Celtic_Tiger's blog

The incident took places about a year and several months after the Tuf-Man Contest I participated in. Prior to that contest I was sparring twice a week and doing a lot of bag work. Jumping rope and doing some jogging. Gene, the guy I was training with changed his work schedule to overnight, so he and I stopped training together. It was maybe 3 months after that, that I stopped too. Partially it was the loss of confidence after losing the second match so badly. A week or so passed and my face still had the damage from both fights and the black eye from the loss. My pride and ego were both damaged as well and so boxing became a bit less appealing. However, even when you stop and try to move on you eventually return.

Where I lived in North Carolina there were no gyms, no local scene at all. I still placed a craigslist ad for sparring and boxing. Months passed and nothing came of it, so I went back online and started chatting over AOL and on Vangar again.  There were a lot of guys on there into boxing back then. Long before the site became more about wrestler's and phony gay “fighters”. I was back using it maybe two months before getting a message one day from the name “ArmyboxingSC”. He told me that he hadn't seen any other guys into boxing who were within travel distance to where he lived on there before who were legit.  Like myself, he returned to the chat room after a long absence, and he introduced himself as Dan Morse.

    We talked about boxing for a week before he asked if I would be interested in a trip down to the Spartanburg area (northern part of the state) to do some sparring. Still mostly green about online interaction and how much information to share or what to expect when meeting a new person; I agreed.  The fact that he couldn't send a self-photo annoyed me.  Most of the guys I talked with would send me self-photos in gear and block out their faces.  first. I asked if we could chat phone wise about setting up a sparring match and he said he had to do so from work as his home set up had no long-distance plan. These details at the time seemed plausible to me and after many months of no boxing action and with no one knowing about my Tuf-Man defeat, I was able to entertain a return to the sport if only private.

We had a couple more conversations over the Vangar chat box before I planned the Sunday trip down to Chester, South Carolina to meet and box him. We chatted about gear we liked, places we liked to box and that was when he mentioned having a spot outdoors. He told me to forget about bringing my gloves as he had two pairs of nice navy blue 12-ounce gloves we could use. I asked if he was into “stakes” but he quickly replied that he was straight and not into guys, just the fighting. I replied that I wasn't on the site looking for sex just to box but that I was homosexual. He told me he didn't care about that only that I was legit about putting on the gloves and going a couple of solid rounds. We set the weekend for the match and the trip down from where I lived at the time in Troutman, North Carolina was about an hour and twenty minutes so close enough to plan future action. If I could have seen the future though I wouldn’t of gone at all.

    I was excited to meet a pretty macho guy on the site that was reachable by car. He was 37 so a good decade older than me but he sounded like a confident and easy-going type of guy. He asked if we keep things at one pace as he was out of practice and kept in shape but not through boxing training. I still didn't know what he looked like exactly other than a vague description. He was 6' foot 2 inches tall, about 190 lbs lean build, farmer's tan and would be wearing dark green shorts and a green baseball hat with the American flag on it to spot him. It was close to noon when I got to the street where he lived. It was a dead end in a development and the place he described to me was a white one level house with a big tree out front with a white canvas heavy bag with a red and blue stripe circling the center.  Parking my car near the end of the street was then that I noticed a small lot and a house that was clearly  not lived in from its disrepair. I assumed his house was the white one across the street Getting out, I took my bag with me as I walked back down to his place. I was wearing shorts and a muscle shirt, and my build was that of the 178 lbs. guy who was mostly lean without extra muscle, so he was a little bit lighter than him. I've boxed 134 lbs. to 267 lbs. in the past though. Controlled boxing always compensates for the difference.

I was just walking past the heavy bag out front when he came out from behind the house. He was as he described himself and was shirtless so I could see his build clearly. Lean but his  arms had some thickness to them and a thick mustache well groomed. He had an Army Ranger tattoo on his upper left pectoral, and his hair was short but tucked under a backward green baseball cap with an American flag on the front as he described.

