#009

Thanks to everyone who submitted. This past week's writing "rule" was the two men in the photo could not be related by blood and had to have a connection OTHER THAN boxing. I like the spin Russ took. Good stuff. Enjoy.


Hans & Jerrold
by Russ B.

Hans's attractive legs brought him more work, but Jerrold believed his hands were better than anyone's. ...and took great pains to protect them.
"Hans can only dream of skilled hands... if Hans can dream", thought Jerrold.
Hans was a pretty boy, airhead type. Jerrold had to keep reminding him that boxing was only PR, and to stop hitting him in the face.
It was no longer fun rooming together.

Hans dreamed only of lunch. “Mmm...beer and bratwurst” (which would eventually become his downfall).

Jerrold knew “Hands may be great, but if face looks like cauliflower, you lose job!.” The super model game in Prague was cut-throat.


Gimme some more...

Lone Photo
by Linda Gail A.

Sven joined our family at age 29. He never bonded with anyone at the orphanage, and his counselors thought it best he start over and relearn connection. Only, Sven has an issue with touching people. So we went sent him out to buy gloves for all of us. But I guess we didn’t explain very well. We ended up with boxing gloves. Mother and Father made us pose for a picture. Our arms touched, Sven hyperventilated and we had to send him back to his institution. But I’ll always have the photo of us to remember him by.



Rematch
by TresK

It’ll be a cake-walk, Jocko said. We’ll go a few rounds, make some cash money; a C-note each, maybe better. He forgets we haven’t sparred since that rigged fight in Nevada. Even more, he forgets what he took that night. He’s good at forgetting. Not me, not after he left Reno with Belinda. Sure, Jocko’s played it cool, cucumber cool, but I’ll get mine. Once that flash goes off, he’ll start prancing for the press and wham… flat on his mug. The reporters will all laugh and he’ll wail “Who tied my shoes?” like some wheezy old broad. Serve him right, after Reno.



No Hesitation
by Mark H.

The photo sits on my dresser, alongside pictures of my wife and kids and grandkids. Mutt and Jeff, they called us. We terrorized the girls in 1st grade together and graduated from high school together, class of ‘41. After Pearl Harbor we joined up together.

Every soldier did time in the ring, but Lenny never was any good at it. He really didn’t want to hurt anyone. Always wore that goofy grin and curly mop of hair. No scholar, either, but his heart of gold tipped the scales. Three weeks after we shipped out, Lenny died from enemy bullets carrying me to safety. That was just the way he was.


Memoir of a Hero
by Randy H.

We were in the best shape of our lives back then. Dick and I thought we knew it all; ready to conquer anything or anybody in our way. We were stationed together when the war broke. The war – it made us feel weak and alone. All we had was a shared responsibility to serve our country and the companionship of one another. Dick was my best friend. I razzed him because he was a slow, bowlegged son of a German immigrant. If I wasn't so much like my father, Dick would have known how much I loved him. Maybe things would have been different between us.

Not By Blood
By: Mary F.

The nursing home called. He died peacefully. “Cremate him and send the ashes.” I said.
There are personal items. “Give them away”.
They sent the picture anyway. The one he always carried with him. “My boy and I,” he would tell his patients, new and old.
I loved that summer we boxed together at Randall’s gym. I loved the hikes we took, the evenings he taught me pool and poker.
“There is something you should know”, Mother said after his stroke. “He’s not your father. One of us was infertile.”
I traced my fingers over the image of his big ears, dark kinky curls, the dear face of my father.