When I told Doc I wanted to go onward to the world circuit… Let's say that "surprised" would be an understatement.
Doc obviously didn't expect me to be so eager to hit the world circuit. He took me aside and gave be a big ass talk about it: He asked me if I was sure about this, whether if it would better if I stayed behind in the major circuit to get some experience, and then he talked about how the world circuit would put a lot of pressure on me, and how losing live on worldwide TV could be very humiliating for me, but in the end I just told Doc I was very sure and very much ready to make boxing history. He just smiled, slapped me on the back and said "That's the spirit, son."
Honestly, sometimes Doc acts so much like my parents, it's uncanny.
But I have to say, the world circuit ring is shiny as hell. The goddamm hall it's in is made of freaking gold. They've got statues everywhere… and the publicity you get with the circuit is freaking insane. There's businessmen trying to get you to sponsor shoes, and there's always the threat of fan girls, no matter where you go…. Sorry ladies, but Mac is already taken!
Anyway, my big introduction to the world circuit was Aran Ryan. That was a crazy-ass fight for a crazy-ass guy.
The guy's got some good running legs, that's for sure. Through the whole match, he was running about the ring, keeping away from me until he wanted to attack, and I couldn't keep up with him. That got me kinda worried, cause usually I'm the fast one, and if I can't use my speed, what can I do? I tried the old dodge-and-counter, but that didn't stun him long enough for me to get a good hit in. I was stumped again.
Well, good old Doc saved the day. As I sat down to wait for round 2, I told him that I couldn't find a way to get irish-boyo to stay still. And Doc, casual as always, just takes a bite of his favourite chocolate bar and says: "Join club Nintendo today, Mac!"
After I gave Doc a slap for messing around, he says: "This guy's fast, so what you gotta do, Mac baby, is beat him to the punch! Beat him to the punch, Mac! You can do it! Just beat him to the punch! You got it!"
I pondered what the hell Doc meant by that for a few seconds, and then inspiration hit me just as the bell rang for the next round.
As me and irish-boyo got back in the ring, Aran told me to "Keep hitting me, Mac! I love it!" Boy, did I make him eat those words.
As Aran dashed forward to punch me, I did exactly as Doc said: I beat him to the punch. Or rather, the punching. I rushed in before he hit me and countered him, stunning him long enough for me to get a Mac-flurry in. It wasn't long before he fell down like a drugged leprechaun.
I'll tell you a funny thing about Aran: for such a reckless, crazy guy, his actions are kinda superstitious. He always gets up at seven, he only bothers to break out of the Mac-flurry after seven punches, and I've heard rumours that he puts lucky horseshoes in his gloves. If that's true, I'm going to have to pay his locker a visit, as there's no way I'll let shit like that slide. That stuff better make him lucky, cause I'll never let him get away with that. Maybe I'll bring a black cat into the ring next time I fight him, see how he likes that.
Anyway, for all of Aran's dirty cheating, he sure does have a thick resistant skull. I should know, cause the first thing that Irish nutter did when he got up was bounce off the ropes and headbutt me. Freaking jerk.
The timing for dodging that move was tricky, but I got the hang of it after a few bruises. But as the fight went on, it started to bug me that I couldn't counter it. Aran didn't leave himself open when he missed; he just quickly regained his balance and started running around again before I could catch him. If I tried to block, he would simply force his head through my gloves. It was too risky to try and punch him when he came flying at me, but there had to be a way to punish him for it…
Thankfully, as Doc asked me what my favourite protein shake flavour was while I waited for round three, I came up with an idea. As I had expected, as soon as round 3 started, Aran tried his headbutt again, but this time, just before he hit, I brought my gloves up to block. Just as I planned, Aran's thick head bounced off the top of my gloves, leaving him stunned and in the perfect position to take my star punch.
