The belt

This is a very old story of mine, that is in fact one of my very first...

His name was Magic Paddy Will, and he was a boxer.

They said you could tell he had it in him right from the start. He had this look in his eyes, a sort of hungry look that couldn’t be appeased with nothing less than what he aimed for. The trouble was he only ever aimed to win the next fight.

‘One fight at a time,’ he would say. But his trainers saw him all right and put him against opponents he could learn something from.

So he worked his way up without looking too far into the future. Most of the fights were tough but he won almost all of them. By the time he was twenty four he’d had twenty fights and only lost two. If he could have won another three fights he would’ve been ready for the big one: the belt. But things didn’t go right for him.

The night before he was due to fight he had a headache and his body ached. So he wrapped up well and tried to sweat it out. The next day he felt better but weak. He didn’t let on at the time. So he went into the ring with the start of flu. He got beat to the floor so many times the referee had to stop the fight.

Paddy Will was cut pretty bad. If he’d been on form he could’ve won that fight without being cut. But that cut was the start of all his problems. Also something else serious had happened.

There were a lot of important people there that night, and after seeing him fight and fall over so many times they all took him for an amateur and a poor one at that.

Nobody really believed he had been ill and nobody believed in him for a while after that, except us. We never gave up believing on him. So he lost in more ways than one. He got put back a long way, his chance for the belt suspended for a time.

The next years were hell for him. Eleven fights. Eight he won. Three he lost because his cut opened and the referee had to stop the fight. Paddy Will came out of the ring each time really furious, saying: ‘I could have won that.’ And he could have, but rules is rules.

He was good at avoiding face punches but he was getting old, for the ring anyway, so he didn’t have much more time for the big fight. You see, Paddy Will’s magic was his speed.

He could go in and lay three punches on the other feller by the time the other feller could get one back. But after the age of thirty a boxer’s speed starts to go.

That’s when experience counts and Paddy Will had the experience and he wasn’t that much slower yet, but it was coming. He didn’t have the big punch you see, to back him up.

Oh he could hit hard but there was always someone who could hit harder. Paddy Will’s skill was in avoiding those punches, getting in fast with the light jabs and winning on points.

He was magic to watch and he never hurt anyone. Nobody ever came out of the ring punch drunk and broken from him. Not like some sluggers who’ll damage a person’s face and brain permanent.

Oh no, Paddy Will was an artist and a credit to boxing. He never hurt no-one and he was a gentleman; none of this mouthing off before a fight to psych himself up, he didn’t go in for all that.

When the time came for go, he went, like a spring that was wound up, he uncoiled and went into action and did his job. And he always gave the other feller encouragement afterwards. He was well loved for his nobleness, in and out of the ring. Paddy Will was a legend in the ring but he never did win that big fight. His cut let him down and then the years took away his magic, in the ring anyway. He could have made it; could have been champ; could have been the best in the world. Yes, he would have won the belt if it hadn’t been for that cut that opened up with the slightest knock.

Paddy Will fought for money. That’s the only reason he fought; one fight at a time. It was because of me he got the cut. I wanted a bike, not just any bike but a new one just out; bright red with blue and yellow stripes and very expensive. He said he’d get it for me. So he went into that ring knowing he shouldn’t fight with a flu coming but doing it anyway, to get me that bike. So I got my bike but Paddy Will got a cut that stayed with him for the rest of his career. Then there were all the other children at the home, all grown up now. But we’ll never forget Paddy Will, for he spent every penny he ever made on us. Paddy Will was a legend to us. Through the years we came to look on him as our father, or like an older brother. Always he’d come loaded with presents, no-one was left out. Every Christmas he’d be there for us; and every birthday. When one of us was sick he’d be by the bed-side worrying. He was always there for us.

We used to say, just before he went in the ring: “Who’s going to win? “Who’s going to win?” The other boys would go quiet then, waiting, and I would shout: “Magic Paddy Will.” Then everyone would chant: “Magic Paddy Will, magic Paddy Will,” over and over again.

But one day Paddy Will wasn’t there anymore. You see, when he got the cut, the time he got beat terrible, something got loosened inside him. A doctor said he shouldn’t fight anymore because one good punch and that would be it, all over. But he kept fighting, he didn’t know anything else and while he had his speed he could avoid the big punch. One time he didn’t.

I asked him once what it was like to go in the ring. He said he always got butterflies, until the bell went, and then there was no time to think of anything but the man in front of him.

I’ve got my first fight tomorrow so I’d better stop now, I need my sleep. They say I’m like my Paddy Will. I hope so because I want to win the belt for both of us.

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