Making a start
Jan 14, 2012 5:35:12 GMT -5
Post by Micky O'Reilly on Jan 14, 2012 5:35:12 GMT -5
Spring 2008
Skinny Man: Right now! Which one of you girls is gonna step up and try your luck?
In a cold back alley in Dublin a crowd of around 20 men had built up around 2 individuals. The one calling out was about 5’10” and scrawny with short dark hair and a few days stubble, probably in his mid thirties. Stood next to him was a larger man, 6’0” and bulky, clean-shaven with a blond crew cut, he appeared to be in his late twenties, maybe 28.
Skinny Man: You there! Step up and show us how big your balls are!
He stepped forward and grabbed a man out of the crowd of a similar build to himself however he was clearly older, at least 40, and more bone and sinew than anything else. He eyed the younger man and tried to step back, already knowing he was past his prime and no match in a fistfight against this opponent.
Skinny Man: Come on now, you gonna stand so close you gotta be up to fight! Or are you gonna pussy out now?
The crowd cheered and shoved him back to the middle, leaving the older man no choice other than to fight or lose face in front of his peers. He stepped forward reluctantly.
Skinny Man: Good man! The rules are no biting, no spiting, no scratching and nothing below the belt. This isn’t a bitch fight lads. Other than that, anything goes. The winner takes 50 Euros, and the fight finishes when your opponent can’t get up or throws in the towel. Are we clear?
Both men nod and say “Clear” to acknowledge the rules, then proceed to raise their fists in a traditional orthodox boxing stance.
Skinny Man: In that case gents, begin!
The smaller man immediately steps forward and throws a punch, the crowd shouting encouragement and making bets on who will be the victor. His opponent simply hunches up and absorbs the impact on his shoulder before retaliating with a power punch of his own, hitting the smaller man square on his jaw. The crowd cheer and laugh as the small man falls back, his head jarring against the alleys paving slabs. He tries to get up but is unable to make his way back to his feet. He is beaten in the blink of an eye, a fight that lasted less than five seconds.
Skinny Man: Well that was quick. We have our winner!
Suddenly the larger man rushes forward and starts stamping on his chest and stomach, a clear breach of rules, momentarily stunning the crowd into silence before 3 of them grab him, one at each arm and one at his torso.
Fighter: Come on you fucking pussies! Who’s next? I’ll fight the whole fucking lot of ya!
No one steps forward, no one says a word for a whole minute, they all just look at each other and then down at the floor, they love the thrill of the fight but, being the wrong side of 40, all prefer to watch and gamble on the outcome than actually get involved.
Voice: I’ll fight ya lad
A man of similar age, about 28, and just slightly bigger, gets unsteadily to his feet from the over turned trash can he was sitting on, he finishes the remnants of a bottle of whiskey before throwing it against a wall and steps into the crowd clearly wobbling.
Skinny Man: Top man! What’s your name kid?
Stranger: Micky. Micky O’Reilly.
Skinny Man: Ok Micky, same rules as before but the winner takes double, ya get me?
Micky: Sure, I’ll have a double of whatever’s going so long as it’s brown and wet.
Skinny Man: What? I meant double the money you tit…
Micky: I’m not interested in you’re damn money, I came to fight and get me another drink.
Fighter: You must be fucking stupid mate, you saw what happened just now and he was sober.
The crowd laugh but start taking bets again, the two men being the biggest there they are hoping for a good fight.
Micky: Well let’s see how you get on against someone more your own size eh?
Micky grins and from nowhere the fighter runs at him, not waiting for a start signal. He grabs Micky around the waist and tackles him to the floor before straddling his chest and attempting a string of punches to Micky’s face. Micky just raises his arms in front of him, using his forearms to defend himself. He then reaches around the fighters head and pulls his face down to his own forehead, smashing his nose and then shoves him back off his chest.Both men get to their feet and eye each other up, the fighter wincing and raising his hand to check the blood dripping down his face.
Fighter: You’re gonna regret that you fuck!
Micky: Aye, to be sure I will. But it makes you look prettier, and softer on my eyes you see.