And boy, did he take it! He flew right into the ropes and managed to get tangled up in them! I won by the fight by default, but I don't think Aran could have recovered from that. I distinctly remember hearing something snapping… But hey, with his attitude, it was only a matter of time before he broke his bones.
So after I got Aran on the ropes, it was time to face Soda Popinski. I hear some haters call him "Vodka Drunkenski", but I'm not the kinda guy who calls people names. But I can see where they're coming from…
Actually, I think Soda-man is suffering from what my girlfriend says is the "placebo effect", cause after the fight my boys in the Bronx managed to get hold of Soda's drinks… and they just turned out to be regular orange drinks. No alcohol at all! Either the guy doesn't know what he's drinking, or sugar is really rare in Russia. The guy is completely out of it in the ring…
But anyway, Soda put up a good fight. His uppercuts did keep taking me by surprise, but I got the hang of it eventually. In fact, I couldn't help noticing that Soda-man hasn't a lot of variety in him. It's all uppercuts and hooks, and I can dodge them all by stepping to the left. I mean, that's a major problem if it's so predictable! The Doc would not approve at all.
Of course, there were problems in taking him down, like his tendency to pull a "Popeye recovery" with his drink every time he went down, and the fact I kept forgetting Soda's a leftie, not a rightie. But in the end, it's his anger problems that finished him off. Every time he got up or got star punched or got stopped from drinking his stupid orangeade, he'd go completely bonkers over it and do this stupid barrage of alternating uppercuts that was completely predictable and easy to counter. And as I got stars for punching away his soda bottles, he did this quite a lot. Maybe if he stopped holding them out for me to punch, we might have put on a good fight, but no, he had to keep on taunting me, didn't he? Next time, Soda, please take me seriously and concentrate on the fight, not on your stupid "liquid courage" shit.
And then it was onto the match everyone remembers: Bald Bull. Did that guy really get his shiny head from an over-enthusiastic barber? Cause I keep hearing this kind of things in the streets, and I can't help but wonder if it's true. But back on topic: Bald Bull was famous. I knew him from the TV long before I joined the WVBA, Doc had fought with him in the last legs of his career, and he had made himself well known for his extreme strength and temper. This showdown was destined to be up close and personal from the start.
Bald Bull seemed to be a little crazy at the start: I mean, banging your head on the posts can't be good for your health, man. But in the ring, he's a lot more controlled. Sure, he does put up aggressive fight, but he can defend pretty well too.
I do admit that I got messed up in the beginning, those rolling jabs kept making me dodge too early, and Bald Bull would punish me for it. His hook was easier to avoid, but his uppercut was harder. His shouting did help me avoid it, mind. Does no one in this boxing league keep quiet?
But Bald Bull does have a good defence. My hits hardly stunned him at times, and don't even bother aiming for his gut. It's obviously a weak point of his, but if you hit it, he just stagger away choking before you can get a another shot at it. And his head is quite resistant, but then again it is built like some sort of giant marble. Hell, if you get the timing right you can even get a few more punches in because he's too busy trying to stop his head vibrating like a gong.
Anyway, Bald Bull was similar to Soda Popinski in that he could have had given a better fight if he hadn't thrown it all away on his trademark move. I mean, bringing out the "bull charge", as he calls it, was completely stupid. Anyone who watches the sports channel knows how to counter it, and even if I didn't know how, Doc was on hand to tell me. Now they say that in the ring the pressure makes it harder to counter, especially with Bull being all intimidating and the fact that you could be knocked down in one shot. But I'm made from the Bronx stuff, and I don't get intimidated. I just pulled back and got ready to end the fight.
As Bull came charging down the ring, a little voice in the back of my head said "Um, guys? This looks kinda dangerous. Maybe we should, you know, move out the way?"
Of course, my mind simply responded with: "Naaaaaaah."
