A short boxing story is now up at Noble Cobra Magazine for your reading pleasure.

“Touch gloves.”

Manfred ‘Mad Dog’ Dodgson took one more appraising look at his opponent as they touched. Shorter than him by a couple inches; less reach. Five years older than him, though, which might mean less stamina. Glossy black skin stretched tight over earth-moving muscles. Nothing light about him. A powerhouse, but not likely to be quick.

His name was Dylan Arthur. Former construction worker. Got laid off in the recession, turned to an old boxing hobby in a last-ditch effort to put food on the table. He’d landed a couple of unexpected victories that had brought his name into the public spotlight. Meeting his gaze across the mat, Mad Dog saw none of the self-centred swagger most fighters had; just a cool, determined look in his eye. It was the look of a man fighting for others, not himself.

People were calling it a perfect ‘Cinderella’ story; a deserving, down-on-his luck father getting an inspiring, one-in-a-million chance to be someone. A story of grit and devotion triumphing over all odds. His humble, self-effacing style in interviews only added to the appeal. Everyone was pulling for Arthur.

He was a good man. No doubt about that.

The sharp chime of the bell and the fight began. Mad Dog left his corner and crossed the mat in three steps. His foot hit the canvas, and at the exact same moment his jab landed straight on Arthur’s chin, followed immediately by a brutal cross.

Arthur staggered, caught off guard by the sudden assault. Mad Dog didn’t give him an inch of breathing space, but closed in: jab, cross, hook. Duck a clumsy counter, cross to the body at the same time, then upper cut on the rise. Arthur stumbled back against the ropes and Mad Dog came at him, still swinging. The other fighter clenched up as Mad Dog sought to get his gloves around his defence.

The ref stepped in to break them up, and Mad Dog retreated a few steps. He was breathing hard, but hadn’t been touched yet. Arthur was gasping and already shaky on his feet. He’d been surprised by the ferocity of Mad Dog’s initial attack and hadn’t gotten balance back.

The moment the ref stepped away, Mad Dog was on him again. This time Arthur put up a better fight; he parried and ducked the first combo and landed a hard, but sloppy cross to the body, but it cost him another hard hook to the face. He didn’t let up, but kept pressing in on Arthur, pounding at every opening. Arthur was throwing more defensive blows now, half-blind, and at last one sharp cross landed clean enough that Mad Dog felt it. He retaliated at once with a jab-hook combo, and Arthur spun and hit the mat.

Read the rest here.