The Contender

     The light was so bright, all he could see was white. The pain in his eyes faded as the light subsided. Slowly, colors came into view. The blue of the floor stood out. A table with items in various colors sat to his left. The wall had no color. It was a light grey.

     Slowly things came in to focus. The grey wall was now a cinder block wall which was painted in a smooth, glossy, light grey paint. The table also came into focus. A stack of neatly folded towels were on the table as were a number of metal boxes. He could now see that there were several notices hung on the wall in front of him. To his left was another wall with a row of hooks. Upon each hook were satin robes of various colors.

     Juan noticed that he was sitting on the long edge of a long, narrow table. The table had a thin cushion of the same dimensions and was covered in a white sheet. He also noticed that his feet were dangling about a foot from the floor.

     Juan sat there for a moment to consider his environment. It felt familiar, but he was sure that he was somewhere else just a moment ago. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that his oldest memory was the bright light. All he knew was that although he was comfortable in this room, he had no idea how he got here, and he didn't know why he was here.

     When ever Juan would ponder a question he would furrow his brow and hold his chin with his right hand. This time when he put his hand to his chin, he noticed his hand and wrist were covered in tape. He pulled his hand away to see why his hand was taped.

     "Did I cut or hurt my hand?" He rotated his hand and could see that the tape was neatly and tightly wound around his hand, but his fingers were free to move. He had no memory of anyone taping his hands. "Who ever did this, he did a good job." That's when he noticed that his left hand was just as well taped as the other. He raised both hands and squeezed them repeatedly making a tight fist each time. 

     He then lowered his hands to about waist level. He then made a tight fist with his right hand and instinctively punched the palm of his left hand. He punched again and again, each time harder than the last. It felt good.

     That's when he noticed the strength in his arms. He flexed his arms and his chest. "I feel strong! Was I weak? I don't remember." He hopped off the table. He landed with his feet firmly on the floor and expected his knees to hurt. It seemed odd that they didn't hurt, but then again, why would they? He walked past a row of lockers towards the large mirror in the back of the room. Juan noticed that each locker had a name above the door. One locker had his name. "I don't remember having a locker here. Now that I think about it, I don't even know where I am or why I'm here."

     Inside the locker he found a black suit, white dress shirt, and a black tie hanging neatly from a coat hanger. A shiny black robe trimmed in white along the edges hung from another hanger. He examined the robe. His surname was neatly embroidered on the left chest. Across the back, the moniker "EL GALLO" was written in large white appliqued sans serif letters. "El Gallo" had a ring of familiarity to it. He could feel the smile come across his face. He still had no idea why he was there, but at least now he felt better about it.

     With renewed swagger, he walked over to the mirror. He saw himself from what seemed to be both the first time and the latest time. There he stood, all five feet five inches and 117 pounds of himself. He stood there and admired himself for a moment. He saw that he was lean and muscular. He was in full Bantam mode. It seemed wrong to be in such good shape but it was also familiar. That's when he noticed his white boxing trunks. They were trimmed with a black waistband and had three thin black stripes down each leg. His white boots were adorned with three black stripes along the outside and inside of each foot.

     The boots seemed odd. They weren't the familiar leather boxing boots that he expected. They were made of some sort of cloth. The material was both firm and flexible. The soles were made of some sort of soft rubber. They felt good. He shadow boxed for a moment trying to get the feel of these new boots. His feet moved well and he had proper traction. He wasn't familiar with this type of boot, but he knew he had seen them. Somewhere.

     His attention went back to the mirror. "I look good!" He smiled broadly and then started to go through his warm up routine. There was a knock on the door. A familiar voice called his name. "Juan? Juan?" Juan replied, "Paco? Is that you?"

     Juan rushed to the door. It was Paco Esparza, his old trainer. He looked at Paco with a bit of confusion. Finally, he has seen a familiar face, but he had heard that he had died. Died years ago! Yet there he is, looking as though he had seen him yesterday. 

     Paco smiled at Juan. "Time to get ready, Juanito. I have the mitts and your gloves. You can do this." Now Juan was sure where he was and why he was there - sort of. He's in the dressing room of an arena and he's getting ready for a fight. 

     Juan started going through his warm up. He started with the stretching and moved on to the shadow boxing. All the while he could hear Paco's voice in the background giving instructions and positive reinforcement. 

     Punch after punch. Dancing. Bobbing and weaving. It was a natural feeling. It's like he's been doing it all of his life. Something in the back of his head knew that he hasn't. He felt like he was somewhere else yesterday, yet something else told him he was in the gym yesterday.

     Juan felt good, he felt strong, he felt ready. Paco handed him an oversized sweat shirt and said, "It's time."  Paco held the gloves so that Juan could slip his hand in. Juan slipped his hands into each glove. The movement was slow and deliberate. Paco tightened each glove. The gloves felt good - they way they always have. Everything felt right, yet it wasn't right. "Where was I yesterday? Wasn't I in bed in a room - somewhere?" It was like trying to remember a dream you had yesterday. 

     Lost in thought, Juan was brought back to reality by Paco's tapping on the back of his head. "Juan! Juan! C'mon, it's time to go!" Juan turned to face Paco. It occurred to Juan to ask a simple question. "Hey, Paco. Who am I fighting?" Paco's smile melted. He looked at the floor and then back at Juan. 