And just as Bald Bull crouched down to uppercut me to the floor, I swung a damm big hook into his gut. And like that, it was like King Hippo all over again: Bald Bull clutched at his gut, staggered around the ring, and then collapsed on the floor like a wooden plank. I knew that Bald Bull wasn't getting up- I've got a sixth sense for those kinda things- so I went over to Doc and told him to ring subway so they could fix me a victory sandwich. With fries, of course.
And then… I came face to face with Super Macho Man.
I. HATE. THAT. GUY.
I genuinely cannot express my hate for this guy. He's a poser, an idiot, a rich bastard who treats everyone else like shit, and his ego is bigger than his stupid California. I simply had to beat the crap out of his guy. Especially after his pec-flexing, that was just… just… oh, god, I'm feeling sick just from thinking about it.
I will admit, Macho Moron is fast. And his muscle aren't just for show, they hit just as hard as Bald Bull's. But he is a poser, even in the ring, so that helped me a lot. But at least he can attack quickly, unlike Disco Nut.
The fight was tricky, and I did get knocked down once or twice, but what really threw me off track for a while was his godamm spinning punch. I kept forgetting that I couldn't dodge that hook; I had to duck under it. But my damm muscle memory kept playing up. But I had to keep going, as I was never going to go back to the Bronx without pummelling Macho face into submission.
But it wasn't all bad. Here, look at this photo. That's me… and that's Macho Man at the end of my fist. In the middle of the match, that stupid self-absorbed idiot decided to pose for a photo op. As you can see, I think I gave him quite the money shot. Man, I gotta send this to Oxford. Next you look up the definition of "owned", you're going to find this picture.
I think it was in the third round that I managed to put Macho Moron down. He had started his big gay "SUPER…MACHO…MAN!!!" dance, and I remember that Doc had told me earlier that "when Super Macho Man strike his "super pose", he's going to come at you with nothing but spinning punches. Keep your head down!" Right there I came up with an idea. I ducked under the first punch, but instead of staying down and waiting for him to snap out of his frenzy, I popped my head up again. Just as I thought, he threw another spinning punch… and another… and another… until eventually, he just got too dizzy to defend himself, just like I planned. And like that, I gave him the beat down reserved for the VIPs. He tried to sway out of my Mac-flurry, but I managed to bounce him back and forth till he collapsed like a total prima donna. I hope his paychecks bounce for the next few weeks, cause this world needs less people like him.
And that's the story so far. In a couple of days I'm up against the world champ, Mr Sandman. The guy looks like he might put up a good fight. That won't stop me from beating him silly, mind.
What? What are you looking at me like that for? Yes, I am sure I can beat him. What, you think I can't beat him just because I'm short, is that it?
Yes, I know that he's gone undefeated in 31 matches. Yes, I know some of his former opponents have gone into comas after a bout with him. Hell, I even hear he visits their hospital units just to point and laugh at them. What a jerk! How does that guy sleep at night?
He has insomnia?
Oh. Makes sense, I guess.
Well, let me tell you why I will win. You listening? The reason I will win is because I have heart and he doesn't. He just fight for money, fame, and because he's a big freaking bully. You guys are just too scared to stand up to him. But I'm not like that. You know what I fight for? I fight for my boys in the Bronx, and I can tell you that I am not going to let them down. Bronx is where real men are made, and I am gonna prove it to you, me, Doc, Mr Sandman and the whole wide world. And no matter how much sand Mr Sandman throws in my eyes, I'm gonna stay up late till I get the job done. I'm a hard worker. I'll sleep when I'm dead, man.
Well, that's all I've got to say. What does Mr Sandman say about me?
Say what now?
HE CALLED ME A WHAT?!?
That son of a…
Excuse me, people. I'm afraid I'm leaving early now… I gotta call up the Doc; tell him it's time to get real serious. There's no way he'll diss me like that… but before I go, stick this in your newspaper…
Mr Sandman? Prepare for the wake-up call from hell. Little Mac is coming, and he's gonna give you a dream that you can only wish you could forget…