    We shook hands and he looked me over but like he was sizing me up. He asked what my background was, back then I had no clue that I was half Irish, so I said Scottish and Norwegian. He was Welsh and German. I could see all those traits in his skin tone and face for sure. A handsome guy who had aged slightly roughly, maybe a drinker, was my first impression or maybe his time in the service. His handshake was strong, and hand strength can really dictate a lot about a guy’s upper body strength. In comparison to him, I was not as strong (or I thought that of myself) but he came off as a super rusty guy who if push came to shove, might not last long. Still, I was a glorified brawler not a boxer who had proper training. We chatted for about a half hour but he never invited me to go inside. He asked about my experience and so I told him about the Tuf-Man. He grinned and wanted to hear all the details. He had a buddy who did one in SC many years earlier and was quickly knocked out in round one and embarrassed in his first match. I admitted the second match was when that had happened to me. Dan liked hearing about both fights and then he told me about the lot area down the street being the spot we would be boxing at.

    His property had too much loose dirt and too much dust would kick up during a spar there. Having boxed in a public park many years earlier, I could attest to that being a problem. It happened a couple of times when I was boxing several of the guys who showed up, dust got in my eyes, and they stung as they tagged my face at will and it was a disorienting experience for me anyhow. He took a black duffle bag from behind the nearby tree, and we walked down to into the lot there. Dan told me he didn't like neighbors gawking at him while he sparred. I could understand that. Still the hardest thing for me was when I first came out for the first bout in the contest and looked at all the people staring back. I focused on the good-looking guys lol. Still recall this hunky guy in a low-cut white tank top near ringside clapping and yelling “Go get Him Bubba” at my opponent.

    We walked into the lot, and I had a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach. Assuming it was pre-boxing nerves and kept going. When we got to the back of the house was when I spotted the three stacks of car tires set up diagonal from each other about 20 feet or so. They were stacked about 6 feet high. There was a red flag pinned to one and a blue flag to the other. Like “corner” indicators. He saw the expression on my face and told me that the tires had been there for a long time so the idea of making them into corner markers was his buddy Jake's, the same guy who had did the contest. They boxed here a few times a summer. It made sense to me. Leaning against the back of the house were two folding stools, the nylon kind and two white clam buckets. They would complete each corner. Dan said he would love to stick up ropes around the tires and make a proper ring like setting but hadn't gotten around to it. He proceeded to take out the two pairs of worn blue gloves. The brand tags had been removed though.  They had become slightly faded about the punching area from use or time, maybe sun damage too. They looked old for sure. I took out my hand-wraps from my bag, and he gave me a strange look. I told him that I never boxed without them, it is too easy to break a fine bone in your finger or hands. He asked if I could lend him a set and I did. Showed him how to apply them and fixed his up before I got my own pair on. He moved the folding stools to sit beside the tires for round breaks and put two small buckets beside them to spit.

     Taking a good look now at him and our size difference, I was for sure the smaller of the two of us. He was a good 5 inches taller, and his arm reach was easily 2-3 inches longer. My chest and shoulders weren't as thick or developed. I couldn't tell from his face whether he had a good chin or not. Some guys have strong jaws that are easy to spot. Dan had a small flat nose, slightly rounded face with dark brown almost black eyes and that worn look about his jowls. He got his own pair of gloves on and went over to the tires with the blue flag. I asked what our pace was going to be for the first round. He ejected his guard into his right glove and seemed a bit annoyed that I waited to ask. “Just going to feel it out bubba, see what's up with our skill difference. Try to keep from knocking me out ok” he chuckled. It felt more like a mocking laugh than a jovial one that I didn’t notice till looking back. Still, boxing makes guys nervous, and they can act strangely pre-fight, have seen it before. I put my own guard in my mouth and secured the gloves on my hands. He moved to the center area, and I met him there to touch gloves. Again, I couldn't help but compare his torso to mine. I looked like a kid about to box his dad or something. We had no timer at all, so it was just going till we stopped.

