Michael Seidlinger - The Laughter of Strangers

X unloads throughout round seven and at one point I start tasting copper, blood now oozing from my mouth.

Unpleasant but not unexpected.

Shell, condensed, losing on the cards.

For now…

ROUND EIGHT

I settle on the idea and take a knee.

The referee jumps between us, holding X back.

I expect the whole world to be in shock, wondering what did it. What stunned Sugar?

I have the one knee down, gaze to the canvas, waiting until I reach the six count to stand back up. The referee grabs me by the gloves, holds them, looks into my eyes, “You okay?” is what he’s saying but not really meaning. This is just another day at the office. For him, he’d rather I stay down.

Why waste any more time?

I wait until the end of round eight to fake a low blow.

I do my best to act like I’ve been hooked to the groin. X shrugs his shoulders, shaking his head, shouting, “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”

This is so unlike me.

Well, how about that—

I can change too.

I do what needs to be done. I have my values but winning is everything. If I don’t win this I won’t be myself anymore.

Distantly I recognize that I have already let that one go:

Being true to oneself.

I would never fight dirty.

ROUND NINE

It’s not over yet. I start with the jab again. X is irritated and annoyed which helps me win on the cards during this round.

This works:

JAB

JAB

JAB

STRAIGHT TO THE FACE

My shots might not be as quick or as punishing as his but X has lost his strategy. I’ve successfully derailed his linear path towards knockout.

Forty seconds left in the round I fake another low blow.

I keel over, mocking him even more as he turns to the audience, shouting “WHAT FUCKING BULLSHIT!”

But I’m not so sure the audience is on his side anymore.

AUDIENCE SUSPICION

WHERE IS IT AIMED?

AT ME?

AT HIM?

I’m okay and the referee makes sure that I’m okay before letting the clock run out on the round.

Spencer in the corner asking me curiously, “You know what you’re doing right?”

He’s calm, an indication that he sees that something working.

The fight isn’t a pretty one.

BUT IT’LL DO

Water splashed over my face as the bell sounds.

ROUND TEN

The fight can stand to look a little dirtier. When I clinch I make it look like X is doing all the clinching.

X goes silent, slows down, pressure placed on the act of fighting rather than the true expression of the fight, renders him confused.

He has never fought like this before. He has never experienced a fight where it isn’t just the cards but rather the weight of each intended block that might turn the fight.

The fight is more or less directionless and yet there will be a winner.

There will be a winner.

I clinch throughout the round, throwing some punches right before to make it look like X is doing the grabbing.

The referee pulls him aside.

A WARNING

Think about what the commentators must be discussing.

I glance over at their table situated at ringside.

They wear straight faces. Very little is being said.

ROUND ELEVEN

This round will go down as the turning point in the fight.

I punch him low enough to hit his groin but high enough so that it doesn’t appear to be an illegal shot. The referee doesn’t see it. The audience doesn’t see it. The cameras don’t capture it and therefore it didn’t happen.

It is legal.

And X falls to the ground.

AUDIENCE SHOCK

I get a nine count.

You get punched in the groin hard enough and it’s stunning, really, to see a man make it in time to keep fighting. I nearly had it won.

Confidence boost.

The rest of the round he isn’t very active. What can he do other than rely upon recently obtained anger?

I toy with him. A clinch whenever he tries anything more than a jab.

The round ends and it’s mine.

Spencer laughs, “Wow, just wow. I don’t recognize you out there. You are fighting as someone else.”

His would-be compliment comes off as a threat.

What does he mean I’m fighting as someone else?

Who am I if not someone familiar?

ROUND TWELVE

X goes all out, flurries of punches and more than a few stun me.

I shell up, mind elsewhere, focus fractured, preoccupied with Spencer’s comment. The round doesn’t end well. Stunned, he gains a knockdown.

I take my time getting back up, eight count.

I stand there, glaring at him, and it’s captured on camera. The look on my face reads: “Not impressed.”

With a minute left I do my best to send a hook low enough to land another shot.

X applies pressure using a traditionally effective combination:

JAB

JAB

HOOK

JAB

HOOK

UPPERCUT

He doesn’t land the uppercut.

When I see the opening coming, I lean in, letting the jab hit me, and I say to him, “Hey…I know you…”

And this time, I send the uppercut, but not before landing a low blow.

The cameras only see the uppercut, the one that sends him to the canvas.

Saved by the bell?

Not in this league.

The referee starts the count.

THE AUDIENCE IN APPLAUSE

In this moment, I feel content.

I forget what I had to do in order to remain in contention. I feel like myself. I repeat it over and over, “I’m Willem Floures,” while watching part of me stumble around the ring, legs knocked out from under him.

But he stands up.

The referee looks into his eyes.

And that’s the end of the fight.

Not a knockout.

THE VERDICT

We wait for the judges’ scores but already I see it all falling back in on me. I feel a great numbing pain in the back of my throat, unaware that I am biting into my tongue, my molars shredding it, all too consumed with what I know to be the conclusion.

WINNER BY SPLIT DECISION

The name given, it isn’t mine.

“Sugar.”

Figure the X on the marquee paid handsomely for the betting crowd, the warm wads of green bribery handed under the table, passing hands between one opportunist to another, bookie to judge and vice versa.

Who am I to judge the already judged?

What isn’t dirty, what hasn’t been lowered in order to leap higher?

UNDERBELLY

And in this moment, I no longer have any standards.

It has always been personal.

But now—

I will create the laughter.

I will create the momentum.

I will become the exact opposite of everything they know about themselves. I will change what it means to be Willem Floures so much that they will be fighting in a league entirely their undoing.

Not just you X, but every single one of you.

Every part of me will be confused.

I will infuse a new identity, one that is about winning.

For so long, I have taken the personal as professional.

For so long, I looked at myself as a leader, best of the best because there was always something left to reinforce, to further understand and define.

Challenge myself.

Understand myself.

For so long, that was how I treated my career.

I looked for the true identity, unaware of the fact that the identity of Willem Floures was always shifting and changing.

They were applying their own textures.

Well now I change us.

I turn us into everything the world cannot help but watch.

I TAKE IT PERSONALLY

And Executioner, I know you…

Do you know me?

Because if you did, you would see what’s happening next.

This is worth a laugh. Spencer hugs Sarah, kneels down and, at eye-level, he tries to calm her down, “Why don’t you go back upstairs? Isn’t James supposed to be reading you a bedtime story?”