three hits on dodgeball mountain
and a runt that falls faster than butterfly farts
Kirk lost his first heavyweight title fight to Ruiz on low blows.
Upon appeal, the World Boxing Association ruled that Kirk was improperly disqualified.
That still didn’t make him the champ.
I was in Jr high with Kirk. He likely didn’t remember me.
Back then, I was a runt of not even five feet - the kind of ninety eight pound weakling that gets sand kicked in his face - that is if the sand kickers would bother to acknowledge me. At fifteen years old, Kirk Johnson was a mountain of a man standing six foot three and weighed at least two c-notes.
I never knew Kirk as a boxer, nor as someone who used low blows.
I knew Kirk on the dodgeball court and even there Kirk delighted in headshots.
On one particular occasion I was alone on the court with Kirk. Moments prior to this I managed to knocked out Lumpy Burns with a shot that took his feet out from under him. I dodge everything for the entire game.
But now?
It was just me and Kirk.
Kirk was never cruel when he hurt you with a dodgeball. He just loved knocking people out.
Which is a great quality to have as a boxer.
As a classmate in gym class, I wasn’t such a fan of his passion.
But there on the court, I dreamed that maybe I’d survive. Kirk had a ball. He palmed in in his massive hand. I held a ball in both my hands and held it trembling in front of my face like an uncertain squire hiding behind a shield.
Maybe the gods would shine on me.
Maybe he’d miss.
Kirk didn’t think he would:
Buddy, there are going to be three hits. Imma hit you. You’ll hit the ground. Then the ambulance will hit 90 as it takes you to the hospital.
I don’t remember anything after that.
My fantasies of besting this beast of a man were merely that - fantasies that I could somehow overcome my lack of size, speed and athleticism and win the day.
I later found out that I didn’t even have a chance to raise up my dodge ball to block his throw.
He spoke, chucked then struck me down.
It was over quicker than a butterfly farts.
But my story of survival?
Well,
It’s become a legend -entirely in my own mind.
It turns out that most of my dreams have played out like that dodgeball game.
They start out as unreasonable fantasies where I defy improbable odds and always end up with me flat on m’ arse, seeing stars and wondering how the hell I got there to begin with.
Stay foolish you fiends.
And don’t play dodgeball with a boxer if you can help it.
