The raucous crowd slowly died down from the challenger's introduction. A smirking Mr. Sandman returned to his corner, satisfied with the reaction he'd gotten. He'd been on a roll lately and was enjoying a resurgence in his career, he was ready to become champion again, there was just one obstacle left in his way.
"Aaaaand in this corner…"
The lights dimmed and a hush fell over the arena, the collective whispers of thousands of fans echoed around Madison Square Gardens, 'he's here'.
"…Llllllladies and gentleman, hailing from the Bronnnnx, 5 foot 7 153 pouuuunds, HE is yourrr reigning, undisputed, champion of the woooooooooooooooorld…LLLLLITTLE MAC!"
A pillar of light came down around the small champion, shadow boxing underneath a towel, and the noise was deafening. Sound reverberated around the arena, Mr. Sandman could feel his rib cage rattling in his chest. The crowd seemed to be spilling out of their seats to get a better look at their hero, a raging mass of humanity that threatened to tear the foundations of the building apart. Out of the fierce pandemonium a chant slowly began to build, 'Mac, Mac, Mac, Mac, MAC, MAC, MAC, MAC, MAC! MAC! MAC! MAC!'
The champion bounced back and forth on his toes, soaking in the roar of the crowd, before finally throwing off his towel high into the air. The chant descended back into feverish cheering as Little Mac raised his glove to the crowd.
Mr. Sandman grimaced, it was the first time he'd seen Little Mac in person for a long time. Watching highlights of his title defences on TV, he'd underestimated both his popularity, and his physique. The man in front of him was worlds apart from the feisty teenager he'd exchanged blows with years ago. His trademark stature remained the same, still a remarkably short boxer for a universal weight division, but he'd managed to put on muscle without bulking his frame up. Mr. Sandman watched as Little Mac returned to his corner to shadow box under the watchful eyes of his mentor and coach, Doc Louis, firing off rapid jabs at invisible enemies. His arms were like pistons, powerful, but precise, there would be no absorbing those hits like he used to.
Little Mac was facing him now, sitting in his corner, Doc Louis hovering over him, yelling inaudible encouragements over the crowd. Mac's body wasn't the only thing that had changed, his face, his eyes, every ounce of his posture exuded confidence, a cool determination emanated from his being. One after another, Little Mac had defeated the heavyweights of international boxing, and fight by fight he had grown from a pint-sized scrapper, to the pocket powerhouse staring him down from the opposite side of the ring.
Mr. Sandman had been studying tapes of Mac's recent fights, he no longer simply evaded and prodded until he could find a suitable opening for his two KO punches. He created his own openings with furious flurries of jabs, while still eluding the wild swinging counter attacks of those much bigger than him. No one could deny how impressive it was for him to alter his fighting style, to develop the speed that was so integral to his old defensive game plan, and manipulate it into the backbone of a new, aggressive, mentality.
Mr. Sandman cast his mind back to a few weeks ago when he'd managed to track down Super Macho Man after his latest unsuccessful title attempt, "Sandy, plain and simple…he ain't intimidated by us no more, he's not lookin to dance around and nut out a win in the 12th round, he's gunna come at you…and…and…he's gunna try knock you out in one. Dat's what the kid is capable of now…BUT NEXT TIME ILL COME OUT ON TOP GAHAHAHAH…"
Mr. Sandman shook his head, what was he doing? The fight was starting in under a minute and he's sitting here thinking about that Hollywood idiot and admiring his opponent. Mr. Sandman snapped out of it and got up, flexed his muscles and sauntered over to the centre of the ring. A few seconds later Little Mac burst out of his corner, still dancing on his toes, eyes boring into his. The referee started his pre-match spiel but the words were lost on both competitors. The crowd noise was growing again, the world outside of the ring slowly blurring out focus.
"READY? FIGHT!"
The competitors touched gloves and backed away, both sizing each other up while assuming their preferred stance. 'Ok, I'll try and stunt Mac's offense by backing him into a corner and sealing his feet, if I can land one early and rock him-'
Mr. Sandman felt a sharp pain in his stomach, doubling him over slightly, he looked down but there was nothing there, then looked up just in time to receive another blow to the stomach. Mr. Sandman stumbled backwards, closing his stance, trying to regain an equilibrium, he peered through his gloves to see Little Mac dancing backwards, 4 metres between them now. Mr. Sandman breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed his stance, stepping forward to go on the offensive, and then black.
5! 6! 7!
On pure instinct Mr. Sandman made it to his feet, he didn't know what had happened, Little Mac had been so far away from him…
"Fight!"