The fighter shouts and rushes Micky again, this time grabbing him by the throat and slamming him into a wall, following up with a knee to Micky’s gut to wind him. Bent double and gasping for air Micky is vulnerable, his opponent knows it and takes advantage. He performs 3 powerful double-handed hammer fists to Micky’s back, taking him to his knees. He takes a few steps back and turns to the crowd, milking their reaction. He then runs forward to deliver a kick to Micky’s head. Instead of making contact he is taken by surprise as Micky catches his leg and then grabs one of his arms pulling him into a fireman’s carry. Micky lurches to his feet, somehow managing to lift the weight that must be almost equal to his own, and dumps the fighter head first into a wheelie bin in the alley. He turns back to the crowd of gamblers.
Micky: How’s that for taking out the trash then lads?
The crowd cheers and laughter peels out. They are interrupted by a smashing noise and Micky turns to see the fighter climbing out of the bin, a glass bottle neck in his hand.
Fighter: I’m gonna gut you like a fish, get ready to die you pikey fuck!
He steps forward slashing towards Micky who steps back, barely out of reach.
Micky: Now clam down lad, fight fair or don’t fight at all.
The fighter shouts something undecipherable, spraying blood from his mouth that has run down from his nose. He steps forward again, slashing as before, but this time as soon as Micky steps out of range he immediately moves forward again punching the fighter in his already broken nose. The fighter drops his weapon and reaches up to his face, howling in pain and trying to cover his nose from further assault but it’s not enough.
Micky: You know what, I have had enough of you, ya piece of shit.
Micky punches him again, forcing his own hands back into the nose he was trying to protect. Micky then grabs him by his left wrist and shoulder and whips him around, launching him into the side of the wheelie bin he has just climbed out of. On the floor, his face in more pain than he thought possible the fighter mumbles something.
Micky: What’s that?
Fighter: I said I quit.
Micky: Oh no you don’t.
Turning around, Micky grabs a bicycle leaning against the alley wall that belongs to someone in the crowd. He lifts it over his head and repeatedly slams it down on the fighter, buckling the wheels in the process. One of the crowd run’s over and gets between the two men.
Stranger: Micky stop, he said he quits for Christ’s sake.
Micky: I don’t care, he was hitting me ma and he deserves worse than this!
As Micky shouts he spray’s spittle and get a strange look in his eyes.
Stranger: What are you talking about boy? You’re not making sense.
Micky drops the bicycle and grabs his head. He shouts “Shit” at no one in particular and turns back to the Skinny Man seemingly calm again.
Micky: Where’s my double then? I beat him. You said I get a double.
The skinny man reaches into a back pocket and grabs a handful of change, which he holds out to Micky.
Skinny Man: Here you go, get to the pub and treat yourself.
Micky snatches the money and walks out of the alley way, not bothering to wipe the still wet blood from his knuckles.
……………………………………………………………………………………….........................................
Micky is sitting alone in the corner of the pub staring into a glass of whiskey when a tall, middle-aged man in a dark jacket and jeans approaches him.
Stranger: The name’s Bobby, I saw you fight earlier and I’ve got an offer for you Micky. Do you mind if I take a seat?
Micky: I don’t give a rat’s arse what you do so long as my glass doesn’t say empty.
Micky knocks back his drink in one hit and Bobby signals the barman to bring another.
Bobby: I saw you fight kid and you’ve got potential, you’re strong enough and tough enough to make a career of it, you just need a bit of polishing up.
Micky: And what did you have in mind?
Bobby: Well Micky did you ever take an interest in wrestling? I can tell you like to fight and wrestling is just about the best combat sport there is out there. I’m not talking about that stuff you see in the Olympics, I’m talking about the real stuff. Two men fighting it out to be the best, to have crowds of people chanting your name and more women than you could want for.
Micky: What’s the catch?
Bobby: No catch. I mean I can’t pay you much… I can put you up in a trailer though…
Micky: What about whiskey?
Bobby: Whiskey? You want me to pay you with whiskey?
Micky: Well since you’re offering it sounds like we’ve got a deal mister.
Micky stands up and heads towards the door. Bobby remains sat there confused, never having been asked for payment in a non-monetary form before.
Micky: Well are you gonna sit there like an idiot all night or are you gonna show me where this wrestling is?
Bobby comes back to his senses and stands up to join Micky.
Bobby: Sure Micky, I can see big things for you boy.
Micky: And what about these women? I don’t want no-one with a face like the back end of a donkey I’m telling ya.
