1.

Taylor vs Jenkins

August 2020 – Sydney

Ted’s legs struggled to carry him back to his corner at the end of the penultimate round. He hunched forward as his abdominal muscles pulled against each other, knotting and twisting in violent cramps, making it hard to breathe, let alone throw a punch. His vision had been blurry since Round Three and the black hole was growing by the round.

‘Ted Taylor doesn’t have anything left in the tank. Tonight he’s proven that while he may have the talent, he hasn’t inherited the heart that – love him or hate him – we came to admire from his father, who fought wars in the ring.’

‘I agree, Jim – another snooze-fest. I know we have a limited capacity crowd here tonight, but I’ve been at local amateur fights with more atmosphere than this.’

‘Tai Jenkins didn’t come all the way from the United States expecting a walk in the park, but this is a real let-down. First Taylor struggles to make weight, the same excuse he used after his failed middleweight championship fight last year – and we all know what happened in the rematch. But just in case you missed it, it was much the same as what we’re seeing tonight. A sluggish effort. Ted’s barely thrown a punch with intent in eleven rounds. Pop Taylor has thrown more shadow punches from the corner than his grandson has at his opponent.’

The wet slap of Pop’s palm against his cheek felt like the heaviest shot Ted had sustained all night. His opponent was nothing more than a schoolyard bully, but Ted seemed to be fighting in a dream, his body moving in slow motion.

‘Anything left in the tank, Ted?’ Desperation flickered in the old man’s pale grey eyes. Pop was sweating more than Ted.

‘Tank’s been empty for weeks.’ Ted’s words sealed his fate. He knew it was too late to take up his gripe with Pop, but the bitterness got the better of him.

‘Well, you have three minutes to salvage this fight.’

Salvage my career, more like it.

Three minutes later Ted, the loser by the unanimous decision of the judges and crowd, was booed out of the ring. A boxer who’s behind on the scorecard usually goes into the final round urging themselves to dig deep and find that one punch. On this night, a starved and exhausted Ted went into Round Twelve simply hoping to remain on his feet.

The locker room was eerily quiet as staff members went about their business cleaning up the mess, folding chairs and packing away warm-up pads and gloves. Sitting on a bench in nothing but his black sports underwear and strapping tape, Ted could barely move without his stomach muscles straining. He put two painkillers into his mouth and washed them down with a Gatorade. He knew it was too late to defeat the oncoming migraine, but he wanted to ward it off until he got home.

The few bumps and bruises from the fight didn’t bother him as much as the nail-in-the-coffin comments coming from the TV.

‘What do you think, Jim? That’s three losses in a row for Ted. I know he’s only twenty-five, but is this the last we’ve seen of him on the big stage?’

‘I hope not, Tommy, but it doesn’t look like Ted Taylor wants it anymore. He’s not the same boxer he was two years ago when he battled through ten fights undefeated to earn a title shot. But ever since the title match against Bobby Franklin that brought him down from super middleweight to middleweight, he hasn’t been the same. Perhaps the weight of expectation has finally tipped the scales.’

‘Speaking of scales, there’s many who can’t understand why Ted remained at middleweight following the two losses. Yes, he set the world on fire in his first few years as a pro, but as he’s matured, many aren’t convinced he’s a natural middleweight. His last performances support that argument. As you said, he looked sick. No energy, no power, no punch.’

‘Turn that shit off,’ Pop snarled as he sat down to remove the tape from Ted’s hands and wrists. He moved with a grace uncommon for men his age. There was also a hesitant fragility about him. There were times Pop slithered about as if afraid of bumping into someone. ‘You barely stretched the tape,’ he said after inspecting Ted’s wrists. ‘Vinnie, pass the scissors, would you?’

Vinnie Rubik, a buddy of Pop’s who had served with him in Vietnam as a medic, handed Pop the scissors and resumed packing up his equipment. A well-seasoned cutman, Vinnie had been in Ted’s corner for most of his fights. Deep lines ran from the corner of his eyes down to his chin, but his youthful bright blue eyes made guessing his age difficult.

Pop took the scissors. His quivering hand struggled to make the first cut, but regained control once he found a rhythm.

