Shattered Dreams

Shattered Dreams

THE RESULT

“And by unanimous decision in the blue corner the winner is from the Wyndham Amateur Boxing Club, Tommy Cartwright.” 

The crowd showed their appreciation with a standing ovation for both boxers.  Applauding Cartwright for his artistry and recording his 28^th successive win, whilst recognising Garcia’s tenacity and bravery.  It had been a terrific contest between two hard sluggers.

In the dressing room Tommy full of vim with the adrenaline still pumping through his veins shocked everyone by announcing he was going to turn pro.  This decision was always on the cards for him but no one thought this would come quite so soon.  Brendan Byron, Tommy’s coach was quite literally taken aback by this statement.

“Tommy, you’re not ready for the pro game yet.” 

“Brendan, don’t tell me what I can and cannot do, I am eighteen years old and old enough to make my own decisions.” 

“Tommy, listen to me…..  “Sorry, Brendan, Tommy interrupted, but my mind is made up, tomorrow I’m contacting the pro gym in town, Brendan they have already approached me and asked if I’m interested. It’s about time I started earning some cash, instead of filling my cupboard with plastic trophies that no one will want when I’m old I’m working my butt off every day for what?   This was all lies of course Tommy had never been approached by anyone.”

  He was a very competent boxer and possessed many skills, but the gap between a very good amateur and a good pro was a large one.

Determined to leave this life behind, his mind was made up and although he loved his mother with all his heart, he knew she would object in the strongest terms he would pursue his dream and take himself and his mother away from all this and buy a home in a more respectable area of the city.

Emily Cartwright had always been against Tommy boxing, since he first announced he wanted to be like his dad. She had lost her husband to the sport after he had developed brain damage after one of the most brutal middleweight title fights in living memory.  The fight between Peter Cartwright and Dave Sandler would be talked about for years.  Peter Cartwright had collapsed after the final bell; he never heard the announcement by the MC that the fight had been declared a draw, which meant Sandler, retained his title as he was already the title holder.

Emily had gone through hell, seeing her husband suffer the indignity of having to be spoon fed like a child, having to be assisted with his toilet habits and being bed bathed daily by the home help, strangers he never knew.  This is not how a once proud man should finish up.

Emily had gone into town to do a little shopping Peter Cartwright in a moment of deep depression at his predicament decided to end it all, he took all his medication and washed it down with a tumbler full of whiskey.  Emily found him when she returned home slumped in his wheelchair, unconscious.  Peter never regained conciseness and passed away in hospital two days later.

It seemed like the whole of the boxing fraternity turned up at his funeral.  Everyone who was anyone turned out to pay their respects.  Accolades were aplenty as each person who was close to the family gave their accounts of what is was like to have known such a quiet unassuming man outside the ring, yet inside the ropes he metamorphosed into a warrior where the word lose and defeat were not in his vocabulary.  Alas in the end it was boxing that defeated him.

“No Tommy, I won’t allow it; you are not going to that pro gym or any other gym from now on.”

“Sorry mum, but you and nobody else can stop me from realising my dream, I am not dad and I can look after myself.  I love you mum with all my heart but this is my life and I have made up my mind. I have told everyone that tomorrow I am going to see Seamus (Jacko) Jackson one of the most respected pro boxing trainers in the country.  He had trained many title holders he also had a couple of world champions to his name.”

The following morning Tommy walked out the door to catch the bus into town, with his mother begging and pleading for him not to go through with it, but her pleas were futile and she was left a broken woman sobbing her heart out. 

Tommy got off the bus on the town’s main high street and made his way to Lansdowne Street where the Wyndham boxing club was situated.  He came to an old Victorian building that in its early years had been used for functions for town council meetings etc.  These days the council held their meetings in more modern and luxurious surroundings.   Over the years the old Victorian building had been used for many things, eventually being acquired by some businessmen who had a passion for boxing, it was now a pro boxing gym.

Tommy stood outside for a minute or two taking in the structure of this magnificent building.  As someone who had worked in the building trade he could appreciate the amount of work that had gone into designing and building such a place, the stonework was awesome.  Two pillars stood at the bottom of a wide stone stairway, on top of each pillar sat a lion each lion wearing a crown.  Tommy had no idea what they were supposed to represent but he couldn’t help but be impressed by it all.  At the top of the stone stairway was a massive pair of solid oak doors that must have been fifteen feet high. They were made in an arc with fancy stonework around the mighty frames reaching up to the top where they met and another lions head sat looking out as if it were claiming to be some great protector of the keep.