The ref backed away and the match started again. Mr. Sandman tried keeping his distance, cautiously swiping every time Little Mac darted in and out of his range, trying to focus and get a hold of his movement…but it was impossible, he was a blur, never pausing, always in motion.
Little Mac danced around, the first round resembled a training routine more than anything else, Mr. Sandman may as well not have been out there, he tripped over himself to keep his distance as Little Mac continued to suppress him with feints. A couple of jabs softly hit their mark, but otherwise Mr. Sandman made it to the bell without taking another big hit. He slumped into his corner, peering up at the big screen that showed, to his disbelief, the replay of the lunging cross that had temporarily floored him. The babble of his coaches swirled around him as his mind left the ring, returning to his conversation a few weeks prior.
"…AHAHAHA-"
"Macho, what about the finish to your match? In the 4th round? What was that?"
"-AHAHAhahah….ha….it was just a cross…"
"What!?"
"Where have you been? He hasn't finished with the star punch in months…he doesn't rely on it no more…that's what makes it so terrifying now…BUT NEXT TIME GAHAHAHA"
Mr. Sandman resurfaced in reality, he'd ignored Super Macho Man at the time, consigning the knock out to the aging chin of the former world champion, but now…
The bell rang and it was suddenly round two, Mr. Sandman narrowed his eyes, was he a former champion or not? So the kid was fast, he was always fast, a couple hits and he'd be out, just gotta play it smart. Don't be reckless. Because it could be over in one hit. Just one.
Little Mac shifted backwards and Mr. Sandman lunged, a fast right hook, at least he thought it was fast when he threw it…it seemed to be moving in slow motion. Little Mac stepped forward into it, ducking under just before contact and fired off 2, 4, 6, 8 quick punches from both hands straight into the stomach again sending Mr. Sandman reeling back into his corner, gasping for breath. The speed was just phenomenal, Little Mac h hade delivered the flurry in the space of a second and already retreated back out of range before Mr. Sandman could even think about a counter.
Little Mac bounced on the spot in the middle of the ring, gloves lowered, daring him to come out of the corner, back into his territory. Mr. Sandman growled, it was time to fight back. He stepped back into the fray, firing off some feints to create some distance, and putting effort into some of the jabs, any time that Mac started to dart in close. 'I just have to win an exchange, get back on even footing, put some pressure on him, I can't let him have it all is own way…'
Mr. Sandman reeled off a flurry of jabs, advancing a pace for every backwards step of his opponent, finally pushing Little Mac to a corner. Mr. Sandman feigned right for the big right hook before lunging forward for a powerful straight left jab, and as Little Mac side stepped away from it he followed up the with the right hook for real, crouching in preparation to deliver a trademark sequence of uppercuts.
Mr. Sandman had been expecting one of two things to happen. Either he'd connect with the hook, stunning Little Mac and allowing the following uppercuts, or failing that, Little Mac would duck backwards, collide with the ring post, and then get pummelled with the uppercut trifecta. Instead, Little Mac darted forward, his cheek skimming along the surface of the outstretched arm, and delivered a powerful jab, quickly followed by an even stronger cross, straight into the unprotected face of Mr. Sandman.
The roar of the crowd was replaced with a faint ringing, his skull felt like it was quivering from the impact, he could understand why this put Super Macho Man on his back…but he wasn't Super Macho Man…and this wasn't over. Mr. Sandman planted his left foot, still sliding back from the force of the punch, and delivered a counter right straight, catching Little Mac square in the cheek, still in the follow through of his previous punch.
Mr. Sandman sneered as the crowd gasped, this was it, this was the comeback…and then Little Mac lifted his head. His eyes had narrowed, they were burning a hole in him, he was furious…and it scared him. Mr. Sandman hesitated in his follow-up attack, just for a second, and Little Mac pounced. He darted left, right, back, forward, Mr. Sandman hesitated to call it side stepping, his feet never appeared to touch the ground. Like he was on wheels, all Little Mac appeared to do was lean and he'd slide in that direction, but before you could register where he was he'd be gone again. Despite the fact that 80% of the ring was behind him, Mr. Sandman felt cornered. And then it began, jab after jab after jab, Little Mac was in and out, every time a hit landed he'd dart backwards and then forward again for another. They were stumbling backwards and backwards and suddenly Mr. Sandman felt the ring post on his spine, Little Mac dancing around just out of his reach, weighing up his next move.