Ted turned his head from the television towards Pop, allowing the tape to be removed in the same manner as he’d let the fight pass by – with his mind elsewhere. Questions attacked him from all angles. Am I done? Do I want to keep going? Should I go up a weight division? Why is Pop holding me back? He let the questions fight among themselves, fluttering around inside, unanswered.

‘For those looking to see the famous Taylor ticker in action, I wouldn’t hold your breath. But there’s one final twist in tonight’s story. Next up we have Ted’s father, the infamous Ron Taylor. The 41-year-old, two-time heavyweight champion is making a return to the ring to face off against none other than Jarred Leroy, the fighter who ended the most recent stint in Ron’s roller-coaster career four years ago.’

‘Surely this is nothing more than a glorified exhibition between Leroy and Taylor. Leroy, the heavyweight champion, hasn’t fought in nearly two years due to a laundry list of administrative errors, failed negotiations, injuries, felonies. You name it, it’s stopped Leroy getting into the ring. He was finally scheduled to defend his title against Reggie Harrison, who tested positive for Covid-19 one week before the fight and tried to cover it up. Reggie was subsequently suspended. You couldn’t script this!’

‘It only gets better, Tommy!’

‘Exactly! Leroy needs to get in the ring. He’s been sitting on his hands through his prime money-earning years, and his promoter Ben Kelton promised him one hundred million in a three-year deal. Kelton more than anyone needs Leroy in the ring.’

‘Enter Ron Taylor stage left.’

‘Not just stage left, Jim – this guy wasn’t even in the building. He hasn’t boxed professionally since Leroy wiped the floor with him four years ago. He’s been in jail and rehab. After the show young Teddy just put on, I really hope this fight gives the fans something to cheer about … but this is likely to be a sad farewell for the disgraced former champion.’

‘You’re putting a negative spin on this if you ask me. The only two heavyweights that would last one round with Leroy both fought two weeks ago here in Sydney. Ron Taylor’s been out of prison, clean and working as a sparring partner for the past year. His last fight with Leroy may have been ugly, but he took him the distance. Prior to that, Taylor delivered Leroy the only loss and knockout of his otherwise flawless career. Sure, this is a “Rocky Balboa” scenario we have here, but, boy, am I excited to see the final instalment in the trilogy. And don’t forget, Ron Taylor has never been knocked out.’

Pop, pretending he hadn’t been listening to the commentators, addressed the elephant in the room. ‘You going to hang around?’

‘I’m going home.’ Ted edged himself off the bench. ‘Have you seen Mel?’

Pop shook his head and laid a hand on Ted’s shoulder. ‘Get something to eat.’ It was the closest thing Ted would get to an admission from him that starving to remain a middleweight wasn’t working out. Then Pop added, ‘Speak of the devil.’

Mel entered the locker room. New black suit and recently dyed, cut and straightened blonde hair. It was her newest ‘new look’, and like most of her new looks, Ted didn’t like it. She walked over and stopped before him without taking her eyes off her phone. Some sort of sixth sense must have guided her to him as she stepped around the others milling in the locker room. ‘Do you think you could do an interview with Fox?’ she asked.

Ted waited for her to take her eyes off the phone. When she flicked a glance at him he answered, ‘No interviews tonight.’

Pop slammed the door on his way out. Ted and Mel both jumped at the bang. They hadn’t notice him leaving.

Mel finally looked at Ted with the green eyes of his childhood sweetheart and not the Head of Operations and Media that was printed on the five hundred business cards she’d ordered last month after changing her title again. ‘You look exhausted, Teddy.’

Ted leaned his forehead into hers. Sitting on the bench, they were the same height. ‘That and hungry.’

‘Have a shower and I’ll get you something to eat.’ Mel took a breath then leaned back and placed her hands on his shoulders. ‘Then we can do a quick interview and go watch Ron.’

Ted shook his head, gently brushed her hands away and walked towards the showers. ‘See you at home.’

‘I didn’t want to argue about it before your fight, but I already made commitments for a quick post-fight interview and for you to sit ringside for the main event.’

Ted felt his pulse quicken in his temples, and the dull pain that regularly lingered somewhere behind his right eye grumbled. Were it not for the others in the room his response would have been harsher, but he said coolly, ‘No fucking chance.’

‘Maybe if you’d put on a show tonight you could call the shots,’ started Mel, who also wasn’t in the habit of biting her tongue.

