Page 44 of On the Ropes
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Of course it is. But why are they calling about me? I’m out and I’ve been out.”
Game Time didn’t usually air amateur fights, but they aired the Golden Gloves the year that I won, which was a large part of my popularity once I went pro. Every bar in Philly streamed the weekend fights on the Game Time channel.
“Not to box. As a commentator. Their top guy is leaving, and they want to replace him with someone who’s retired but on the younger side. You are on an extremely short list. And, look, they know you would be young compared to a lot of the other commentators on their network, but it’s the new angle they’re looking for. You could grow into a new career.”
I fell back heavily against the door. “A…commentator?”
“That’s what I’m saying.”
“But I can’t…” I trailed off. Sports commentators wore fancy clothes and sat behind desks while facing a camera crew. They interviewed athletes and analyzed performances.
Most of all, they weren’t people like me. Sure, flirting with Tabitha the past few days was boosting my confidence. That didn’t mean I was ready to put on a tie and get beamed into people’s households after every match.
“Harry,” I started again. “They know what I’m like, right?”
He coughed. “Yeah, they know you’re not that into the spotlight. But every person they put in front of that camera gets training and mentoring. You better believe it. If they choose you, they’re gonna be putting in years of work and money out the wazoo. Even better? It’s in Vegas, baby.”
My ear caught the sound of Tabitha’s voice, talking to someone on the sidewalk. My agent was calling me about a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and I was trying to go get water ice. “I’m sorry, what? I’d have to move to Las Vegas?”
“That’s where their studio is. It’s the epicenter of the sport.”
I didn’t know how I felt about that. I traveled a bit when I was pro—and obviously to Vegas before. The only thing I remembered was hating every fucking thing about it, but that wasn’t the point really. The point was—could I pack up the way Tabitha did all the time and leave?
“I know it’s a lot to take in. And they haven’t made their decision yet. But I wanted you to know in case it happened so you would have time to consider it. I don’t think I’m stepping out of line here if I tell you that, as your agent, this is the dream. This would mean being back in the business, back doing what you do best, without having to get your ass kicked in a ring. You feel me?”
“Uh-huh,” I said, still processing.
There was a pause. Then Harry said, “How have things been since you left?”
“They’re fine,” I said. My standard response. “I still train with Sly, I just don’t—”
“Take any hits to that big head of yours?”
My nostrils flared. There was a reason why Harry annoyed the shit out of me. “Something like that.”
“But what are you doing with your life?”
What was I doing? I was doing odd maintenance jobs around South Philly for family and friends and meticulously training for another fight that would never come. All while bearing the weight of a city that felt either pissed at me or sorry for me.
I walked into the kitchen and poured myself a glass of water. Right by the sink was a framed picture from one of the matches I won. The ref had my left fist in the air while my right arm dangled at my side. I had a cut on my cheek and a swollen lip. Sweat dripped from my hair and down my chest. The look on my face didn’t resemble some robotic machine at all. I looked like an animal. I looked feral.
“I’m not doing much,” I admitted, putting down my glass and picking up the frame. “But I’m not saying I want to get back into it again.”
“Not even if this could count as your comeback?”
I went still. I’d never admitted to Harry how conflicted I was about retiring sometimes—those low, late-night thoughts that were impossible to ignore. He’d take that ball and run with it, have me signed up for some exhibition in no time.
“Do I want a comeback?” I asked.
“I don’t know. Do you?”
A dull pounding started up at the base of my skull. “Harry.”
“What?”
I hesitated, eyes flicking up to the ceiling. “What’s the network’s stance on concussions and TBIs? Are they doing anything about it?”
This time Harry took a second to respond. “Full disclosure? No. They’re not changing the rules. You’re gonna see boxers take a lot of punches to the head, just like you did.”