Mr. Sandman gritted his teeth, he was a former world champion, and twice this guy's size, no more running away, this ended now! And he was right. Panicked and in a corner, Mr. Sandman blindly ran forward and attempted his uppercuts, gambling it all on the move that had brought him so much success, but Little Mac was waiting for him. While Mr. Sandman dived down and forwards, preparing to explode upwards, Little Mac jumped up and over, winding up and slamming his fist into the rising skull of Mr. Sandman, the opposing uppercut weakly deflecting off Little Mac's shoulder as Mr. Sandman crumpled to the ground.
"JOLT HAYMAKER! JOLT HAYMAKER! JOLT HAYMAKER!" The commentator screamed into his microphone, "It's all over, Little Mac wins! Little Mac wins!"
Like a bubble bursting, the crowd noise threatened to blow the roof off Madison Square Garden, the referee confirmed the knockout and signalled for the bell, Little Mac turned and raised his gloved fist to the crowd, finishing the title fight in the final moments of the second round.
"Atta boy Mac, all day baby, all day!" Doc jumped in the ring and hugged his protégé, ruffling his short black hair. EMTs swarmed the limp carcass of Mr. Sandman attempting to revive him for the official decision, after a few moments one of the doctors looked up and shook his head at the ring announcer.
"Lllllllladies and gentleman…STILL, the reigning, undisputed, chammmmpion of the woooooooooooooooooooooorld…LITTLE MAC!"
The referee yanked Little Mac's hand in the air triumphantly, streamers came down from the ceiling, the crowd danced and cheered for their little warrior; it was a perfect, idyllic, scene. But as Doc released Little Mac from a hug, he got a glimpse of his expression. His eyes were dull and empty, his smile hollow, and Doc noticed for the first time that Little Mac hadn't broken a sweat. In fact, outside of a slight pinkness to his left cheek, you wouldn't have been able to tell that he'd just fought two rounds at the highest professional level.
Little Mac continued to acknowledge the crowd, walking to all four corners of the ring and waving to the various sections, before sliding to the outside and signing autographs for the people in the front row. After about 10 minutes, various TV executives began to give Doc 'the look' and Doc dragged the unwilling Little Mac to the press conference with a couple of minutes to spare.
Doc knew Little Mac hated the press, or any sort of public spotlight really. He could handle interacting with his fans individually, but the only place he was truly comfortable was in between the ropes, gloves on, mouth guard in. So it came as a surprise to see Mac so at ease counting down the seconds until the cameras went live, just sitting in his chair, staring into space.
"Yo Mac" Doc whispered, "You alright champ?"
Little Mac glanced sideways at him, a bored expression on his face, and shrugged.
"OK WE'RE GOING LIVE IN 5, 4, 3, 2, 1" The producer waved his arm and the murmuring gallery of journalists escalated loudly, each trying to get there question out first.
After waiting a few seconds Doc Louis coughed loudly and pointed to a random journalist in the third row.
"Yes, hi, Nick Halling for Sky Sports, you were able to dispose of a former world champion in only two rounds, was Mr. Sandman off his game tonight or did you have a strategy in place to end it so quickly?"
"…Mr. Sandman is a great boxer…" Little Mac eventually deadpanned into the microphone, "…..I knew if I…um, stayed out of his reach…and avoided his uppercuts…that I would be able to find a way to win..." Little Mac finished his answer lamely. As usual, the reporters all swivelled their heads over to Doc once Little Mac had finished his stumbling response.
"Now let me tell you all a little something, my man Little Mac is the best fighter in the world! He is the champ! It doesn't matter if it's Sandman, Tyson, Macho Man, Mayweather Jr, Mac will knock them ALL out. So when you start asking about having good days, you have to understand, IT, DON'T, MATTER! Little Mac is in a league of his own, Mr. Sandman could be having the best goddamn match of his entire career, Little Mac could be out there with the flu, the measles, the plague, and still finish him off with his eyes closed! Don't be asking no questions about strategies like they would even matter, I'm gunna say it again, Mac is the best fighter in the world!"
The journalists started yelling questions again when Doc finished his spiel, smiling internally. Of course he was exaggerating, but he knew his larger than life media persona took the attention off of Little Mac.
"Yes you, second from the left in the first row"
"Merci, André-Arnaud Fourny , L'Equipe, two questions. Firstly, what was your preparation like for the fight? And secondly, how long until you give Monsieur Glass Joe a title opportunity?"
The surrounding journalists sniggered at the latter question as Little Mac began one of his trademark responses, "Um, I didn't do anything too different really, I think…um, I just worked hard and listened to everything Doc said…and um…"
"Monsieur Fourny if I may jump in here" Doc quickly came to Mac's rescue. "Don't let the modesty of the world champion fool you, his training regime is rigorous, NO, sadistic! This man has stepped up his game, 1000 push-ups a day, 1000 sit-ups a day, 2 hours in the gym, and 2 hours in the ring! I promise you that Little Mac is in the best condition of his life, and will only continue to get faster, stronger, and tougher."
