"C'MON REF! THAT'S THE THIRD GADDAM TIME HE HIT HIM LOW! WHAT FIGHT ARE YOU WATCHING?!?!"

Thursday, March 2nd, 2017. Open Class Championship. Golden Gloves New England. End of round 1

The water makes it's way through the headgear and finally cools Michael's head. He likes to keep the mouthguard in to save time. That's what he tells everyone, but the truth is he hates the way Gil's latex surgical glove makes the mouthpiece taste. And Gil has terrible aim. That time in Dorchester when he almost shoved it up Michael's nose.

"Rinse and spit. Good boy. Take a little sip. These gaddam amateur refs don't ... if he does it again, let's return the gaddam favor. Enough of this crap. We'll fight fire with fire. This is THE Championship Mikey. Golden Gloves CHAMP!"

The ten second clap. The voice calls out "seconds out".

"Shit! Ok, Mikey double up the jab to keep him at distance. You're dropping your left and parrying downward which is bringing some of his punches low, but gaddamit he's definitely dirty. Most of those low blows have been on purpose. Gaddamit he's a dirty sonofabitch! Shit! Ok, double up that jab. Distance. Move right. GET THAT BELT!"

DING DING-- Round 2

Gil trained both amateurs and pros. He was old school about it too. Old Testament type of boxing he called it. As the other club members watched Michael getting hit low over and over again, they were surprised that he hadn't gone Gilbical on the guy.

Gil would always tell his guys "punches stray, sure, absolutely, but I don't care. If he hits you low, even by accident, hit him low right back and harder"

Gilblical.

Michael never liked the idea of that. He thought to purposefully hit an opponent low was cheating. He understood where Gil was coming from. He understood why Josh, Brian, Michelle and Aaron had no problem with it, but he could never bring himself to do it.

Saturday, August 10th, 2013. Unsanctioned "Smoker" Bout. Boston Boxing & Fitness. Parking lot.

"You didn't listen. That's what I'm pissed about. How many times I gotta yell MOVE RIGHT? I tell you to ..."

"Coach, I did, Jesus ... I kept getting nailed by his cross and ..."

"Mikey ... *laughter* ... that's cuz you're moving left. Right INTO his cross."

Gil gave Michael a playful slap in the head (with his right hand of course) and they both laughed. They had a good handful of minutes before they had to go back in. Michael was going to help work the fighter corner. It's a big deal when a new fighter at the club gets to help out in the corner. You get to learn a lot by observing what happens. What's said and done.

The way it works is that Gil goes inside the ring with Aaron. Talks to him. Gives him instructions and water. Tends to any cuts or blood and presents adjustments Aaron will need to make. Michael would hand Gil the stool and the water and anything else that they might need.

The three of them stood just outside the ring over by the red corner. Aaron was bouncing up and down and exercising the butterflies that swarmed inside his belly. Gil held the towel over his left shoulder and Michael held the water bottle and the corner kit.

"...AND IN THE RED CORNER FIGHTING OUT OF BOP CITY BOXING CLUB ... AARON GANTZ!!!!"

Saturday, August 10th, 2013. Unsanctioned "Smoker" Bout. Boston Boxing & Fitness. End of round 2.

Gil was yelling at the ref again "I KNOW A GREAT OPTHOMOLOGIST THAT CAN HELP YOU JOHN! C'MON MAN!"

Aaron slumped onto the stool. Eyes glazed. Headgear needs adjusting and everyone in the gym is beyond thankful that he wore his protection.

"He hits you low again you gaddam haul off and hit him low right the hell back! You hear me?!? We're fighting fire with fire! Hell fire and fury kid! This is bullshit and it stops now! He hits you low you HIT him low harder!"

DING DING

A few punches in and there's an accidental shot that grazes a tad low and Aaron just let's go a left hook right into the groin of his opponent. It's all over. The gym goes quiet and then builds to a wave crash of "ooow" and "ohhhh".

The ref waives the fight over and gives Aaron a look. "You know you're banned from September, right?"

Aaron sheepishly acknowledged the comment, shrugged his shoulders and made his way out of the ring at the red corner. He didn't even make an effort to go to the blue corner and show his respect which is the custom. Not doing so confirmed Michael's thought thatAaron went out of his way to land the cheap shot. It wasn't retaliation or retribution. It was just a dirty cheap shot.

They all didn't go that way though. Boston Boxing never let any club get away with anything resembling cheating. Gil's payback old testament retribution did score some victories at other club's events, or in other sanctioned tournaments. You get a guy tired enough where his punches start to stray low, either by accident or on purpose, that's a great indicator that he's nearing the end of his gas tank. Running out of steam. You want to take all the steam out of an already tired fighter? Body shots. You want to guarantee that he ain't getting back up? You hit him low.

To Michael that was cheap. He considered it unsportsmanlike. Some things about Gil's system made sense. Some things in Gil's system worked beautifully and Michael bought in 100%. This was not one of those.

To Michael this was cheating.

Thursday, March 2nd, 2017. Open Class Championship. Golden Gloves New England. End of round 1

"C'MON REF! THAT'S THE THIRD GADDAM TIME HE HIT HIM LOW! WHAT FIGHT ARE YOU WATCHING?!?!"

Gil pours some water over the top of Michael's headgear.

"Rinse and spit. Good boy. Take a little sip. These gaddam amateur refs don't ... if he does it again, let's return the gaddam favor. Enough of this crap. We'll fight fire with fire. This is THE Championship Mikey. Golden Gloves CHAMP!"

The ten second clap. The voice calls out "seconds out!".

"Shit! Ok, Mikey double up the jab to keep him at distance. You're dropping your left and parrying downward which is bringing some of his punches low, but gaddamit he's definitely dirty. Most of those low blows have been on purpose. Gaddamit he's a dirty sonofabitch! Shit! Ok, double up that jab. Distance. Move right. GET THAT BELT!"

DING DING