   The small battery powered timer he had set up on top of his stack of tires sounded and he smacked the top of my gloves hard and pulled his hands back in defense, and round one was on. Right away his guard was very wide, improperly placed hand wise in comparison to my tight guard, gloves near my cheeks and turned out. He leaned and slammed his right glove into my chest with a straight punch. I tagged him right back, catching his face flush with my left jab. Stepping in to go for either his chest or stomach he threw a wide left hook, and it caught me partially on the side of my head and ear area. It stung without headgear and lighter gloves. I nodded as if to indicate that was fine power wise and I went in after him to catch him a few times to the body as he back peddled and faltered his guard. Getting close enough to get him to the jaw cost me though because his reach allowed him to catch me to the face first and he drove jab to the bridge of my nose. Another stinger. Still, he had the moves and behavior of a guy who was new and just going on instinct. Having recent training, or more recent than him I was able to guard my way inside and tag him to the stomach and the  chest just missing his solar plexus. We started to move a bit faster. Twice I got him close to hitting the side of the house or the tires. Driving him around the area as he avoided taking punches. Several of his long-armed shots peppered my face accurately about mid round and the first of four major body shots of the bout connected then. It pushed the air out of my lungs and widened my eyes. He had taken a sidestep before delivering the uppercut to the pit of my stomach. Tapping his gloves together in a showing manner he taunted me a bit. It was a well delivered punch for sure. He got me to the face a couple of times while I recovered.

  One of the shots hit my right eye and I felt the hard edge of his knuckle right through the glove. A few stars flew across my field of vision. Just as he was coming inside to hit me again, I planted my right hook evenly to the side of his jaw and he stopped midstride. The punch clearly caught him flat-footed, and he was a bit dazed. I drove my left hook into his ribs next and he parted his lips bearing his mouthguard in response. He just got his gloves covering his face before my third shot connected, a right cross that hit his gloves and was blocked but tensed him up. He lashed out and struck my right eye flush with a cross of his own. This time the eye socket was impacted by the shot which was clearly too hard, thrown out of either desperation or planning. Dan was starting to take too many punches and he wanted me gone. I landed a few more shots to his chest and stomach and the timer stopped the action by going off. Walking to his corner he spit his guard into the bucket. “You landed some good shots that round, thinking that one was yours bubba.” I did the same with my guard and drank some water. “Nice one Dan, you caught me with a couple of great hits to the right eye there.” He raised a glove as if to acknowledge this and sat on his stool.

   We didn't set up a time limit for breaks, he looked a little winded, so it was probably two minutes before we got set up again the second round began. Being cursed with eyes that easily get swelled, my right one had a small lump I could feel under it as we met in the center again to tap gloves, and he was staring at it. I didn't feel or notice.

    Judging from how he held his hands during the first round, it was clear that Dan had no formal training, but he was a natural “fighter” with training probably would be a very good boxer. How it didn’t occur to me that a former Ranger would have had boxing training was beyond me. The timer had a 30 second delay. I stood in my corner with my gloves held up in guard and waited. Holding them up in a peek-a-boo stance. He began to stretch at the waist back and forth and then he did rotations with each arm and thew a couple of mock right and left punches in the air. Bringing his own guard up in a similar pose, he struck the top of the timer with his right glove and the second round began. We walked straight on at each other, no side motion or circling at all. Soon as we got within each other’s range we began throwing jabs and I scored the first direct one to his mouth area. His own jab passing my arm and tagging my shoulder instead in the heat of it. Having range, I threw a cross and it smashed into his mouth and right cheek area. He backed off smacking his gloves together held up at ear height and his eyes took on a defensive stare. I went in and my straight right blasted him hard to his mid-section. He connected a jab to my forehead as I got him again to the belly button area.

   He came at me almost like a charging bull with his right and left arms throwing cross-over punches. I blocked the first two with my gloves high and ducked under the third to open his body to whatever shot I wanted. Coming up from the right side I landed a left hook to his ribs twice; the glove sank into his tanned body retracted and the second blow teetered him off his balance. Loading up my right hook it caught him to the side of his jaw and jowls compressed as his cheek shifted up to his eye. A shocked expression covered his face as he realized he was off focus. I could almost see the ring of stars around his head.