"And my second question?"
There was a smattering of stifled laughter again.
"Uh, well, to put it simply, when Glass Joe strings two wins together have his people call my people, next!"
"Dan Rafael, ESPN, how about those fans tonight? Practically a home town crowd, how does it feel to be back after an extended international tour?"
Little Mac perked up a bit, he was a little more confident answering something like this. "Um, I always enjoy the support of my fans wherever I am around the world, and um, it was special for to perform in front of the people that watched me climb my way to the top of the local scene back when I was a teenager…so thank you everyone that came out tonight".
"OK last question!" Doc yelled out, happy to end the conference up on a high note for Mac, "Yep, up front, the guy with the muscles".
"G'day, Danny Green from The West Australian, where to from here? What's next for the champ?"
Doc breathed a quiet sigh of relief, a softball question to wrap it all up, Mac should give his usual non-committal answer about being willing to fight anyone and they'd be home.
…
Mac was taking a lot longer than usual to answer, Doc subtly tilted his head, trying to get a read on him. Little Mac looked…defeated, it was that hollow expression Doc had seen in the ring, this time without the makeup of victory to hide behind.
"…I don't know" Little Mac choked out. His expression was dismal, he looked guiltily across at Doc, his big sorrowful eyes reminiscent of a dog that had wronged its master. The stunned silence of the journalists, some of which were already halfway through packing away their things, was trampled by a stampede of questions.
"Are you saying you're done with boxing?"
"Are you contemplating retirement?"
"Are you going to walk away from your fans after a few short years-"
"ALRIGHT THAT'S IT, I SAID LAST QUESTION AND I MEANT LAST QUESTION, THANK YOU FOR YOUR TIME, IF YOU WANT ANY MORE COMMENTS YOU'LL HAVE TO WAIT FOR THE OFFICIAL PRESS RELEASE, THANK YOU AND GOOD NIGHT!"
Doc roared over the crowd as he grabbed Little Mac by the wrist and escorted him out of the conference room, still a wall of jumbled questions hammering the little champion, cameras flashing faster than ever as Little Mac hurriedly disappeared out of sight.
The two friends, although their relationship was practically father and son, made their way down the dark corridor, the noise and distractions of the world growing fainter and fainter. They eventually emerged in a dimly lit preparation room. Some lockers and mats circled the outside, with a makeshift ring dominating the area, Little Mac and Doc had spent their final moments pre-fight getting into the zone here, it was built to mimic the old style gyms Little Mac had cut his teeth in. 'Blood, sweat, and tears', Little Mac had lost count at the absurd amount of times Doc had yelled that phrase at him, amongst many others, training 'the hard way'.
Doc sat on a bench, and motioned for Little Mac to come sit next to him, but Little Mac remained standing, "it's not right for us to have this discussion without me looking you in the eyes". Little Mac's voice was quiet, but without any trace of nervousness, his eyes unblinking and honest. Doc chuckled, "Ahhh, it's alright kid, I knew this day would come, it comes for all champions, just come out and say it".
Little Mac gave a small smile, he should have known Doc would understand. "I've lost my passion for boxing".
Even though Doc had an idea of what Little Mac was about to say, the words still stung to hear so bluntly, he wondered how long he'd missed the signs.
Little Mac continued, becoming more distressed, "It's just…too easy now, there hasn't been a decent challenge in a long time…I like boxing, but my love for it resides in overcoming obstacles that are larger than me, I love…being the underdog, working to defeat someone who is faster, stronger, or tougher than me…but now I'm the champion, and not just any champion! Listen to the announcer, I'm the undisputed champion! And you in the press conference, you said it, no one is in my league!"
"Come on Mac, you know I was playing the crowd-"
"BUT IT WAS THE TRUTH!"
Little Mac immediately bowed his head, embarrassed about his own outburst. There was a moment of awkward silence before Doc burst out laughing.
"HAHAHA Oh Mac, you are the most kind, and humble, human being I have ever met…so for you to say that…well, I guess you might have a point."
Little Mac sniffed, half laughing, half holding back tears. "So? What do I do? What are my options?"
Doc whistled, "Well there is the million dollar question…no literally, you're killing my cut, kid" Doc teased. "It's like I said, this happens to a lot of champions, they get to the top and they hit a wall, they get stuck in a rut."
"And what do they do to get out of it?"
