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Bonzer Words!: Hit Me Again, I'm Still Standing

Colin Fisher tells a tale with a punchline which will make you groan appreciatively.

Charlie had been trying to break into the fight game for about three years. He spent as much time as he could afford working out with the gloves down at Basel's Gym.

Basel's was a good place to practice punching the bag because it was also the center for the local fight bookmakers to hang out and look over the raw beef that was their bread and butter. Why, one day while Charlie was taking a big hit in the chops, one of those guys actually winked at him. Charlie thought that his name was Steve. After coming down from the ring, Charlie walked up to the bookmaker and said, 'Hey, Stevio, did you see how I plastered that punk? With a left hook like mine, the world could be my oyster. Hey, why don't you come along for the ride? You could make a mint doing it; and, besides, I am one hell of a neat guy. I got more talent than ten of these other punks all put together.'

"Stevio" looked Charlie in the eye and said, 'You, nut, in the first place, my name is George. In the second place, I have never seen you before; and, in the third place I think that you're ugly!'

Charlie stepped back a small pace. He stared at George and said, 'Georgio, I'm sorry about screwing up your name. I am the guy that is going to make a bundle for you. I am already practicing here at the gym about thirty hours a week; but I really need more bag time; as well as some more time in the ring with these punks who will be my victims when we go to the real ring. What I need from you is a few bucks to tide me over when I get into this intensive practice.'

George looked Charlie over. What he saw was a slightly older teenager who bore the scars of the ring. Charlie certainly looked strong enough; and, when he was in the ring, he had moved smartly and rather professionally. Well, why the hell not? If Charlie could come through, George would have a winner; especially, because it was obvious that Charlie was not generally known to the other bookmakers and George could get some pretty tremendous odds on his fighting. George smiled and said, 'OK, Charlie, I'll sponsor you for one month. I'll pay your bills while you work out here at the gym. I don't expect you to slack off. I do expect that you will work your butt off and then win for me when we arrange a suitable fight for you.'

Charlie was overcome with joy, 'Thanks, George, I really appreciate your support, I will not only work my butt off for you, I will make lots of money for you, besides.'

George flashed his lame smile again and replied, 'Well, Charlie, you don't look that great; but you show me a great determination to be successful and that's more important to me than anything else I can say about one of you ring punks.'

Charlie really devoted himself to his workouts. He not only killed one bag; but he devastated at least one opponent in the ring each day that he worked out. He worked so hard that he was beginning to create a new reputation at the gym. Eventually time became compressed and, before he knew it was coming, Charlie was scheduled for his big contest. His scheduled opponent was a well-known fighter, Wilde Jabber. What a good deal!

It was fight night. Charlie was eager for the fight to begin. George hovered in the background with a fox-like smile on his lips. Then came the opening bell. Jabber leaped forward, swinging at Charlie. A rain of heavy blows was delivered by each fighter upon the other. At the end of the third round, Charlie was down with a seriously injured left eye. The trainer slapped a raw beefsteak on Charlie's eye as they took him away in the ambulance to the hospital. At the hospital, he was placed in the hands of the doctors, who anesthetized the eye and applied various and antibiotic ointments.

Charlie had been feeling OK until the doctors entered the scene; now, all he could say was, 'There's less in this than meats the eye!'

Colin Fisher

Colin writes for Bonzer! magazine. Please visit www.bonzer.org.au


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