Tommy decided it was now or never, he bounded up the great stone stairway and entered through the mighty oak doors.  Inside there were more stairs but these were made of hardwood timber and they seemed to go on and on, where they splayed out what seemed like miles away to the left and to the right. He made his way up almost to the top when he began to hear sounds coming from the left hand side of the upper level.  As he got closer the sounds got louder, they were familiar sounds that he knew all too well.  Snap, snap, crack, crack almost like machinegun fire, it was the sound of probably fifteen, twenty men skipping the leather skipping ropes cracking against the wooden  floor.  Whumph, whumph , the sound of men hitting punch-bags every which way, rat-a-tat, rat-a-tat, guys hitting the speed ball and all the other familiar sounds associated with boxing gyms.   The stench of sweat hit his nostrils; it was the kind of smell that had worked its way into the very fabric of the walls over the years.  In front of him were two more doors less ornate than the others panelled bottom with clear glass on the top half.  Across the top of the doors was a long banner ‘JACKO’S GYM’.  He could see the hive of activity inside; every man was pushing himself to the limit of his endurance.  This was his last chance to turn around and go home, he felt guilty at leaving his mother begging him not to go through with it.  It broke his heart to see her so upset, but he wanted more for her, he wanted to get her out that cesspit of a home they lived in.  All the money his father had made in the fight game had gone on paying specialists who promised they had a miracle cure.  Of course they hadn’t, there was no cure, but desperate people will do anything when their backs are against the ropes.

Tommy entered the hall through the double doors; this was the point of no return.  Some guy probably in his late thirties early forties came across to him “Can I help you young man?”

“Hi, I’m Tommy Cartwright amateur county middle-weight boxing champion.”

“And you’ve come here because?”

“I’ve decided that I’m now ready for the pro game?”

Of course all those who were associated with running the gym knew who he was.  At the far end of the gym was a guy probably in his mid-fifties talking on the phone.  He had the face of a well-worn warrior.   His skin was like leather, his eyes were puffy, and he had deep scar tissue around both of them.  A nose wider than it was meant to be through years of being hit. This was the renown Seamus ( Jacko ) Jackson.  As he looked up and saw Tommy talking to the guy, he ended his telephone conversation with “Okay sweetheart, leave it with me, I’ll get back to you ASAP”.  Jacko made his way over toward Tommy, he walked with a slight limp, the limp wasn’t caused by a boxing injury, but more to do with the intense training he had endured over the years, and basically the body had just worn out.

“Yes, young man what can I do for you?”

Young Tommy went through the same spiel as before, telling Jacko he was amateur champ and was now ready for the pro game, etc.  Of course Jacko knew exactly who he was and indeed had been following his career with a sharp eye, but out of loyalty to his pal Peter Cartwright and his wife Emily would never dream of approaching him to consider the pro game.

‘Mr Jackson,’…

‘Don’t call me mister, I’m Jacko in here’, it was some kind of personal thing that he could never accept the ‘Mr thing, it always seemed too formal somehow.  Everyone called him Jacko, even his own children.

‘I want to show you what I can do, and I guarantee you won’t be disappointed’ It wasn’t cockiness. To be truthful Tommy was indeed a very confident young man, and to be honest he wasn’t a bad amateur, but as I have said the gap between top class amateur and top class pro boxer is a very wide gulf indeed. 

“Okay kid, you ready to show us right here and now what you can do?”

“Of course that’s why I’m here.” He said confidently.

Steve,” Jacko shouted “Get gloved up come and do a couple of rounds with this young man.”

By now the whole gym had come to a standstill, they had all crowded round the boxing ring, it was as good as any professional boxing ring, it had to be,  it was used constantly so it had to be substantial.  Tommy stripped off and got himself gloved up, never even glancing round to see who this Steve was, there were too many bodies in the gym anyway to pick out any singular movement by anyone in  particular.

“Okay kid,” Jacko barked,” jump in the ring.”   Tommy climbed through the ropes, and began to perform a little routine that all boxers do, just to loosen up. All eyes were now on him and he could feel it, it didn’t make him nervous.  It had the opposite effect, he loved the limelight and this was heaven for him.  Just then through the corner of his eye he saw someone climbing into the ring behind him. As he turned round he saw what he thought was a joke. The guy in front of him must have been at least in his mid to late forties.

“This is a wind-up, right?” Tommy declared.

“No joke,” Jacko said.  “If you can handle this fella, then we can always step it up a notch.”

Steve Cooper stood approximately 6’2” tall he was lithe and sinewy and by all accounts looked a little anorexic, a bit like long distance marathon runners look.  There wasn’t an ounce of fat on him anywhere.

