Drago stared at Tommy Gunn as the referee told both fighters the rules.
The usual. No low blows, watch the rabbit punches.
Both men went into their separate corners and the bell rang for round one. Tommy Gunn circled Drago. He was afraid. Couldn't help it. Drago had been defeated by only one man and Tommy thought about what kind of chances he could have against the man.
Not much. A couple of hard blows to the head and body left him speechless, dazed. What could he do? He covered up, kept his gloves around his skull, tried to protect himself. But soon, SMACK! He went down.
The referee counted. He was out.
The crowd filled the ring. Reporters. Managers, interviewers. They all made their way down. Drago was handed the championship belt. He thought he looked quite good in it.
That night, Billy Hutchingson sat alone in the basement of a house he shared with his mother in Birmingham, Alabama. He watched the fight on Pay- Per-View. He didn't like either fighter very much. Tommy was a traitor to his hero, Rocky. Drago had killed Appallo Creed.
Billy dreamed that he might one day fight Drago. He had, so far, as a professional boxer, a record of 11-9. Not an impressive record. Not one that would get him a fight with the champion of the world.
No, Billy Hutchingson was a club boxer, a hobbyist who boxed for some beer money on Friday nights at a club called KillPatrick's. It was fun.
But something bothered him about all this. This Drago, this killing monster and the way he stared at the cameras after he won the title; the way he appeared to be staring at Billy himself, looking through him, challenging him to take Drago down.
Billy turned off the TV and went for a walk. He had to get serious about his training. He had to start winning matches if he even had a prayer of challenging someone like Drago. He had to get a real trainer.
Both men went into their separate corners and the bell rang for round one. Tommy Gunn circled Drago. He was afraid. Couldn't help it. Drago had been defeated by only one man and Tommy thought about what kind of chances he could have against the man.
Not much. A couple of hard blows to the head and body left him speechless, dazed. What could he do? He covered up, kept his gloves around his skull, tried to protect himself. But soon, SMACK! He went down.
The referee counted. He was out.
The crowd filled the ring. Reporters. Managers, interviewers. They all made their way down. Drago was handed the championship belt. He thought he looked quite good in it.
That night, Billy Hutchingson sat alone in the basement of a house he shared with his mother in Birmingham, Alabama. He watched the fight on Pay- Per-View. He didn't like either fighter very much. Tommy was a traitor to his hero, Rocky. Drago had killed Appallo Creed.
Billy dreamed that he might one day fight Drago. He had, so far, as a professional boxer, a record of 11-9. Not an impressive record. Not one that would get him a fight with the champion of the world.
No, Billy Hutchingson was a club boxer, a hobbyist who boxed for some beer money on Friday nights at a club called KillPatrick's. It was fun.
But something bothered him about all this. This Drago, this killing monster and the way he stared at the cameras after he won the title; the way he appeared to be staring at Billy himself, looking through him, challenging him to take Drago down.
Billy turned off the TV and went for a walk. He had to get serious about his training. He had to start winning matches if he even had a prayer of challenging someone like Drago. He had to get a real trainer.