fight club
Lisbon dispatch #1
The kickboxing gym that the officially sponsored Urbit Fight Club is being hosted at is packed. It’s a mix of buff crypto guys, people who actually attend this gym, and a gaggle of the various e-girls, clout chasers, substackers, disaster zone tourists and other characters who flew out to the other side of the atlantic ocean for the week, myself included. Most of the fights are grappling matches being livestreamed on some guys phone, but there’s one boxing match between Noah and this buff crypto guy who I don’t know the name of. Noah’s a big guy and is in Matt’s touch football email list so it’s not like he’s unathletic but this other guy is jacked, he looks like a due who actually attends a boxing gym on a weekly basis. He’s got an almost demonic look to him, the other guy, putting hits in on Noah and controlling the spacing of the fight, walking down Noah even though Noah is at least like 33% taller than him. Noah loses but he lasted all 3 rounds which is commendable in and of itself.
Shortly after I’m smoking a cigarette with Kat and Veronica outside when Noah comes out and join us.
“You should fight, salty!”
I tell him I’m not sure if I want to.
“Ahhh, come on! It’s fun! Live a little!”
This starts to convince me. After all, what am I in Lisbon for if not to live?
Griftshop joins our conversation and says he wants to spar someone. I say I’m down for it. We shake hands on it and go back inside to find some boxing gloves.
**
I did a lot of fighting when I was a kid. I fought bullies and I fought my parents and I fought my teachers and I fought the weird administrator figures that were always in my life for reasons that were unknown to me and that my parents would lie about when I asked them. The teachers and the administrators and parents I fought with, those were verbal fights, but I’d physically fight my bullies when I couldn’t take it anymore and just flew into a ball of rage. But whoever I fought and however I fought them didn’t really matter because the outcome was the same: I’d always lose.
**
I can’t recall the precise moment when I realized I was in over my head in this match with Grift. I want to say it was after the first punch or two I took but it was definitely after I got hit with a hook to the eye. That one really woke me up. I stumbled down to the mat and try to catch my breath and the guy who actually runs the gym starts counting to ten. I beat the count and get up and the fight continues.
I’m looking at Grift and it’s like, shit, he works out he’s got muscle — which I can see in his arms and can definitely feel in the kidney shots he’s giving me. He’s athletic, y’know, he works out, he did sports in high school, I don’t work out, I didn’t do sports in high school I just went on /v/ and /r9k/ all the time, we’re the same height but he’s got a bit more of a reach than me which really helps him in controlling the flow of the fight.
Once again I’m in over my head, but I can’t think about that right now. I just gotta focus on surviving. Maybe get a lucky hit in and knock him down.
**
I’d always lose fights because I was never in a position of power. I wasn’t strong enough to win scraps against my classmates and the adults in my life held all the cards when it came to how I lived.
So I’d always get punished. I’d get punished physically and I’d get punished by suspensions and detentions and being grounded and being forced into meeting with counselors who I hated and who hated me back. It’s nice when two people have mutual feelings for each other. For most people that feeling is “being in love” but in my case it was hatred and disrespect of the other.
I’d keep throwing myself into these fights knowing I couldn’t win them. But I didn’t care. I always fought people when I was at a breaking point, when all the stress and annoyance and confusion of the situations I’d find myself in stacked on top of each other and I just couldn’t take it anymore. I didn’t know any other way on how to resolve these problems. They felt impossible to solve. There’s no HR-mandated “Conflict Resolution” class to take when you’re a kid and the world is a confusing and alienating and sometimes hostile place. So you act out on the only way you know how, through rage and fury and violence. But that doesn’t go very far. You lose and get punished and get further into a hole. It just makes you want to fight more.
**
Delicious Tacos is in my corner. He’s saying that I gotta look for a counter, try the head when Grift goes in for a body shot. I’m trying to absorb his advice while also absorb Grift’s blows and get a feel for the spacing and all that so I can maybe turn the tide and put him on the defensive.
It’s tough. I wonder if Grift’s done boxing before, maybe maybe not, but I certainly haven’t. There’s a reason it’s called the sweet science. I used to watch a decent amount of boxing and UFC but that doesn’t really prepare you for actually being in a boxing match. It’s a whole thing.. You gotta be reading your opponent (mental stamina) and absorbing blows (physical stamina) and also not get discouraged if a round isn’t going your way (emotional stamina). At some point your brain just shuts down all the other thoughts bouncing around it to just one, SURVIVE, and that helps with the concentration of what’s happening around you.
I’ve wanted to do boxing for a while. The first fall I lived in New York I had three goals: finish reading The Power Broker, join a boxing gym, and write a short story. I only accomplished the first one. I couldn’t find a boxing gym that was decent and then by the time I had the finances to join one I got sucked in to being a nightlife guy.
If I had joined a boxing gym that would have helped me in this very moment. But that’s one of the things I can’t think about right now. Grift’s getting ready for another kidney shot. I go for his head and grunt while I put my fist forward. I think I missed. His punch lands. Ow.
**
Eventually after losing fight after fight after fight you just sort of give up. You accept your fate. You accept the bullying and the weird administrator people and the counselors and all that. They’re not going to go away, a decade plus of experience has established this, so you may as well just give in. Besides, losing always sucks. This is a way to stop doing that.
You become quiet. You become a yes man who agrees with everything people say. The bullies get bored and find other targets. The administrator figures decide that you’re “normal” now and that they don’t need to follow you around anymore. Your parents breathe a sigh of relief that they aren’t getting calls about you being a disturbance all the time. Nothing’s changed on the inside, though. You’ve just bottled your emotions like the good Irish Catholic that you are.
**
I’m losing the fight, I’m getting my ass kicked, my body hurts, but I don’t care. I feel alive. I sense a smile coming over my face. I’m gassed and exhausted and losing but it doesn’t matter. I don’t think any of my punches are landing anymore, not that they were doing much in the first place. This is great. I’m having fun. I know the outcome is inevitable but I want to throw everything I have at him, make him at least work for his win.
He knocks me down again. I can’t get up this time. I tap out.
We both shake hands on the fight. It’s all good. It was a gentleman’s bout, after all. I congratulate him on the win. There’s a smattering of applause from the audience. The scary looking guy who fought Noah earlier checks in on my cut and says I’ll be fine, it’s not that bad. Delicious Tacos says I have “elephant-sized balls” for even doing a boxing match in the first place. Someone posts a picture of me after the fight, exhausted and smoking a cigarette and with an obvious cut over my eye. A girl says it’s the best I’ve ever looked.
I lost but I feel great. I’m smiling. I’m amped. Noah was right, it was fun. It makes me want to join a boxing gym when I’m back in the city for good and get a job again.
**
I’m trying to start fighting again. I guess physically by doing boxing, sure, that’d be great, but I guess moreso on an argumentative level. I don’t want to be combatative and aggressive but at the same time I don’t want to be someone who’s super-agreeable anymore. I think fighting a little bit is good for the soul. My ex-girlfriend always complained that I didn’t fight her. Maybe she was right. Maybe I should have. Even if I lose it could have been a fun time.