Tommy was now angry that they were not taking him seriously.  Okay he thought if that’s their game then I’ll oblige. I’ll get rid of grandad here in the first few seconds, and then perhaps their opinion of me will change.

“You guys ready?”  Jacko asked.

“I was ready, the moment I walked through those doors,” Tommy confidently proclaimed.

“Okay,” Jacko said “This will be two three minute rounds, just to start off.”

Tommy was seething inside that they had challenged him to fight an ageing boxer. He said to himself, two minutes? This won’t last ten seconds and he meant it.  They would take him seriously after he puts this geriatric in hospital.

“Okay, seconds out round one.”  The sound of the bell being struck bought both boxers together toward the centre of the ring.  Tommy thought okay, two fast shots left hook to the body, followed immediately by a left hook to the head and it will be good night grandad.

As they came together Tommy threw his fist left hook, but the only thing he hit was fresh air.  The momentum of the blow took him further than he wanted.  Where upon he got caught with three left jabs, straight to his eyes and nose, bop, bop bop, just like machine gun fire. They were not hard punches; just punches letting him know there was someone else in the ring with him.

Feeling a little embarrassed by this he soon regathered his senses and thought next time they come together he would take off Steve’s head with an uppercut.  He could feel that those watching were sniggering at what they had just witnessed.

The two boxers came together again, this time Tommy dropped his right shoulder and with lightning speed threw an almighty uppercut, but lightning wasn’t fast enough.  Again fresh air took the blow, his miss had left him exposed and he was caught this time by a left jab to the right eye, followed by a left hook to the right side of his jaw and a pile driving right to the mouth, three blows delivered with such accuracy and speed that even bewildered those watching it.  Tommy Cartwright was now sitting on his backside looking up and wondering what had just happened.

Shouts from those around the ring rang out, such as, “Hey Tommy, you’ve just got yourself a new nickname ‘The Canvas-back Kid’ and why don’t you write on the soles of your shoes ‘This Way Up’. This was met with roars of laughter from the rest of them.

Tommy got to his feet “Okay pops, no more messing” and he turned to the crowd and said “I’m going to put this man in hospital, let’s see if you will laughing then.”

Steve Cooper looked at Jacko, and raised his eyebrows.  Jacko looked back at Steve and nodded and lip-synced the words ‘Now.

“Okay,” Jacko asked “You two ready?”  Both boxers acknowledged the fact that they were. “Okay, we’ll call that round one, this is round two both boxers take your stance, ready?”  The bell sounded.  Again both men came together , Tommy made the classic mistake that most sluggers do, he came in with his head down with the intention of catching Steve with left and right hooks to the body, an old saying in boxing ‘kill the body and the head will die’.  Tommy must have had a very short memory, in the space of only two or three minutes he had forgotten how fast Steve Cooper was.  With his head down he got caught with a perfect uppercut as he came in. The punch automatically made Tommy raise his head, where it was met with no less than a five punch combination of left and right hooks delivered with such speed and accuracy those around the ring watching the events could only stand back in awe and amazement. Darkness descended on the young boxer.

Fifteen minutes later, in the back room of the gym, flat on his back Tommy Cartwright was just regaining consciousness.  To his left stood Jacko; to his right stood Steve Cooper.

“Ouch, my head, what happened?”

“Well, son you just couldn’t cut the mustard.”  I understand you work on the building, bricklaying or something?”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“Well, stick to it son, because pro boxing isn’t your game.”

Within the hour Tommy had to walk past all those who had been watching events unfold.  He had never felt so embarrassed in his life. It was like a walk of shame.  He had earlier walked into the gym full of promise, full of pride and hope. Now his dreams had been shattered.  On the bus home he was almost in tears, a broken man.   Before Tommy got back home Jacko, Jackson was once again on the phone, returning the call he received When Tommy Cartwright first walked into the gym.

 “That’s okay Emily; I promised you the boy would change his mind by the time he left the gym.  He’s got one or two bruises on his face, but I’m sorry they were necessary to achieve our goal.

 “God bless you Jacko, God Bless you.”  There was something ironic about a mother thanking someone for hurting their son she thought.

“I told you things would work out.   Em, we haven’t seen each other since you buried Peter, what say you and me get together sometime for a drink or even dinner somewhere?”

“Jacko, I owe you big time, nothing would please me more.”

“One Question Jacko said laughing “Who’s paying?”

“My treat” said Emily.

“You’re on,” said Jacko “I know a good Italian place.”  How could any man turn down an offer like that?