  He lunged at me as if he was going to clinch me up but instead, he smashed my jaw with a right uppercut. The punch was so out of left field that my head snapped up and angled, and it was my turn to see stars. He slammed his right hook just on the upper edge of my ribs, landing the second body bomb of the match and beyond that my stomach danced from the impact. Pain shot up the side of my body. When I recovered, he had backed off and was stalking me from outside, periodically jabbing to keep me at length. It was as if he stopped to let me recover. When I came in close though he started to jab my mouth area with solid hits. Then he changed to my right eye with the same jabbing and hit that area a few times too. I was mid stride and it disoriented me. During my delay he dropped low, turned his right leg on a bend into a straight right and drove it like swinging a baseball bat into my solar plexus and lower chest area. The punch rocked me so instantly it was like my body had turned to stone from the chest down. It was the third body rocker. He connected a left, right left hook to my head working it back and forth like a double-ended bag. These weren't as strong as the body shot had been. He scored a left uppercut to my jaw and the glove pancaked under my chin. My eyes filled with water.

  He took this round by storm. The timer ended the second round. This time when I spit out my guard in the bucket, it was red with blood. Before I could drink water or comment he was right over by me. “Fuck man, that got a bit harder than I planned to go. You doing, okay?” I could feel my right eye was for sure mildly swelling and I would have a shiner from it. My back ached as did my neck, his last barrage of hooking turned my head like a swivel. “I'm good, you recovered and took that round Dan. Nice body work.” He clapped me on the back with his glove. “You’re a good guy to box with, let's go another one bubba.” I took at least 3 minutes this time to recover. I hid it from him, but my solar plexus wasn't fully recovered. It was a damn good punch, executed as if to knock me out.

   That had been a chin shot, it probably would have been the end of the bout. I cleared my mouth of blood and stood up getting my guard back in, then getting my glove back on my right hand. A whistling sound caught my attention from Dan's direction and when I looked up at him, he pointed his right glove at me, put both of them together and made like a pillow next to his face, pretending to be taking a nap. “Going for the knockout this round, be ready” I wouldn't understand the impact of his tone of voice or the irony of my thinking he was just being witty. He began to hop in place, shadowboxing a bit. Then he began to alternate thrusting, mocking punches in the air like two pistons in a car engine. Back on his head was the green baseball cap with flag facing me. He smacked his gloves together and then the timer which got pushed off the tires and fell to the ground from the impact. He pulled his guard up, still wrong and moved toward me.

Part of me felt it was time to work counter-punching in. Let him falter and then tag him. He began to stalk toward me, zigging and zagging back and forth. He had a cocky smirk on his face. My plan to wait and then side-step and counter was foiled. It was too hard to tell what direction I should move so I had to circle out of range before he got any closer. I was in the process of mid step when he suddenly tightened up his defense to perfect form. His elbow tucked above his ribs. He zagged out and drove a straight right hard into my mouth area. My forward momentum helped to increase the punches heft, and it jarred my neck. It was even harder than the shots from the previous round. My face contorted in an embarrassing position as I was stunned. My guard was still high I had nothing guarding my mid-section and then Dan landed the worst body punch I have ever taken from any opponent up until that time. He pivoted off his lead leg and cranking it back 360 degrees he turned all his heft and body weight perfectly into a side angled right hook dead center a few inches above my belly button and it scored a direct strike to my stomach just beyond the muscles which did almost nothing to minimize the blast.

    My gloves parted. My eyes doubled and popped wide open and if you were watching this punch in slow motion, I am sure some spit flew from my mouth. A sickening moan came out of me. My shoulders arched up and I sagged forward in the process of being doubled over. Dan rushed into the shoulder check me to the chest and keep me from falling forward. Wearing a single mouthguard, I could make out his voice over it. “That one sure hurt eh buddy, we Army Rangers know how to deliver the goods. Here it comes fucker...here comes the knockout.” Just as he finished speaking and the last word crossed my ears, he hopped back to re-assert range and began to pummel my right eye and face with left jabs and straight right punches. The first two which were jabs to the right eye were like walking into a low hanging potted plant.

