YAS MARINA, ABU DHABI, UAE—19:45 / 7:45 P.M. GST
The weigh-in had gone smoothly, and both he and Jerrod Keith easily made their 155-pound limit. When they squared off afterward, Keith leaned in and lightly bumped Wasaku with his forehead. Wasaku had reacted by reaching out for Keith’s long, curly hair, barely missing it. The two proceeded to verbally assault each other while their respective teams held them back.
Minutes later, backstage, they were laughing and giving each other the bro handshake/hug. MMA was all about respect and show. As long as both he and Keith fought their best, they would leave the cage as friends and the WFL honchos would be looking to book them again.
After the weigh-in, Wasaku took a nap. Later, he, Terrell, and Hatcher went to dinner at the Aquarium Seafood Restaurant on Yas Island. Wasaku and Terrell both opted for miso soup and sushi, partaking of some exotic rolls and incredibly fresh nigiri. Hatcher, not a fan of anything uncooked, took the option of choosing his own sailfish filet from the fresh fish market. The chefs at the restaurant grilled it and served it with a garlic lemon sauce and a side of steamed vegetables. They all walked away satisfied but, they agreed, not overstuffed.
Following dinner, Wasaku and the other men strolled along the marina, enjoying the cool Gulf air and looking across the water to the lights of the city. Wasaku’s nerves were up, just as they always were the night before a fight. But the evening walk would help keep his mind clear and his stress managed.
Eventually, they positioned themselves along the waterfront facing Al Raha Creek. More of a deep canal than an actual creek, Al Raha ran along the eastern side of Yas Island, separating it from Abu Dhabi’s mainland.
Directly across the water, lights sparkled from the hotels and apartment high-rises of what Wasaku knew was the Al Muneera neighborhood. He’d read some stats about it online before leaving Vancouver, but he couldn’t remember the exact numbers. He just knew he would have to win a lot of fights to afford a decent place on that little island.
“What do you think about me bringing Julie and the girls here with my cut of the purse?” Terrell asked, leaning forward with his elbows on a white metal handrail.
“You could certainly go to worse places,” Wasaku answered.
“That’s for sure. I know she was hoping to redo the kitchen, but you don’t make memories by redoing a kitchen.”
“Spoken like a true anti-pragmatist.”
“You know what I’m going to do with my cut?” asked Hatcher.
“No. What, coach?”
Hatcher shrugged. “I was hoping you guys knew. Amber hasn’t told me yet.”
They all laughed. Wasaku was the only one of the three not married, and he was content to keep it that way—at least for now. The time would come. In the meantime, a relationship would just complicate his life. If he was going to win the belt someday, he had to be laser focused. That just didn’t leave time for women and relationships.
“Mr. Katagi!”
Wasaku turned toward where he heard his name and recognized the family from the racetrack. The older boy was running toward him, followed by his younger brothers, who other than being dressed differently could be the same person. Behind them, their father and mother were both calling out. “Wait!”
“Hi, Mr. Katagi. My name is Nevin, and I’m, like, your hugest fan. We saw you earlier today at the racetrack, and I thought, Oh my gosh, I can’t believe I just saw Wasaku Katagi. And now here you are again, and I remember watching you knock out Casey Higgins with a kick to his side. Whoomp! And he crumbled like a bunch of broccoli. That’s from Young Frankenstein. My dad and I always say that when someone gets knocked out—Whoomp, and he crumbled like a bunch of broccoli.”
All during the rapid-fire monologue, Wasaku was thinking, This kid is great! This is why I do this, to inspire kids like him. The younger ones were also talking, but both height and volume gave the advantage to the older brother.
The dad finally arrived with Mom close behind.
“Nevin, take a breath,” his father said. “You just barged in on Mr. Katagi’s personal space without saying, ‘Excuse me’ or seeing if he was already in another conversation.” His dad was scolding him…but gently. It was evident that he wanted to get his point across without embarrassing his son.
Nevin’s eyes got big. “I’m sorry, sir.”
Wasaku put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “No sweat, Nevin. Now, please, no sir or Mr. Katagi. Those are for my grandfather and my dad, respectively. Just call me Wasaku.”
He reached out his hand, and Nevin took it, squeezing it firmly and looking him in the eye.
Dad’s taught this boy well.
“And who are you?” he asked, turning toward the twins.
“I’m Zabe,” the first boy said with a wave.
“And I’m Elliot,” said the second, matching the wave.
Wasaku had the impression that they’d been asked that question so many times they automatically fell into their routine. It was also obvious by their handshakes and eye contact that Dad started his training young.
“I’m Rick.” The dad held out his hand. “And this is my wife, Katie.”
“I’m so sorry,” she said, also shaking his hand. “We tried to stop them.”
“It’s perfectly fine. I have to admit it’s nice to hear some fellow English-speakers.”
“We’ve been speaking English our whole lives,” said Elliot, whose pale skin instantly colored when he realized what he’d said.
Wasaku put out his hand for a fist bump. “Awesome. Then we’ve got something in common.” Elliot bumped him, wearing a big smile, then pulled his hand back for an imagined explosion.
An ahem behind him caused the fighter to turn around. “Oh crap… I mean, stink. This is Brett Terrell. He’s my sports medicine and physical therapy guy. And this one is—”
“Bruce Hatcher,” Nevin said. “Everyone knows Bruce Hatcher.”
There were handshakes all around.
“You going to the fights tomorrow?” Wasaku asked Nevin.
“Nah. We couldn’t get tickets.”
Wasaku detected a bit of hopefulness in the teen’s voice. Best to shut that door right away. “That’s a bummer. Wish I could get you in, but it’s sold out, and I’ve got no tickets to give away.”
The disappointment was evident, but Nevin held it in well. “So Jerrod Keith has those stone fists. Do you have a strategy to take him out?”
Wasaku took a quick glance around. Terrell was talking with the mom about the Canadian education system. Crud, I’ve already forgotten her name. I’ve got to get better about that. Rick and coach were in a discussion about Ferraris and old American muscle cars. The twins had tired of the whole scene and were looking over the white metal railing into the water.
He turned back to Nevin and adopted a serious look. “You’re not a spy for Jerrod Keith’s camp, are you?”
“No way, Wasaku! That’s not the kind of guy I am. I would never—Wait, you’re messing with me, aren’t you?”
Wasaku laughed. “Yeah, I’m messing with you. So Keith is a striker. Like you said, stone fists. What would you do?”
“I don’t know.” Nevin looked to the ground and started chewing on his lower lip. Then he looked up. “You need legs to punch. I remember hearing a commentator say that once. Maybe you should use your kicks to wear out his lead leg?”
Wasaku high-fived him. “You’re a smart kid. Here’s the plan.”
As Wasaku laid out the strategy, time ticked down. Gradually, like that period just before the beginning of a fireworks display, Wasaku noticed eyes looking up. Soon even he and his fan were talking out of the sides of their mouths as they scanned the sky for the pinpricks of light that would signal the start of the show.