Fight Through the Stars

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Sports  |  House: Booksie Classic

After up-and-coming heavyweight boxer Randal Hartman loses a match against a musclehead named Marcov Druinsky, he questions his decision to be a boxer in the first place until a man named Eli Hunter encourages him to enhance his skills after giving him news that his old trainer, Mr. Carver, was injured in a car crash. Randal, motivated by the bond of Mr. Carver, agrees. Months later, a rematch is scheduled. Will Randal come out on top this time?

The crowd’s cheers thundered across the arena. Flashing lights were commonplace among the bleachers. For they knew, right at that moment, the underdog of the sport would prevail, at any given moment.

A dark skinned, muscular man in blue trunks, a black robe, and white boxing gloves approached the ring with his manager following him, wearing a similar robe. The commentator announced this gentleman as Randal Hartman.

On the opposite side of the arena, a bald, very pale, light skinned man, taller and more muscular than Hartman, approached the ring. He wore black trunks and black boxing gloves. He had no robe on, so the crowd could see his many tattoos on his large chest. The commentator announced this pugilist as Marcov Druinsky.

As soon as they were face to face with each other, the referee came between them, demanding a fair, clean fight be underway. The ref then sent both men to their corners. After a few seconds, the bell sounded. The crowd cheered with excitement.

For many, the match really started when Marcov unleashed a left hook at Randal, who’d seen it coming and swayed out of the way. He then countered with a swift jab. Marcov attempted the left hook once more, and this time, Randal ducked under it and unleashed a wicked right uppercut. Marcov recoiled at the impact and inched back a short distance before releasing a hard body blow. However, it was Marcov’s elbow that (accidentally) made contact with Randal’s chest. The referee warned Marcov that if anything like that happened again, he would get one point deducted.

When it seemed Marcov was getting exhausted, Randal saw the chance to unload some swift, yet damaging punches. After thirty more seconds, the bell sounded, and the two fighters went back to their corners so their managers would dress their wounds. Though not wholly exhausted, Randal requested he get a small drink of water, which replenished some of his energy and stamina. While both boxers were rejuvenating, a young woman with an hourglass figure clad in a black body suit holding the ‘Round 2’ sign strolled across the arena.

Moments later, the two went right back to duking it out at the sound of the bell. Since Randal was the underdog, many people in the audience were rooting for him. However, forty seconds into the round, things took a turn for the worse. As Marcov swung for a left face shot and Randal was swaying properly (or so he thought), the former did the unexpected: he pulled back and did a right face shot instead. This was obviously a hard hitter, since Randal was left dazed after that.

The crowd shouted for Randal to snap out of it, but Marcov then did three more face shots, alternating between each fist. The last blow left Randal plummeting to the ground.

“1… 2… 3…” the referee shouted as Randal struggled to get himself up.

“4… 5… 6… 7…” The crowd chanted for Randal to get back up and fight. Unfortunately, the louder they shouted, the worse he struggled.

“8… 9… 10!” The bell sounded, signaling the end of the match. The commentator then marked Marcov the victor by knockout. This was followed by jeers from the audience.

While the crowd booed Marcov, Randal lied flat on the floor, wondering where he went wrong.


The following week at the training gym, Randal wondered if he wanted to devote the rest of his life to boxing. When it seemed like he was going to quit, he headed for the exit, only to be stopped by a strange voice.

“HEY, YOU THERE!” a strange man called. Randal turned to see a short, pudgy man with black, unruly hair, a Hitler-style mustache, and skin as dark as Don Cheadle’s.

“You talkin’ to me?” Randal replied, almost confused.

“That’s right, son,” the man replied. “Name’s Elijah Hunter, your new trainer.”

“My n-new… where’s Mr. Carver?”

“Oh, your manager told me to tell ya that he got injured in a car crash, an’ he told me to fill in till he recuperates.”

Randal seemed distraught at the news, but nonetheless, decided that he’ll keep fighting to make his old trainer proud.


Over the next couple months, Hunter subjected Randal to a number of exercises, each focusing on a boxer’s attribute; jump rope, in order to improve his footwork; avoiding balls, for better swaying; working the bag, to increase power; and the traditional pad punch, for learning how to increase fist alteration speed and punching speed.

