On the Wings of Carelessness
He was all flesh and blood. Good flesh, Strong Circulating Blood! Cunning intelligence he also had: The Natural Wisdom one often needed to subdue another in the World of Physical Combat or succeed in stalking and catching a difficult animal.
The boy’s name was Nnamdi Oche: the last child of a family of seven reputed for being daring in armed or unarmed conflict… Even Nnamdi’s immediate elder sister, Acholam and her preceding male elder were as strong. At school, they were the wrong persons for unacceptable mischief one wished to try at another’s expense. Quickly would they retaliate the action or seek out a convenient moment to do so. And retaliate both of them did, usually in a manner that left their offenders with uncomfortable wounds.
Nnamdi’s father, a hulking six-feet-four, did not need much prodding to make up his mind about sending him to the gym very early for training as a boxer. The man was a realist of the first order: could see and understand that Nnamdi’s natural abilities lay more in the Field of Athletics than in Bookwork. Pull him out he should after the School Leaving Certificate Examination, no Common Entrance Exams for the chap. Therefore, no Secondary School Career Shit for him! Already at his rather tender age of Twelve, he was all vibrant muscles and sinewy flesh. The sight of such physical build never failed to slightly panic a School Management and invariably made its owner one to closely watch at all times, lest he abused them in times of provocation. Thus, the gym had to be the Final Bus Stop of Nnamdi, career-wise, or to be more precise, ‘The Ring’. There, his father dumped him, after his last paper, paying the necessary fee that would enable him to practise with the others as well as vouching for his good behavior. From one “Mongrel Dog”, a retired local boxer and then trainer of Amateur Boxers, Nnamdi learnt The Rudiments of and Impediments to The Game and, whenever such was necessary, demonstrated them in the ring.
After four years ,with Mongrel Dog’, Nnamdi was ready for Professional Fights, discovered that his finest Weapons of Fisticuff were his stamina and power-packed punches and soon secured a manager, who would be arranging his fights with opponents. All he needed do in every encounter, beginning from round one was to keep going after his challenger, collecting and enduring his punches, sometimes evading them, at other times fending them off, but keeping the pressure on him, until such time he would run out of gas and finally yield his body to either his battering left hook or devastating upper cut. Yet, if he wanted (as sometimes he did) he could counter his opponent’s missiles, for example, by barring almost all the latter’s punches - not giving them a real single chance to throw them, because he himself was working like a Jack Hammer.
So, it was that the recurrent decimals in Nnamdi’s ring fights were ‘knockouts’ and ‘Technical knockouts’ of opponents; rarely the victories awarded to fighters by judges through their unanimous decisions or split ones. Within three years of going it professional, his fame had shot up and his circle of fans swelled tremendously. He could then afford to walk with a swagger, attend night parties at will and begin to pay more than ordinary attention to beautiful young women.
“I may even begin to sleep with these women on the eve of a fight,” Nnamdi Oche had himself muttering, an arch smile on his face. As yet, his ring fight record was Fifteen Fights, Fifteen Wins. No Draw, No Loss, the prime source of that record his True Hard-Work, Boxing Discipline and Devoted Training at ring side preparatory to meeting a challenger. All these he had begun little by little to sacrifice to Carelessness and Swollen-headedness… Yes, too, a sudden coarsened yearning for Breath-Taking Pleasures.
Anselm Doga, A Guy who could have talked sense into the then-goofing Nnamdi Oche had tragically died but a half-year-ago and – would you believe it? – Just three days away from his Fiftieth Birthday!
Anselm Doga Self-Made Father of Nnamdi after his King-Kong-like routing of a bully stalwart, who had just for the pleasure of it opened a sure-to-end-in-blows chat with him… “Spade is a Spade”, Middle-Aged Anselm of Blessed Memory never forget to serve his indulgent listeners in his guttural voice, each time he had to move argumentative lips or had a microphone just dropped on his palms. For Boxing, with all the skeletons it has in its cupboard plus the ones it left in Early Graves, Anselm Doga had only scintillating praises for it and before he breathed his last willingly parted with a Third-of-a-Million in behalf of Nnamdi’s Boxing Career.
“The World’s most dangerous sport!” Anselm Doga would sometimes suddenly declare, after he had begun to dwell on the subject that is if he did not remember to proclaim it “Millionaire Maker!” Or “Camera-Chasing Career,” his Anselm gleaming-eyes-of-worship of the sport doing more than his glorifying lips to do The Panegyric. In contrast, the same Anselm Doga had but knife-sharp criticisms for the Sister Sport of Wresting for all its popularity and being the likelier of The Two to be watched more on a Global Satellite…
But it had to Anselm remain The Completely Absurd that a wrestler could midway an ongoing fight quit the ring simply to show off his developed physique plus muscles to hid avid fans with his opponent still in the ring, standing on his feet or down but not out! From Anselm you would not earn attention except you accepted that the very act was the wrestler’s disguised search for a few minutes’ escape from undesired harm or relieving deep breaths…
“Of course, these worshipped characters in their sport know that they could never reproduce The Same Shit in our Boxing, where the only thing that lawfully sent one of the rings was An Opponent’s Killer Right or Left!
Yes, Anselm would have stopped Nnamdi Oche short on his tracks in relation to his new forbidden-by-boxing reverie. Not long speeches from him. Just a calculated reminder to Nnamdi sitting or standing before him that he had spent a thoughtful N300, 4000.00 on his Boxing Career he would now thoughtlessly blow up!
But-alas! Anselm Doga was gone! At a time not too good for Nnamdi Oche then increasingly entertaining a frame of mind, Anti-Boxing. Quite possible, Nnamdi’s experimental readiness for a sexual union with a woman just twenty-four hours to a fight took on a body after hearing out a Road-Side-Sermon about God’s Enduring Steadfastness towards A Misbehaving Samson that ended up discussing in some detail his sleeping with a prostitute and next morning crushing a waiting opposition and death snare by his Philistine Adversaries. Thrice, Nnamdi imitated Wayward Samson and thrice he fared well The Barricading Philistines Gate he uprooted his unfortunate challengers, whom his fortunate last-round upper cuts and straight jabs did hit their head, jaw and chest respectively.
Disgracefully, Nndmdi’s unharmed boxing career could not survive three new seasons afterwards – for all the warning signals of it that had reached him, except that he had been unreflective! First, was a mere Split-Decision Victory he had against an Akpan Inyang, under matched opponent, next, a once inconceivable draw with another fighter Bill Clover and another boxer, whom The Judges had to unanimously announce the winner of their fight… Some poorer copy of the Late Marvelous Marvin Haggler Machine
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