They walk out of the pub into the start of Micky’s wrestling career, the new start he’s been waiting for…
Skinny Man: Right now! Which one of you girls is gonna step up and try your luck?
In a cold back alley in Dublin a crowd of around 20 men had built up around 2 individuals. The one calling out was about 5’10” and scrawny with short dark hair and a few days stubble, probably in his mid thirties. Stood next to him was a larger man, 6’0” and bulky, clean-shaven with a blond crew cut, he appeared to be in his late twenties, maybe 28.
Skinny Man: You there! Step up and show us how big your balls are!
He stepped forward and grabbed a man out of the crowd of a similar build to himself however he was clearly older, at least 40, and more bone and sinew than anything else. He eyed the younger man and tried to step back, already knowing he was past his prime and no match in a fistfight against this opponent.
Skinny Man: Come on now, you gonna stand so close you gotta be up to fight! Or are you gonna pussy out now?
The crowd cheered and shoved him back to the middle, leaving the older man no choice other than to fight or lose face in front of his peers. He stepped forward reluctantly.
Skinny Man: Good man! The rules are no biting, no spiting, no scratching and nothing below the belt. This isn’t a bitch fight lads. Other than that, anything goes. The winner takes 50 Euros, and the fight finishes when your opponent can’t get up or throws in the towel. Are we clear?
Both men nod and say “Clear” to acknowledge the rules, then proceed to raise their fists in a traditional orthodox boxing stance.
Skinny Man: In that case gents, begin!
The smaller man immediately steps forward and throws a punch, the crowd shouting encouragement and making bets on who will be the victor. His opponent simply hunches up and absorbs the impact on his shoulder before retaliating with a power punch of his own, hitting the smaller man square on his jaw. The crowd cheer and laugh as the small man falls back, his head jarring against the alleys paving slabs. He tries to get up but is unable to make his way back to his feet. He is beaten in the blink of an eye, a fight that lasted less than five seconds.
Skinny Man: Well that was quick. We have our winner!
Suddenly the larger man rushes forward and starts stamping on his chest and stomach, a clear breach of rules, momentarily stunning the crowd into silence before 3 of them grab him, one at each arm and one at his torso.
Fighter: Come on you fucking pussies! Who’s next? I’ll fight the whole fucking lot of ya!
No one steps forward, no one says a word for a whole minute, they all just look at each other and then down at the floor, they love the thrill of the fight but, being the wrong side of 40, all prefer to watch and gamble on the outcome than actually get involved.
Voice: I’ll fight ya lad
A man of similar age, about 28, and just slightly bigger, gets unsteadily to his feet from the over turned trash can he was sitting on, he finishes the remnants of a bottle of whiskey before throwing it against a wall and steps into the crowd clearly wobbling.
Skinny Man: Top man! What’s your name kid?
Stranger: Micky. Micky O’Reilly.
Skinny Man: Ok Micky, same rules as before but the winner takes double, ya get me?
Micky: Sure, I’ll have a double of whatever’s going so long as it’s brown and wet.
Skinny Man: What? I meant double the money you tit…
Micky: I’m not interested in you’re damn money, I came to fight and get me another drink.
Fighter: You must be fucking stupid mate, you saw what happened just now and he was sober.
The crowd laugh but start taking bets again, the two men being the biggest there they are hoping for a good fight.
Micky: Well let’s see how you get on against someone more your own size eh?
Micky grins and from nowhere the fighter runs at him, not waiting for a start signal. He grabs Micky around the waist and tackles him to the floor before straddling his chest and attempting a string of punches to Micky’s face. Micky just raises his arms in front of him, using his forearms to defend himself. He then reaches around the fighters head and pulls his face down to his own forehead, smashing his nose and then shoves him back off his chest.Both men get to their feet and eye each other up, the fighter wincing and raising his hand to check the blood dripping down his face.
Fighter: You’re gonna regret that you fuck!
Micky: Aye, to be sure I will. But it makes you look prettier, and softer on my eyes you see.