Ted couldn’t hear anything once he turned the shower on full pressure.

Knowing that his dad’s upcoming fight would occupy the reporters, Ted took his time showering. He skipped the usual post-fight ice bath and interchanged between hot and cold water a few times while rolling his stiff neck from side to side. At one point he zoned out and almost fell asleep on his feet. He snapped out of it, hurriedly turned off the water and reached for his towel.

Covid-19 limitations meant the arena was at half capacity, but he heard thunderous applause as he left the locker room. He emerged into the main tunnel that led to the boxing ring in the heart of the stadium at one end and the car park at the other. Ron and his small entourage of trainer, cutman and security were making their way towards the ring. AC/DC’s ‘Back in Black’ blared over the sound system. Ted wanted to ignore his father, to walk by in the same manner as he’d lived most of his adult life: as if Ron didn’t matter. But he couldn’t resist a glance. Their eyes met, and he saw a familiar look and almost winced. It was the first time they had seen each other in over a year.

Ron broke his step, the menacing look vanished and he opened his mouth to speak, but Ted kept walking.

Ted grunted as he stepped out of the car. He’d taken a couple of shots to the ribs, but the fight had hardly taken the usual physical toll on him. Rather than the regular aches and bruises, he felt an enduring fatigue, as if he’d competed in a marathon rather than a boxing match. The physical fatigue was one thing; the mental was another. For weeks now he’d felt a cloud hanging over him, as if he’d just received devastating news.

Despite experience telling him it wasn’t a clever idea to eat fast food after a fight, he’d stopped at KFC for his almost religious post-fight cheat meal. It wasn’t sitting well in his stomach. He was so hungry he’d eaten it all while driving.

He stood in the garage of the modern beachfront home he had recently bought at Bilgola in Sydney’s Northern Beaches. He’d amassed a small fortune early in his career, but he now wondered if he’d overextended himself. The tide was high, and he could hear the waves crashing not far off once the humming of the closing garage door stopped.

Ted heard a car pull into the driveway and the garage door opened again. Mel pulled in beside his car.

‘It can’t be over already,’ said Ted.

Mel stepped out of the car holding a large McDonald’s takeaway bag. ‘I told you I’d get you something to eat,’ she said with a sheepish smile.

Ted smiled back and opened the door leading to the internal stairs. ‘I love you a lot more when you’re my girlfriend, not my Head of … Head of whatever it is.’

She rolled her eyes as she walked past him. ‘Head of McNuggets.’

By the time he’d got his bag out of the boot and thrown some clothes in the laundry, Mel had set the table as if they were having a Sunday night roast, only with Big Macs, nuggets, fries and McFlurries. She sat waiting for him beside where she knew he would sit.

Ted took his usual place at the end of the ten-person table that he had argued was too big for their dining room. It had never sat more than four in the two months they’d lived there. He eyed the food, wondering what he should do. He didn’t have the energy for another fight.

‘Are you getting a migraine?’ asked Mel. ‘Your eyes look funny.’

Ted shrugged. ‘Hardly surprising.’

‘Did you take painkillers?’

Ted rolled his neck.

Mel folded her arms. ‘Planning on taking another late-night swim, are you?’

‘Just Nurofen. That’s why it’s not going away.’

Mel locked her phone and placed it on the table beside her plate. ‘Firstly, you shouldn’t be taking them on an empty stomach. Second, how many times do I have to tell you not to take Nurofen? You use para-fucking-cetamol for headaches.’

‘It’s more than a headache,’ muttered Ted.

‘You shouldn’t use anti-inflammatories.’

‘It’s all the same.’

‘Maybe if you listened every once in a while you’d know they aren’t.’

Ted knew she was right and conceded, at the risk of his migraine getting worse. ‘Well, as for the empty stomach, I got KFC on the way home.’

Mel sighed and stood up.

Ted threw his hands in the air. ‘I thought you were going to stick around for Ron’s fight.’

‘Oh, I was going to sit there next to an empty seat that was supposed to have you in it, was I? Interesting story that would’ve made.’

‘Why does everything have to be a story? This is too much.’

‘Too much? I’m too much for you, am I?’

‘I just want you to be my girlfriend first.’

