. Being small, he was able move around at almost light speed, making his opponent almost dizzy from trying to catch him. His opponent, another diminutive wildcat was so worn out by the second round that he could barely put up a defense as Zeb thew fluries of punches at him, causing the referee to call a halt to the bout. Zeb raised his arms in victory, but showed good sportsmanship by going over and shaking the other wildcat's paw after the fight.
The middleweight fight was also a real dazzler. Barry O'Brien fought a coyote with more than twice the fights he had, but demonstrated excellent ring generalship by making the coyote fight his fight. Barry, who was a natural southpaw, made the fight extremely tricky for the coyote, sending jab after jab into the coyote's face. Though the fight went the distance, Barry easily won a unanimous decision. Like Zeb, he too went over to shake the coyote's paw afterwards.
Ian's fight was the very last of the day. Martin, who was in his son's corner, was slightly annoyed at Ian saying they were "saving the best for last", but chose not to correct his son before the fight. He didn't want to distract him before the fight. The announcer got in the middle of the ring, introducing the last fight of the evening.
"Ladies and gentleman, this is our last bout of the evening. I hoped you've enjoyed all the fights today."
The ringside bell rang three times before he announced the two contestants.
"In the blue corner, fighting out of New York City, wearing the white trunks with blue trim, he weighed in at 213 pounds. His amateur careers consists of 4 wins, 12 losses and one win coming by way of knockout. Here is Jordan Metzgar!"
Metzgar, a somewhat small tiger raised his paws in the air as he crowd clapped for him. The announcer looked over at Ian's corner, seeing the folf throwing punches, getting psyched for the fight.
"And in the red corner, fighting out of Catskill, New York, wearing the green trunks, he weighed in at 233 pounds. His amateur record is an impressive 20 wins, no losses, with 15 of his wins coming by way of knock out. Here is Ian "The Magnificent" McGregor!
The crowd, especially Ian's family, cheered loudly for the big folf. The referee brought them together, giving them their instructions.
"Okay, guys, you know the rules. I expect a tough, clean fight. In the event of a knock down, you go to the neutral corner I tell you to. Protect yourself at all times and obey my commands at all times. Any questions? Then let's get to it!"
Ian had been staring down the tiger, and could see that his shorter opponent showed signs of fear. With a 4-12 record, this would be easy pickings for Ian. The two fighters went to their corners, getting their mouthpieces in and grease smeared on their face. The bell sounded and Ian rushed out to meet the tiger. Moving his paws up and down, he toyed with the tiger, who looked like he'd prefer having his teeth pulled with nothing to numb the pain rather than being in the ring with a known slugger like Ian. The folf threw a few piddy-pat punches, just waiting for the right moment to move in for the kill. Only thirty seconds had passed when Ian, who had not even taken a punch, moved in threw a wild, roundhouse right punch into the tiger's chin. The tiger growled in pain as he was knocked flat on his back. The referee ordered Ian to the furthest neutral corner, but Ian kept taunting the floored feline.
"Ha," he yelled as the referee shoved him to the corner. "Just like your mother! Can't take a punch, you little bitch!"
Martin covered his face, completely humiliated by his son's disgusting display of chauvinism. The referee eschewed the count, calling for the ringside doctor. Ian went over to his father. His mouthpiece still intact, he grinned. "Didn't last a minute did it, Dad?"
Martin could feel his anger surge, but waited until Metzgar had gotten to his feet and the referee brought them to the center of the ring, raising Ian's paw in victory. Metzgar was then taken to the hospital to be examined for any serious damage. Ian went out to mingle with his family, but Martin quickly came over to retrieve him.
"Get in my office, right now," he said, flames practically puffing from his nostrils.
Ian went with his father to the gym's office. Martin slammed the door shut behind them and pointed his paw at his bigger son. Ian just gave him a puzzled look.
"What's wrong?" asked the folf,
"I don't ever, ever want to see you do anything like that again in the ring, ever!" scolded Martin. "I oughtta take you out there into the ring and slap the shit out of you in front of everyone for how you acted."
"What?" said Ian, getting offended. "For knocking a guy out?"
Martin got right in his son's face. "Just like your mother. Can't take a punch, you little bitch? I heard that, and so did everyone else in the gym. You should be absolutely ashamed of how you acted out there, Ian."
"I was just playing," protested younger folf.
"This is why I told you that I don't think you're ready for the pros. To say something like that after you might of broken that tiger's jaw. I'm so ashamed of you right now."
"Whatever," said Ian.
"Whatever?" repeated Martin. "You're going to march your butt out there right now and apologize to everyone for your little display, then you and I are going to the hospital so you can apologize to Jordan, and it better be a sincere one or you can forget about me training you after you sign your professional contract. Do we understand each other?"
"Fine," said Ian, storming out of the office and slamming the door shut.
Martin went over to his desk and slumped down in his chairs. Covering his face, he realized his talk with Ian earlier that day hadn't done him any good. Martin thought about what would be waiting for him when they got back home, and he knew that Olivia would go back to being upset, and that meant the kids would be upset. In a house with fourteen people, that was a recipe for disaster.