In the first month, Randal showed signs of struggling. In the next month, however, his skills were starting to show and increase. During the pad punch exercise one day, Hunter thought it would be a good idea to challenge Randal’s manliness in order to speed up his punching and 
increase power.

“C’mon, Randy, C’mon!” Hunter taunted. “What are ya, a lady?”
 

Randal, who caught Hunter’s ruse, decided to go along with it. Pretending to be angry, he shouted, “Hey, I ain’t no lady!” and began to punch rapidly and powerfully with his right fist before alternating to his left.

After the exercise, Hunter and Randal went to get some water.
 

“Man, in all my years, I ain’t never seen a fighter improve over the course o’ two months like you!” Hunter praised. “You’re goin’ places, kid!”

“Thanks, man,” replied Randal.

“Almost forgot, I just got a call from your manager. He’s scheduled a rematch with that musclehead you lost to a few months ago; Marcov Druinsky.”

“Y’know, before I got K.O.’d by him, I never thought about improving my defense. Also,” Randal’s voice drew to a whisper, “I think that guy’s on steroids.”

“Me too, kid. Me too.” Hunter looked at the clock and was surprised at the time. “Jeez, will ya look at the time! Alright kid, let’s call it a night. I got a wife at home whose needs need satisfying.”

“I know what you mean,” Randal said while chuckling familiarly. “See ya later, Mr. Hunter.”

“Please, kid, call me Eli.”


Before going over to visit his injured trainer, Kendall Carver, Randal changed out of his training attire and switched to a blue dress, a pair of size 12 heels, and a dirty blond wig. He also put on some lipstick. He chose today, of all days, to disguise himself as a woman in order to sneak out of the gym through the back exit and walk unnoticed across the street to the hospital.

Unfortunately for him, he was about to be victim to a rapist who always hung around behind the gym.

As the man grabbed Randal from behind, Randal recognized his attacker’s face almost immediately.

“Alright lady,” Marcov Druinsky told Randal, “just do everything I tell you, and you won’t get hurt.”

“Well guess what?” Randal shouted as he freed himself from Marcov’s grasp. “I ain’t no lady!” He then unleashed a right hook to Marcov’s jaw, knocking him out cold instantly.

Upon further inspection, Randal saw that Marcov carried several needles filled with strength enhancing drugs in his coat. After stealing a few of them and stuffing them into his bag, Randal rushed over to the hospital. The receptionist was quick enough to recognize his face and led him to Carver’s room.

As Randal walked up to his trainer’s bed, Carver recognized his pupil after Randal took off his wig.

“Ah, Randal, you always were into the weirdest things,” Carver quipped.

“Yeah, so how you doing?” Randal queried after chuckling at Carver’s comment.

“Broke my left leg. I’ll have to be on a wheelchair for about six weeks.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t know if my replacement told you or not, but… I’ll be retiring once I heal.”

Randal was shocked by this news. Carver had coached Randal for five years and acted as a fatherly figure to him, something Randal never had. The thought of his longtime trainer and coach retiring from training up and coming boxers was very depressing to him.

“Don’t you worry,” Carver reassured, “Eli Hunter’ll be as good a trainer as I was.”

“I hope so, Mr. Carver,” Randal said, his eyes welling with tears.

“Heard ya got that rematch with Druinsky scheduled for next week.”

“Funny you should mention Druinsky. When he seriously thought I was a woman, he tried to rape me and I K.O.’d him with one punch.” Carver laughed at that part. “Plus, I found these when I searched him.” Randal said as he took the needles out of his bag to show Carver, who was shocked at the evidence.

“Holy cheese and rice! I don’t believe it!” Carver explained.

I do. I figured he used these the minute I first saw him,” Randal replied.

“Now I got something that will end that monster’s career,” said Carver. “Something that will destroy that disgrace to boxing! 

“Thank you, Randal. Even if you lose, I’ll still expose him for the fraud he is.”


The crowd’s cheers thundered across the arena. They knew for certain that the underdog would come out on top this time.
 
A dark skinned, muscular man in blue trunks, a black robe, and white boxing gloves approached the ring with his manager following him, wearing a similar robe. The commentator announced this gentleman as Randal Hartman.

