Michael Seidlinger - The Laughter of Strangers

It seems like something I should really consider. So, okay, let’s think about this. Doll one is ‘me’ and let’s make doll two ‘James.’

Fight prediction:

‘SUGAR’ VS ‘DYNAMITE’

Will it be a perfect fight?

I’m a boxer-puncher which means I can go both ways, offense and defense; he’s a counterpuncher which means he’ll attempt to keep me on the offensive by being so defensive.

I exhale because it’s a bit warm in the house.

The air conditioning turns on as the last bit of air escapes my lungs.

More comfortable now, I begin my round-by-round prediction.

Addressed to the stranger, this is, in my humble opinion, the perfect fight.

ROUND ONE

We feel each other out — the first thing any boxer does is figure out the rhythm of his opponent. I lead with the jab while ‘James’ leans and warms up with some fancy evasive footwork. I win this round because of the jab.

‘James’ barely lands any more than a dozen punches.

ROUND TWO

‘James’ figures out my fight rhythm. He knows that I’ll switch from right to southpaw when I want to land powershots. He keeps on the defensive and I will become quite frustrated if I don’t do something to keep this from happening but it doesn’t happen in this round.

‘James’ wins the round based on number of punches landed. Most of mine are jabs and hooks to the body, which ‘James’ brushes off with countering hooks of his own to my face, which I leave wide open.

ROUND THREE

I lead with straights to the face. ‘James’ feels the pressure from consistent left straights to the face. He defends against most but the sudden pressure keeps him slightly confused.

This is unexpected.

I have to rely on the unexpected. The score is close, real close.

‘James’ stays competitive with an uppercut landed perfectly, which stuns me a minute left in the round.

Continue to apply pressure.

I win the round, just barely.

ROUND FOUR

The previous round was really close so I get a little anxious. Of course I get anxious. That’s exactly what ‘James’ wants. This is where he sends me to the canvas, knockdown number one of five.

For it to be a perfect fight, I feel it’s necessary to include the number five.

I get back up after the three count. My right knee touched the canvas. It’s a flash knockdown using a textbook counterpunch to my one-two jab combination (neither punch landed).

‘James’ doesn’t capitalize on the knockdown.

We keep trading punches. I trade not because it’s smart but because it makes a statement to the strangers in the crowd, the thousands, the millions watching:

I am not afraid.

I am not afraid of his clear skill and edge in both power and age. I will fight this fight like we both die by round twelve. Nothing to lose.

Though his footwork overshadows mine, I weave in and out of a four-punch flurry at the end of the round that unsettles ‘James.’

He wins the round because of the knockdown but I watch him between rounds, shaking my head as if to say—

You have to do better than that. I’m going to touch the canvas every damn round. I’m not staying down. You’ll have to punch me to death if you intend on the win being by KO.

I have been KOed too many times.

This fight, the perfect fight, is not one where I lose by knockout.

Between round four and five Spencer shouts, loud enough for everyone at ringside to hear, about what needs to change.

YOU ARE NOT GOING TO HURT HIM!

YOU ARE NOT GOING TO HURT HIM!

No. You won’t.

I know what hurts me and what doesn’t.

I know about fear and I’ve faced it.

This is the aftermath, the result.

‘James,’ you get to be the last person that fights me.

It’s a privilege you’ll regret later.

ROUND FIVE

‘Spencer’s’ words confuse ‘James’ and I capitalize by throwing weak flurries of jabs and straights to the face.

He defends but cannot seem to fall back into his groove.

I win the round up until he lands a hook to my stomach, knocking me down to the canvas.

Two of five.

I get back up by the five count and I send my own uppercut, which I had intended on being the “snap punch” I told you about, but it doesn’t work.

The uppercut, though, sends him to his knees for a fraction of a second, enough for the referee to slip between the both of us, calling it a knockdown.

It’s one of those kinds of knockdowns that really isn’t a knockdown but the referee starts counting anyway.

Spencer is pissed and I get a sick thrill out of hearing him shout.

I don’t have a corner in this fight, only the cutman I paid and the two others who make sure I stay hydrated and awake.

In this fight, I am my own trainer.

It’s a draw.

The round is split down the middle, some favoring ‘James’ some favoring ‘me.’

ROUND SIX

I take the round off, being as defensive as I can.

I’m old. I can’t go the distance without taking at least one round off.

I show the world that I have a great defense. More importantly, I show ‘James’ that I can be defensive too.

A boxer-puncher is the real wildcard.

Remember that.

Cocky and confident until he sends me down to the canvas with the same uppercut.

Three of five.

I get up after the five count. I’m fine but the referee whispers in my ear, “You get knocked down again and I’ll be forced to stop the fight.”

He won’t stop the fight.

Empty threat.

‘James’ wins the round.

ROUND SEVEN

I win this round. ‘James’ doesn’t take the round off; I steal the round from him. We trade punches for three-fourths of the round. He hits me with a great hook that nearly takes the wind out of me but I counter with a hook to the side of his face. It scares him. Proof that he’s a young fighter:

The blind shots cultivate fear.

I’d say that the majority of shots that hurt me are the ones I can see coming but cannot evade. Blind shots are convenient blackouts.

I wish I could get a punch to the face every night. Maybe then I’d be able to sleep. That is, if it wasn’t unhealthy to take knockout-inducing shots to the face every night. Anyway—

The last ten seconds are mine.

‘James’ knows that he’ll win if he knocks me down again so he becomes a bit predictable. I use that as an opportunity to crack his “perfect” defense.

It starts with two blocked jabs but then I send an uppercut, same uppercut he’s used against me all throughout the fight, and it causes him to drop his gloves. Arms at his sides, stunned, cracked, I send eight shots to the stomach followed by another uppercut to the chin, before he can bring himself to defend again. Bell, end of round.

My round not his.

ROUND EIGHT

It’s bad for me but I expect it going in.

Spencer motivates ‘James’ into taking me out this round.

YOU GOT TO END IT NOW.

NOT NEXT ROUND. NOW!

And he tries.

He really tries.

Four of five—

To the canvas I go, same uppercut. The referee brings the fight doctor out due to the cut just under my right eyebrow.

Blood drips into my eye.

The doctor says that I’m okay.

I narrowly evade having the fight end but the round is obviously ‘James’s.’

ROUND NINE

I have trouble seeing due to the cut but I take the round using sheer force. I fight southpaw the entire round just to aggravate ‘James.’

Mostly jabs and cheap shots to the body.

‘James’ spends most of the round silent and defending. Fighting southpaw confuses him into slowing down.

He’ll get a talking to from Spencer that’s for sure.

My round.

ROUND TEN

I intentionally fight dirty. I need to take another round off, getting pretty gassed. People can tell. The referee is beyond worried.