Mel pushed her chair in and placed her hands on her hips. ‘And who’s going to look after your sponsorships and scheduling? Tony? Pop?’ She’d passed the threshold now. It was on – she might as well ring a bell. ‘Who’s going to drag you up from the beach in the morning?’

Ted clenched his fist and resisted the urge to slam it down on the table. ‘I only took Nurofen. I got rid of the other stuff.’

‘There’s some in the bathroom still. How many Nurofen?’

‘Two,’ he replied instantly. Two in the locker room and two in the car.

‘Yeah, right.’

It annoyed Ted how well she knew him and how she used that information best when being spiteful.

‘Mel. I’m happy for you to be involved in my boxing, but lately it’s too much. You’re pushing me around from some talk show to some charity event, to some commercial, and in the meantime Pop is starving me to the bone. We’re fighting all the time. We get angry. We get upset.’

‘Are you seriously blaming me because you’ve forgotten how to fight?’ scowled Mel. Her ferocity was a double-edged sword. Growing up, she’d defended and stood by Ted no matter what, but she defended herself with the same fire.

‘Well, suddenly I’m not winning my fights anymore.’ Ted rubbed his eyes and thought about how soon he could take another painkiller. ‘I’m not blaming you. I’m just saying there’s too much going on and I’m getting pulled this way and that, and nobody’s focusing on what’s important.’

‘Your career is important, Ted.’ She picked up the phone and held it in the air. ‘They’re saying it was a snooze-fest. You might drop out of the top five in your division. It’s a long, low-paying road back from there.’

Her sentences reminded Ted of the way a sports journalist might summarise things. It was always ‘they’re saying’ with her. Why does she care what those idiots think?

He stood up and walked to the couch. ‘I wonder how Ron’s going.’

Mel laughed. ‘Yeah, right. It would’ve been over quickly.’

He squeezed the remote. ‘I don’t think so. He was in shape. He had that –’ He stopped before saying that look in his eye. He left his thumb hovering over the on button.

Mel walked over and sat at the far end of the L-shaped couch. Ted dropped the remote and they sat in the awkward silence that couples who fight regularly come to know too well. A place they could hide, but always be found.

He looked at Mel and thought about how he preferred it when her hair was long, wild and curly. She stared back.

‘I’m sorry about the last couple of weeks,’ he said. ‘I’m not putting myself through that again. I can’t be myself when I go into a fight with that preparation. I’ll talk to Pop.’

She shook her head. ‘That’s no excuse for how you acted. I know you’re under pressure, and the preparation takes it out of you. That’s why I’m trying to be more than just “Teddy’s girl”. I want to take the pressure off you.’

He was in no mood to resume the argument. He took a deep breath and leaned back onto the couch while maintaining her gaze. ‘Teddy’s girl’s all I want.’

She smiled sheepishly. ‘Don’t give me that look.’

He had found her in the right corner of the silence and kept staring. Fighting was easy for them. She crawled across the couch, straddled him and looked into his deep blue eyes. Making up was easy as well. It was the rest they struggled with.

Ted stood; Mel kept her legs wrapped around his waist and her arms interlocked behind his neck.

‘Thought you had a migraine,’ she said.

‘The Panadol must be kicking in.’

‘You said you took Nurofen.’

He pushed his forehead into hers. ‘That explains why it’s working.’

He carried Mel to the bedroom and lowered her onto the bed, kissing her neck gently. Unlike other fighters, Ted didn’t stick to the hard and fast rule of no sex leading up to a fight, but lately the preparation had been so draining that he hadn’t been up to it anyway. Even now he was torn between finishing what he’d started and just collapsing into bed. Mel let out a soft moan, arousing him, and he thrust his hips forward in response.

Their lovemaking was a one-round frenzy. They finished with Mel on top of Ted, breathing heavily with her head resting on his chest.

‘I’m really sorry,’ he said. He meant it. He always did. They were both fighters at heart. Sometimes you hit your sparring partner a little harder that you should, and sometimes they hit you back with interest, but when the bell rings and the dust settles, you touch gloves and move on.

‘I know,’ she replied under her breath.

‘It’s hard when everyone expects …’ He searched for words to explain. ‘When I’m so hungry I can’t sleep. All because Pop wants me to be a middleweight.’

‘Stop, Teddy.’ She snuggled next to him. ‘I don’t like seeing you angry like that.’