It was a cold November night with a pitch-black sky. Joe was coming out of the locker room after yet another loss; number 62, to be exact. He was limping a bit; he had landed weirdly when falling down and his knee was still rather sore.

Well, at least he had Katrina to go back to. He found her waiting for him in the lounge room. He sat down for a bit to take some of the pressure off his knee.

"Dad, I've been wondering something recently," said Katrina.

"Qu'est-ce que c'est?" (What is it?) Joe was curious.

"When did you decide you wanted to be a boxer?"

Quand j'ai décidé de devenir un boxeur. (When I decided to become a boxer.) Why, he had never realized that that day had happened nearly twenty years ago by now. "Eh bien, j'étais en école secondaire…" (Well, I was in high school...)


Many years ago, it was St. Patrick's Day, and fifteen year old Joseph Beaufort was sitting in his math class, working in his green polo shirt. He had already finished the assignment, and was now working on his homework.

"Même si je n'étais pas le meilleur, j'aimais les maths." (Even though I wasn't the best at it, I liked math.)

The bell rang, and Joe put his books in his bag; the weekend was here.

"Hé, Lulu!"

"Mes, eh, amis m'appelaient Lulu, parce que mon deuxième prénom est Luc." (My, uh, friends called me Lulu, because my middle name is Luc.)

Along came Armand, Colette, and Marcel. Armand pulled Joe up by the scruff of his coat. "Ah, il porte du vert, on ne peut pas pincer." (Aw, he's wearing green, we can't pinch him.)

"Tu sais, en recul, mes amis n'étaient vraiment amis. J'arrête de parler avec eux après la graduation." (You know, in hindsight, my friends weren't really friends. I stopped talking to them after graduation.)

"Pourquoi veux-tu me pincer? Ca c'est fait mal," grumbled Joe. (Why would you want to pinch me? That hurts.)

"Oh, Lulu, tu es tellement doux," said Marcel, giving Joe a "playful" punch on the arm. (Oh, Lulu, you're so soft.)

"Le prochaine Saint-Patrick, tu besoin d'être plus fort," said Colette with a wink. (Next St. Patrick's Day, you need to be tougher.)

D'être plus fort. (To be tougher.) That was a great idea. If he was tougher, he could be just as cool as Armand, or Marcel, or Colette. Why, if he worked hard enough, he could make it really big! Maybe he could be a great boxer, just like Doc Louis! That was the best suggestion he had ever heard!

...But when he looked back up to thank Colette for the idea, the three had already left.


"J'ai commencé de traîner, et après l'école secondaire et l'université, je suis finalement arrivé à l'Association Mondiale de la Boxe Video." (I started training, and after high school and university, I finally made it to the World Video Boxing Association.)

There he was; twenty-three years old, fresh-faced Joseph Beaufort, first time fighter for the WVBA. He was going against some fellow they called Von Kaiser.

"Fight!"

As the fight began, Joe quickly realized that it wasn't the smartest idea to go for the bottom of the Major Circuit rather than the Minor Circuit; Von Kaiser was much stronger than he was. And yes, he understood he was participating in a combat sport, but he didn't want to hurt him. He wanted these people to like him!

"Sie sind ganz neu darin, nicht wahr?" (You're very new to this, aren't you?) Von Kaiser asked.

Joe couldn't quite work out how to respond, or how Von Kaiser was able to so effortlessly land punches. Why, he could hardly aim in comparison!

Eventually, Joe's reluctance to give it his all caught up with him, and he took his three knockdowns. TKO.


"C'était juste le premier dans une série," concluded Joe, "mais j'apprends ce jour que les autres boxeurs vont j'aime n'importe qu'ils ont gagné ou perdu." (It was just the first in a series, but I learned that day that the other boxers will like me whether they win or lose.)

Just then, Von Kaiser entered the room and sat next to Joe. "Guten Abend, Joseph. Was hast du vor?" (Good evening, Joseph. What are you up to?)

"Ah, je dis les histoires à Katie," said Joe. (Ah, I'm telling Katie stories.)

Von Kaiser chuckled. "Hast du ihr von unserem ersten Kampf erzählt und du hattest zu viel Angst, um mir wehzutun?" (Did you tell her about the first time we fought, and how you were too scared to hurt me?)

"Oui," grinned Joe, tilting his head up to kiss Von Kaiser's forehead. He stood up; his knee wasn't hurting anymore. "Viens, nous retournons chez moi et combattons le froid avec la soupe d'oignon chaude." (Come on, let's go home and fight the cold with some hot onion soup.) He took Von Kaiser by the hand, put his other arm around Katrina, and walked his family out of the arena.