On the opposite side of the arena, a bald, very pale, light skinned man, taller and more muscular than Hartman, approached the ring. He wore black trunks and black boxing gloves. He had no robe on, so the crowd could see his many tattoos on his large chest. The commentator announced this pugilist as Marcov Druinsky.

As soon as they were face to face with each other, Marcov smiled grimly at Randal and said to him, “I have no idea why your freaking manager arranged this. It’ll just end the same way, so you might as well just quit now.” The referee quickly came between them, demanding a fair, clean fight be underway. The ref then sent both men to their corners. Then the bell sounded. The crowd cheered with excitement.

For many, the match really started when Marcov unleashed a swift left hook at Randal, who’d seen it coming and ducked underneath it. He then countered with a strong right uppercut. Marcov, who was quickly affected by this, became dazed. Randal then loaded a quick barrage of fast, yet hard hitting body blows, alternating between each fists many times before delivering a swift jab to the face. This final blow knocked Marcov to the 
ground.

“1… 2… 3…” The crowd cheered loudly as Marcov struggled to get up.

“4… 5…” Marcov soon got to his feet, much to the dismay of the audience.

After the bell sounded once more, Marcov started to go a little less easy on his foe. He unleashed a flurry of blind punches. Randal side-stepped each and every one of them before finally pulling out a left hook to the 
chest.

Enraged, Marcov swung for a left face shot and Randal swayed properly. Marcov then did the unexpected: he pulled back and did a right face shot instead. Randal, who now realized it was coming, swayed properly once more. As Marcov stood surprised as ever, Randal pulled back for a devastating jaw blow. However, at that moment, the bell sounded and both men went back to their corners.

Since Randal sustained no wounds during the first round, he requested a large drink of water.

“Nice job, kid!” Hunter encouraged. “You’re really pullin’ through for this crowd. Survive a few more rounds and you got this thing in the bag!”

“Gee, thanks Eli,” replied Randal.

The bell sounded once more, and when Randal went back to the fight, Hunter called out, “Go get ‘im, tiger!”

After both men went back to the fight, Marcov decided to do his left feint to right face blow once more. When Randal saw through this technique the second time, Marcov couldn’t understand what was going on and simply stood in confusion. Randal pulled back for a devastating jaw blow, and after it connected, Marcov crumpled to the ground once more.

“1… 2… 3…” When it seemed like he wasn’t going to get up, the crowd’s cheers roared throughout the stadium.

“4… 5… 6… 7…” Randal reveled in his triumph. Little did he realize, it didn’t last long.

“8… 9…” At the last minute, Marcov got right up and, at a surprised Randal, landed a very hard right hook to his chest. Randal then kneeled in pain and landed, chest outward, on the ground.

“1… 2… 3… 4… 5… 6… 7… 8… 9… 10!” The bell sounded, signaling Marcov the champion once again while the crowd jeered.

“I lost again,” Randal thought aloud among the boos. “I can’t believe I lost again.”

Marcov was relishing in his sweet victory until a familiar voice surprised everyone.

“STOP EVERYTHING!” Kendall Carver yelled. “This monster does not deserve his victory!”

“Kendall, for goodness’ sake,” the referee started to say, “will you quit with all you BS about-“

“Quit yer bellyachin’! This time I have honest-to-God proof he enhanced himself with banned substances!” After he announced this, Carver held up three needles filled with strength enhancing liquid.

As the crowd gasped, Marcov stood wide-eyed. “How’d ya get these?!” he asked Carver.

“I’ll answer that, Randal said as he got to his feet. “Remember that woman you hooked up with the other day.

It took Marcov thirty seconds to put two and two together. “You mean you-?” he started to ask. Randal simply nodded. What happened next resulted in one of the most intriguing events in sports history.

“Marcov Druinsky, by the power invested in me by the boxing committee,” the referee announced, “you are hereby revoked of your previous winnings and are banned from this sport for life!”

After Marcov walked off depressed, the commentator announced Randal the winner by default. The crowd went wild with excitement, for at long last, the underdog had finally taken home the gold.


Submitted: August 05, 2015

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