The fighter shouts and rushes Micky again, this time grabbing him by the throat and slamming him into a wall, following up with a knee to Micky’s gut to wind him. Bent double and gasping for air Micky is vulnerable, his opponent knows it and takes advantage. He performs 3 powerful double-handed hammer fists to Micky’s back, taking him to his knees. He takes a few steps back and turns to the crowd, milking their reaction. He then runs forward to deliver a kick to Micky’s head. Instead of making contact he is taken by surprise as Micky catches his leg and then grabs one of his arms pulling him into a fireman’s carry. Micky lurches to his feet, somehow managing to lift the weight that must be almost equal to his own, and dumps the fighter head first into a wheelie bin in the alley. He turns back to the crowd of gamblers.
Micky: How’s that for taking out the trash then lads?
The crowd cheers and laughter peels out. They are interrupted by a smashing noise and Micky turns to see the fighter climbing out of the bin, a glass bottle neck in his hand.
Fighter: I’m gonna gut you like a fish, get ready to die you pikey fuck!
He steps forward slashing towards Micky who steps back, barely out of reach.
Micky: Now clam down lad, fight fair or don’t fight at all.
The fighter shouts something undecipherable, spraying blood from his mouth that has run down from his nose. He steps forward again, slashing as before, but this time as soon as Micky steps out of range he immediately moves forward again punching the fighter in his already broken nose. The fighter drops his weapon and reaches up to his face, howling in pain and trying to cover his nose from further assault but it’s not enough.
Micky: You know what, I have had enough of you, ya piece of shit.
Micky punches him again, forcing his own hands back into the nose he was trying to protect. Micky then grabs him by his left wrist and shoulder and whips him around, launching him into the side of the wheelie bin he has just climbed out of. On the floor, his face in more pain than he thought possible the fighter mumbles something.
Micky: What’s that?
Fighter: I said I quit.
Micky: Oh no you don’t.
Turning around, Micky grabs a bicycle leaning against the alley wall that belongs to someone in the crowd. He lifts it over his head and repeatedly slams it down on the fighter, buckling the wheels in the process. One of the crowd run’s over and gets between the two men.
Stranger: Micky stop, he said he quits for Christ’s sake.
Micky: I don’t care, he was hitting me ma and he deserves worse than this!
As Micky shouts he spray’s spittle and get a strange look in his eyes.
Stranger: What are you talking about boy? You’re not making sense.
Micky drops the bicycle and grabs his head. He shouts “Shit” at no one in particular and turns back to the Skinny Man seemingly calm again.
Micky: Where’s my double then? I beat him. You said I get a double.
The skinny man reaches into a back pocket and grabs a handful of change, which he holds out to Micky.
Skinny Man: Here you go, get to the pub and treat yourself.
Micky snatches the money and walks out of the alley way, not bothering to wipe the still wet blood from his knuckles.
……………………………………………………………………………………….........................................
Micky is sitting alone in the corner of the pub staring into a glass of whiskey when a tall, middle-aged man in a dark jacket and jeans approaches him.
Stranger: The name’s Bobby, I saw you fight earlier and I’ve got an offer for you Micky. Do you mind if I take a seat?
Micky: I don’t give a rat’s arse what you do so long as my glass doesn’t say empty.
Micky knocks back his drink in one hit and Bobby signals the barman to bring another.
Bobby: I saw you fight kid and you’ve got potential, you’re strong enough and tough enough to make a career of it, you just need a bit of polishing up.
Micky: And what did you have in mind?
Bobby: Well Micky did you ever take an interest in wrestling? I can tell you like to fight and wrestling is just about the best combat sport there is out there. I’m not talking about that stuff you see in the Olympics, I’m talking about the real stuff. Two men fighting it out to be the best, to have crowds of people chanting your name and more women than you could want for.
Micky: What’s the catch?
Bobby: No catch. I mean I can’t pay you much… I can put you up in a trailer though…
Micky: What about whiskey?
Bobby: Whiskey? You want me to pay you with whiskey?
Micky: Well since you’re offering it sounds like we’ve got a deal mister.
Micky stands up and heads towards the door. Bobby remains sat there confused, never having been asked for payment in a non-monetary form before.
Micky: Well are you gonna sit there like an idiot all night or are you gonna show me where this wrestling is?
Bobby comes back to his senses and stands up to join Micky.
Bobby: Sure Micky, I can see big things for you boy.
Micky: And what about these women? I don’t want no-one with a face like the back end of a donkey I’m telling ya.
They walk out of the pub into the start of Micky’s wrestling career, the new start he’s been waiting for…
