Boxer: (n) a person who takes part in the sport of boxing
I had never thought about boxing.
Matter of fact, I had a disdainful view of it, as some sort of practice by “ignorant folk from the poor side of town.”
But Rocky changed everything.
Watching two well-oiled men pummel each other made me wonder what it would be like to buy some boxing gloves and just goof around with them. So a friend and I picked some up at a local sporting goods store, (by the way, they were quite expensive) and cleared out an area of his garage to simulate a ring and decided to find out what it was like to “get punchy.”
We started slowly.
It went along pretty well. I punched him in the arm, he punched me back in the mid-section, and I was thinking, this is really no big deal.
All at once he took a swing at my face. His glove made contact right in the middle of my nose. I could have sworn that it was driven back into my brain, where it lodged and refused to return. It stung, it burned, I couldn’t open my eyes, and blood started pouring out.
My friend was horrified, apologizing in every manner he had learned during his very proper upbringing.
I finally got the bleeding stopped, but it was two days before I got rid of the headache.
I don’t know why people want to punch each other in the face.
But I will tell you that it is not pleasant–and is not recommended for anyone who might discover he’s a wimp.
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