Doc scratched his chin thoughtfully, "Well, they keep fighting and try and make as much money as they can before the next generation dethrones them, which usually isn't that long anyway because most people hit their peak in their late 20's or early 30s."
Little Mac smiled, feeling a compliment incoming.
"But you are a freak of nature kid, a workaholic who is driven to fight, and to overcome…so without anything to overcome…you're not going to be happy are you?"
Little Mac shook his head, money held no interest for him, as long as he could replace broken gear then as far as we was concerned Doc could just have it all.
"So, we just gotta find a new challenge for ya, walk away for boxing for a little, work on something, and hey maybe when you come back to it there will be some new competition!"
Little Mac beamed. "What should I try instead of boxing?"
Doc frowned, going into deep thought, "What about…mixed martial arts? That UFC thing is picking up steam, ever thought about cage-fighting?"
Little Mac scrunched up his nose, "I did think about that at one point…but…"
"…but?"
"A lot of those fighters try and win by submission."
"So?"
"Can you see me tapping out to an armbar?"
"Ah…you're going to lose a limb for 6 months through your own stubbornness"
"Right…a knock out is my loss and it's over, but I could never willingly submit to someone…"
"…Even for the sake of your own wellbeing" Doc finished his sentiment for him.
"That's a good point Mac, and another thing, you wouldn't be able to fight people in a different weight class than you, you'd have like 3 or 4 main contenders for your division belt and that's it, you'd burn out of MMA faster than you did boxing."
Mac nodded his head in agreement. Doc continued on, "Ever thought about track and field? You got some feet on you champ, how bout the Olympics? 100 metres? 200 metres? …Gymnastics?" Doc winked at a blushing Little Mac.
"No way!"
"Hahah, ok but seriously, what about sprinting?"
Little Mac tilted his head in innocent contemplation, "…maybe, I wouldn't mind representing the United States instead of just myself all the time."
"And, you're always trying to overcome your own personal best times, so you'll never run out of competition!" Doc joked.
Mac and Doc entertained a whole range of ideas, swimming, cycling, lawn bowls, and darts were all quickly dismissed, while kickboxing, sprinting, and ice hockey ("You already have half the game down kid! Hahahaha!"), were left up in the air for future consideration. Realising it was now getting close to midnight, Mac and Doc began making their way out of the underbelly of Madison Square Gardens. They headed through the empty corridors, Little Mac smiling and nodding at the various staff and cleaners that were still left as they passed, a little weight off his chest having confessed to his friend and mentor.
Doc spoke abruptly after a little while, "That hit you took in the second round, I know you're better than that Mac…not ducking back out on the follow through?"
The implied question hung in the air, Doc was fairly sure he already knew the answer, but he wanted to hear Little Mac say it. After a few more seconds Doc prompted him, "Because, there's being careless…and then there's extending your head into Mr. Sandman's punching zone…"
Little Mac trembled and touched his pink cheek, "For a second…I thought I could make it more interesting…I wanted to be the underdog again and come from behind…who wants to support a champion that just wins without adversity? What is competition without competition? …And then Mr. Sandman hit me."
Doc looked at him curiously, "What? Did he beat the thought out of you or something? The man has a killer punch you know?!"
Little Mac looked at Doc glumly, "I didn't feel a thing…and I realised that it was pointless continuing this charade…I'm sorry" Doc nodded, a little happier at least that he hadn't missed any obvious signs in the lead up to the match, he imagined that Little Mac had thought that his old rival would provide the necessary obstacle he needed to light a fire under him.
"Hey now kid, no need to apologise to me, you're the one that got hit hahah!"
Little Mac managed to smile again, "You invested everything in me Doc, I'm sorry you have to say goodbye to your gravy train".
Doc spluttered comically, "Whatchu callin a gravy train kid? Do you know how much time I put into thinking of encouragements to yell out? And look at this gut! Worryin bout your health and wellbeing! You're drivin me to eat all that damn chocolate! Managing you cost me my fitness!"
"I could have sworn you already had the HEAVYweight championship of the world on your resume when we met…" Little Mac added slyly.
"Well, I, never, I think I like you more when you keep your mouth shut" Doc huffed, before they both burst out laughing.
"Come on kid, let's go sleep on it."
Little Mac and Doc Louis made their way out into the carpark and piled into Doc's Jaguar 1963 Jaguar E Type ("Classic baby, classic"), joining the Manhattan congestion ("Even at midnight!" Doc furiously exclaimed), and making their way back to their humble dwelling in the Bronx.
At that moment, very, very, VERY, far away from them, Rosalina left the Comet Observatory, smiling serenely.