Hostility towards recognition Part I

In November I was so stunned by my daughter’s birth that I didn’t notice that my greatest foe was planning a catch 22 to me. Jet announced a fight in those bad neighborhoods in the west part of the town, near the place I was born. The rumor spread with the quickness of an old Tyson’s jab and people started to ask me about it. I was so tired of fighting and was dreaming of being part of the legalized MMA. I deserve that. Then I could concentrate on my repair shop, summing enough money to looking as a regular guy to my children when they start to grow up. But, oh boy, I couldn’t quit whether people don’t trust on me anymore. My name is my capital. Therefore I can’t avoid this last fight, even it is against my will. Jet hates me since I defeat him and broke his nose and two of his frontal teeth. The fight was in a park, nearby the train station, at 4:00, so just the gamblers were there. No girls, luckily no bums, none of our friends. Nobody saw it, just the people who put the money in and our agents, so wasn’t all that humiliating. I’ve already lost fights in terrible conditions. Anyway, probably because I was greedy enough to accept a fight in my own city, now my opponent knows who I am and I’ll have to deal with that. Fuck, he is stronger than me now, well skilled in ju-jitsu and he trained hard all these years. Meanwhile, I was happily spoiling my girlfriend. People keep talking, fascinated, about street fight. What a stupid name. Since I started to do it, because I’m not displined enough to be a professional fighter, I fought in mansions, closed bars and mainly in warehouses. Without testimonies, just us, our agents, the gamblers. Eventually some crazy bums, when it happens in open spaces like abandoned amphitheatres. It is usually quiet. A sadistic voyeur pleasure. Forget the screams, angry faces and other bullshit that you see in the old movies like Danny the Dog. Nowadays it’s worse. One day I saw a sick fuck masturbating above the blood shed. You have to ignore it or face the facts. I never went to school, never get adapt to a regular job and never go through all the steps in martial arts. But I know so-so almost all of them and wasted my adolescence in gyms and fights in the schoolyards. In the wake of adult life, what else I could do for living? I was the right guy, in the right place, for the perfect job. My first fight was with a fella named Gecko, I don’t know why. I don’t know why they put me to fight with that guy, why he was nicknamed this way and I don’t know how much I earned because my “agent” invested all the money in anabolic steroids to me. Well, to him too. Anyway, the secret is: you must don’t acknowledge anything. You could see the face of the gamblers, if they don’t care about it, but don’t ask their names and pretend, for fucks sake, that you’d never saw them, if you unadvisedly bump into those fuckers in the streets. You don’t know who your opponents are too. I only know their nicknames (sometimes, even this wasn’t permitted) and we’re always brought from distance places. This avoids things to get personal. I really like this approach; it’s an excellent way to travel around the world. Israel, Dubai, India, Malasia, New Zealand, Japan, Thailand, Australia, England… Canada too. How could I travel to those places being a John Doe? Being an anonymous punching bag guarantees me a lot of pleasures. The disadvantage is that someone ends dead in a fight, which is not uncommon, nobody will know about that. Despite this, they usually drop the fighters in a hospital, without money, to simulate a robbery with beating. In December, after solving lot of problems, all that ordinary daily bullshit, I restated my training. And I trained hard. My body felt the gust of anger and almost collapsed. The stroke that I inflict to myself was deserved. I became indolent and there is a price for that.