Sergio De La Pava - A Naked Singularity

At that moment Benitez must have felt that this fight would not differ in any meaningful way from his previous ones. To lose he would have to get hit and he didn’t get hit ergo et cetera; he would win. Except that in the next two rounds he did get hit. The quickness and speed of Leonard’s left jab was a problem that wasn’t going to go away. In the second, before another intermissionary staredown, a jab by Leonard landed clean and visibly knocked Benitez off balance. That was slightly embarrassing. More embarrassing was the jab near the end of the third that actually dropped Wilfred to the canvas. He jumped right up then smiled and shook his head. He wasn’t hurt and dodged everything the rest of the round but the point was made. Getting dropped by a jab is never a good sign for what it says about either a fighter’s balance or his ability to absorb his opponent’s power.

Wilfred had given away some early rounds and even been down. Leonard had growing confidence and early momentum. Benitez needed to wake up soon. In the fourth he did, never getting hit significantly and landing some good left hooks. Nothing happened in the fifth save for Leonard employing the lame Angelo Dundee strategy of trying to steal a close round by impressing the judges with a meaningless feather fisted flurry in the last ten seconds. In the sixth, both fighters, neither of whom ever took their eyes off their opponent, leaned forward, eyes up, at the precise same moment, causing their foreheads to clash angrily. Benitez was cut, Leonard wasn’t. A bad situation had just gotten worse. Benitez seemed to realize this and it spurred him to his best moments of the fight to that point as he doubled and tripled up on his left hook showing his inhuman hand speed. At the end of the round he smiled with blood streaming down his face.

The next few rounds were close with neither man establishing a clear advantage. For Wilfred it wasn’t going badly but it wasn’t going overly well either. Leonard just seemed slightly stronger, like he had to be less careful. In the ninth, Wilfred’s mouthpiece became visible. His mouth was open, he was tired. Leonard wasn’t. In the tenth, Wilfred’s tired hands were down when he wasn’t throwing wild, amateurish punches that further betrayed his fatigue. In the eleventh, he stuck his tongue out at Leonard in seeming recognition of what was happening. In belated response Wilfred caught a hard left hook that hurt him and sent him to the ropes where he stayed waiting for Leonard. A wary Leonard, perhaps remembering Palomino’s futility in a similar situation, hesitated repeatedly and failed to follow up with anything significant. Nevertheless, Benitez was now clearly losing a fight that was more than two/thirds over. He was tired but if he had trained properly he wouldn’t have been since the action to that point didn’t justify a twenty-one-year-old being that tired after eleven rounds. Fortunately for Benitez, the terms second wind refer to a true physiological phenomenon and in the twelfth he got his. He fought better, landed more punches with greater accuracy and showed more energy. The fight was closer.

Going into the fifteenth, Wilfred and his corner knew he needed at least a big final round to remain champion. There had to be a palpable urgency. The man across from him was trying to steal a piece of him and make him less of a person. With the end of the fight quickly approaching, stamina and pacing would no longer be a concern for either fighter. They could leave it all in the ring as they say. In that last round, Wilfred approached his true ability level and had his best moments of the fight. He landed serious punches in combination that snapped Leonard’s head back and he did this without opening himself up too much. A determined Leonard responded in kind and the alight crowd bubbled over as the two men traded sizzling punches in the middle of the ring.

With about twenty-five seconds remaining, Benitez got caught flush with a compact left hook to the top of his head. His upper body jerked back and then forward and he dropped to one knee. He got up, shook his head, and went to a corner. The cut on his forehead sent blood down his face slicing it into perfect halves. He smiled beneath it. He bled. To the referee he nodded yes meaning more. When the action resumed he stayed in the corner. Leonard rushed in and threw punches almost wildly, most missing. Wilfred moved his head as he had a thousand times before.

More punches but not many. Suddenly, the ref steps between them and stops the fight. Leonard jumps up on the ropes. He is the New Champion. The old champion walks around the ring smiling. He is walking towards the jubilant Leonard who has been lifted up by his corner.

He extends his arms as if to hug but is ignored.

“You realize of course that once we get this money none of what you just said will matter right?”

“I know.”

“No you sure? Because you maybe don’t sound like you mean it.”

“No I understand.”

“For example, you’re going to quit right?”

“Yes.”

“Sure?”

“Hell so, what am I the janitor who goes back to work the day after the Lotto press conference where they hand you the oversized novelty check? Of course I’m going to quit. I’m going to move too. I’m not going to see anything that reminds me of anything else ever again.”

“Interesting.”

“Whatever.”

We were sitting in my livingroom and it was noisy. The unpainted radiator in the corner that constituted the sole barrier in my life between clammy continued existence and rigorous mortis hissed furiously, its metal top hat on the side undulating wildly. The two front windows swelled inward barely barring the whistling wind. Spread out on a table between us was a lot of wrestling paper along with photographs and blueprints. Dane surveyed the scene then looked up at me.

“That’s a lot of stuff isn’t it?” he said.

“More than you would think could be generated in less than a week.”

“And now we’re another less-than-a-week away. After tonight just six full days remain before we go in and, if I understand you correctly, you will be in Alabama for at least a part of four of those days.”

“Yes.”

“So how do you feel about it?”

“Still concerned about DeLeon.”

“I don’t think you need to be.”

“Well, where is he then?”

“We know where he is, he’s in Santo Domingo enjoying his big fifty.”

“We don’t know that. You assume it.”

“Fine, but it’s a strong assumption.”

“I’m not sure it really rises to that level.”

“Oh stop.”

“I’m serious, I must not be as willing as you are to make assumptions when my life is on the line.”

Dane exhaled a smile. “Listen, let’s review what we do know beyond doubt and why I feel it justifies me in making my assumption. First, we know DeLeon got out right? We know he’s not in jail anymore?”

“Yes we know that.”

“You’ve read the packet right, so we also know the drugs have arrived in this country, correct?”

“Correct.”

“And we know from DeLeon that he was to make $100,000 total, fifty when the stuff got in the country and another fifty after the deal was done.”

“That’s what he said.”

“We also know that his plan was to take that first fifty and split before the deal came to fruition, agreed?”

“Yes.”

“So isn’t it highly reasonable to assume that after he got out he played his role in getting the stuff in the country, got his fifty, then split as he said he would?”

“So how come we haven’t been able to confirm his presence there?”

“Well that’s not all that surprising is it? We have limited time right now and one would certainly expect DeLeon to be laying low over there for many reasons, not the least of which is the necessity of staying clear of Flaco until at least next Wednesday.”