    Years earlier that happened to me at a party, walked around a corner in the yard and straight into the pot. It was the best way I could describe Dan's focused punches now. My lips splitting, my nose starting to drip blood. Each progression of damage was all I felt as his shots to my face began to numb it. Shock perhaps was kicking in. I recall feeling my feet stepping backward. I know at least two good chest shots had landed. My shoulders slouched as the glove flattened up against the center of my chest I could see Dan's face, his faded blue gloves. His eyes were small and like a cobra’s. He connected a hard left hook, and I staggered to the right. He pounded my chin directly with a straight right to force my back into the tires.

   I knew as soon as my bareback met them. Just after the impact of them on my back he nailed my stomach twice. Still very sour from the opening canon ball of a shot I was in serious trouble now. He drove cross-over short hooks at my jaw, working my head back and forth like it was a speedbag this time. He jabbed my eye exclusively. Half out of it, too dizzy, dazed and nauseated to process more than his gloves smashing it. I didn't feel each hit. I saw his face then a black blur and then I shook in place. He probably saw me morph into a punching bag. My arms went to my sides now. I was finished. He was gone from my blurry vision suddenly and then a big right hook collided with the side of my jaw and my head juggled on my neck. The final punch. My vision which was now just from my left eye and watery couldn't process what struck me. Just the sensation of falling and my guard ejecting from my mouth. When I fully hit the grass and dirt below my shoulders and upper chest locked. Everything flooded into blackness and I lost consciousness.

Waking up my body was still locked up at first. My first awareness was the feeling of being all alone. I didn't need to see Dan was gone, I knew. The weirdest image of a ring of small birds circling my head while I lay there, as if the comedy was a weak attempt to take my mind off the weight of what had just happened. My gloves were gone but the wraps were still on and disheveled. The pair I gave Dan was on the ground nearby in a pile. When I got on all fours and up, I saw a nice spit puddle where my face was lying. Ejected as my head hit pay dirt. The right side of my head felt like it had struck several hanging flowerpots, or they were just broken over it. I couldn't open it.

   Panic flooded me. When I put my hand up to it to feel it met a soft rounded mass and stung badly like a bee got it. Knowing I wasn't visible back here behind the house I had a moment to lean against the tires to get myself righted. Still deeply in shock that Dan just knocked me out cold, beat me this badly and left me. It wasn't till I moved off the tires that I realized they were slick with something. My first thought was maybe sweat.  So, I ran my hand along the tire and pulled it away. It wasn't a moment near my face and nose that I figured out it was urine. He had urinated on me and the tires next to me, on them to spray me below. My stomach was already sick from panic and Dan's fisticuffs now got even worse and I threw up water. Suddenly I felt like someone would come walking down the street and see me. My shirt,  still in my backpack, which sat against the house, was untouched.  I  opened the bag and dug out my muscle shirt. It was gone. I've never been the type of guy that went out in public shirtless. I never felt I was in good enough shape to do that. Then it occurred to me that he might have taken my car and the need to go out to it and get away overpowered my fear of being seen.

   The driver side door was ajar. He had gone through my glove box, but nothing appeared to be missing. I had a baseball cap in the back seat which I put on now. It wouldn't hide the eye damage, but it blocked the light which was very bright now. My cell phone, which was a pre-paid type was under my seat where I always put it. My first thought was to go back to his house. What if he was there and beat me up more? I was in my car with the visor down and slouched so no one could make me out easily. The house looked empty as I drove off the street and up to the main one. I called the operator and asked for the closest hospital, and He asked if I needed the police too. I said I did. The troopers came, what seemed like half an hour later and I told them that I had been jumping by visiting a house nearby, three guys beat me and took my wallet. I lied. Shame flooded me and a tinge of anger at Dan. Deep down part of me wanted revenge. Still does as I sit here and write this.

I learned the hard way, but I learned to know who your opponent is and stop the action if it gets out of hand.