The Boxer and the Lady
words by rick olivares pix by mau victa
The boxer doesn’t look like one. He either looks like a guy who writes advertising copy for a living or is one of those who take aim at life with a Fender Stratocaster in hand. Or maybe he’s into hip-hop because he’s got that black baseball cap turned backwards. words by rick olivares pix by mau victa
He pumps my hand and then you feel the power in his firm handshake. Only then but maybe.
He talks of a difficult childhood where he lived with his grandparents because his parents were some 8,000 miles away trying to earn a living and gain citizenship that would bring their boys to them.
He talks about being bullied by bigger children and being a helpless runt to fend for himself.
You still get none of Mike Tyson stories where he channeled that rage into his fists of fury.
He’ll talk about his video games where he’ll spend hours playing Call of Duty and the like. Give him his Playstation and his internet-ready computer where he can surf the net and he can live. The spry lad will further wax eloquent when he talks about anime, comic books, and music; he loves music. See… there’s that Fender Stratocaster we pegged him for being a musician of sorts. Well if it’s not an electric guitar maybe its turntables for scratching.
If he sounds unsure when expressing himself in the vernacular, you’ll have to pardon him. After all he grew up in the south where they speak another dialect and he moved to the land of spokening in dollars at a young age. It was while watching anime of Hunter X Hunter and Slam Dunk that was dubbed in the vernacular that served as his tutorials in the native tongue. Even so his heart is in the country and he never let anyone forget it.
Only when he talks about his ladylove does he give you a glimpse of who he is today; a world boxing champ who knocked out a fearsome fighter in brutal devastating fashion.
Ah, his ladylove who he met at her birthday party where he only tagged along.
They’ll dispute this. He swears she fell for him at first sight when he hardly noticed her as he was talking to a friend. She’ll protest and claim that he was being disrespectful since he attended her bash but never even greeted her and introduced himself.
What they’ll agree on is there was that megawatt connection that makes the lines of every love song, if the sappiest ones, sound meaningful. The boxer in him now is revealed when he talks of defending his ladylove and that he’ll knock anyone sideways and into next week if they disrespect his wife.
The flash of the fight in him is over in a moment. He’d rather save it for the ring and Raul Martinez who he will be fighting in about a month’s time. He then turns off the jets and is once more polite and deeply appreciative of what he has. He sounds nothing like a champeen. But if we prefer our champs like the Mouth from the South then maybe we should have our heads examined and change our preconceived notions.
He speaks in glowing terms of his trainers, the Peñalosa brothers who have taken him under their wing and will be in his corner for the fight.
His pop won’t be there as a result of a messy split after the boxer met his ladylove.
His pop enrolled him in the sweet science after school to stay away from drugs and to find a hobby. He saw gold in his sons. Golden gloves of glory; heirs to Speedy, Flash, and the Original Golden Boy. The boxer gravitated to it and found his calling and was dubbed “Flash” not because of legacy but after that comic book character with a thunderbolt on his chest and can outrun even Superman.
The boy who longed to run to his father’s arms after being bullied no longer had to run away. He was now running after his foes and knocking them out. But he was floored when he met his ladylove who like him is a lethal weapon.
Both are military brats – the boxer was a soldier’s son. The lady a five-year air force vet who trained to fight in Iraq but instead stayed stateside and became a taekwondo champ.
If the boxer is fiercely protective of her; she’s just the same. She’ll gladly return the favor to his foes in spades with a devastating kick that’ll send them on a date with Mr. Sandman. I saw the videos on youtube and I know what I’m talking about.
The pop thought she was a distraction; the boxer thought he had grown into a man and she was an inspiration.
And she knows her place. When the boxer is getting his post-training rest, she sits quietly in the room for hours. She doesn’t open the television or type on the laptop for the boxer’s finely tuned ears will pick up the sounds and wake him. She just sits quietly and gazes lovingly at the boxer who married her on the day of the Beijing Olympics opened to much fanfare.
Later, she marvels that how impressed she was with his humbleness and lack of “angas.”
She too is learning the vernacular as she was born stateside too. She’ll admit that the boxer’s pop raised him upright.
The boxer says he wouldn’t mind a reunion with his pop. He just has to accept what is. But right now he trains. He runs at six in the morning in the high altitude of the summer capital that should help his stamina; his acknowledged weakness. He hits the pads and does the excruciating drills the Peñalosas ask him to do.
When he was younger he began the routine – run, rest, eat, school, and train. But his lady’s inspiration gives meaning to his perspiration.
There’s ambition. He knows his days as a modern-day gladiator will not last. That’s why he’s glad to have gone to the Land of Opportunity. He can still hit those law books if he chooses so.
The boxer knows he’ll also open a gym and try to help those who had no venue to dream like when he was a kid who got picked on. They’ve got dreams but right now it’s also saving for that nest egg and being the best he can possibly be.
Once in a while, the boxer strays from his camp with his ladylove to buy fruits and food. Sometimes they eat out. He doesn’t go around with a posse and takes a cab to and fro around the Summer Capital. Totally unlike a world boxing champeen.
When he goes into a restaurant, he’s surprised when the owner says it’s on the house. He makes sure to leave a massive tip.
One waiter – star struck and disbelieving that he served Nonito and Rachel Donaire – coos: “There goes the boxer and his lady.”
For Jujun and Rache.
Much love.
Rick
Much love.
Rick
Thanks to Jude Turcuato, Audie Vergara, Vlad Bunoan, Jun Lomibao, and Mau Victa for facilitating the trip and the story.
No comments:
Post a Comment