     His voice was grim. Paco put his hands on Juan's shoulders and said, "You've never faced anyone like this in your life." The butterflies in Juan's stomach turned into eagles. Then he smiled. "If I win, do I get a shot at the title?" Paco replied, "Juan, this is your last fight. You'll understand later."

     Paco told Juan to put his robe on. The robe! Juan smiled as he put the robe on. "I'm 'El Gallo', right?" Paco smiled. "I gave you that nickname when you started in my gym. You were a skinny little kid, but you had heart. You didn't back down from anybody. You reminded me of a hungry little rooster. I called my partner out of the office to watch you. He said that you looked like an angry chicken. That's when I decided your name was "El Gallo" - "The Rooster". It fit. You got beat, but you never quit. As you developed, you got better and better until you were the best fighter my gym produced."

     It was time for that walk. The door seemingly opened on it's own. The hallway outside was dark but slowly lighted. The muffled sound of an arena full of people talking could now be heard. Juan was ready. He looked at Paco and smiled. "Let's go."

     As they stepped out into the hallway, a man in white pants, white shirt, and holding a black leather bag was waiting. "Ignacio? Ignacio Vargas?" Juan was happy to see another familiar face. Paco turned to Juan and said, "I'm glad you remember Ignacio. He'll be your cutman." That was one more reason to feel confident. Ignacio had humble beginings but rose to be a cutman of some renown, but didn't he die sometime ago? Juan shook off the confusion and focused on the fight.

     At the end of the hallway was a curtain. Ignacio and Paco held the curtain open for Juan. Past the curtain, Juan could see the darkened arena with the brightly lit ring in the center of the floor. Paco and Ignacio paused at the curtain for a moment. They waited for their cue. Then a spotlight shined in Juan's eyes. The arena's loudspeakers came alive with the the sounds of a familiar song. It was Chuck Berry's "Johnny B. Goode". "How appropriate", Juan thought to himself. Instead of "Juan", many of his friends and acquaintances called him "Johnny" instead.

     The trio walked down the aisle to the sound of mixed cheers and jeers. The crowd wasn't there to see Juan. He wasn't the star of the show. He didn't care. The combined disrespect and the choice of song raised his spirits. He was up for this. He wanted this.

     Juan stayed focused on the fight. The ring loomed larger as he approached it. He could hear the name calling around him. He just smiled and basked in the hate. They took their time getting to the ring. Juan walked up the steps to the ring and crouched between the ropes. He was in the ring again. He knew that he would suffer at the hands of his opponent, but he would also be offering punishment of his own. His cornermen followed him in. There they waited for the start of the fight. Through the din, he heard a familiar female voice. "I believe in you!", the voice shouted.

     "Be careful!" That female voice cut though the crowd noise again. The lights were in his eyes and he could only make out shapes beyond the ring. He squinted in the direction of the voice. He was pretty sure that the voice that he was hearing was the petite young lady that was waving at him. That made him smile and eased the anxiety in his gut a bit. 

     He started to shadow box again. He danced in his nice new boots. He showed the crowd a flurry of rapid fire punches when the crowd came alive. It went from a muffled cacophony of voices speaking to each other to a crescendo of cheers. From beyond the opposite corner he could see light as another curtain opened. Three shapes arrogantly walked towards the ring. 

     The spotlight illuminated the opposing trio as another song blasted through the arena speakers. He had never heard this song before. The baritone chord structure of Blue Öyster Cult's "Godzilla" sounded evil to Juan, as though a trio of Furies was playing the song with Lucifer himself singing the lyrics.

     As they made their way down the aisle, the crowd began to chant, "Chronos! Chronos! Chronos! Chronos!" "He has a name", Juan thought to himself. "At least now I know that."

     The trio sauntered down the aisle. The trainer and cutman were holding up championship belts. When the opposing boxer arrived at the ring, his arrogance was even more pronounced. He ascended up the steps and then passed through the ropes in a slow, deliberate manner. Chronos stood in corner for a moment and gave Juan a dismissive sneer. He then turned to the crowd and raised his arms in premature victory. The crowd screamed with a passion he had never heard before.

     Juan began to size up his opponent. He was a bit taller than himself. He was gaunt and pale. He wore a black robe with red trim. On his left chest there was an hour glass with all the sand at the bottom all embroidered in gold. On his back was a scythe at a 45° angle, also embroidered in gold.  His trunks were black with a gold waistband. There were gold skulls on the side of each leg. The waistband had a large white label on the front. Printed in black on the label was one word - AETERNUM.

     Juan's trepidation was gone. He was now more like a hunter sizing up his quarry. He was looking for that physical weakness. He hasn't found one - yet.

     The ring announcer stepped into the squared circle followed by referee Ruby Goldstein. A microphone lowered into the ring from seemingly nowhere. Announcer Jimmy Lemmon, Sr. took hold of the dangling mic.

     With a look of stern anticipation on his face, he projected his voice and greeted the crowd. "Good evening ladies aaaaaaaaaand gentlemen and welcome to Eternity Arena. Tonight, our main event is twelve rounds of boxing under unified boxing rules in a non-title match."

     "In the white corner, standing five feet, five inches tall, weighing in at 117 pounds, with a 67 inch reach, with an amateur record of seven wins and no losses, from Monterrey, Nuevo Leon, Mexico, Juan "El Gallo" Gámez!" 

     Upon hearing his own name, Juan was reenergized. He bounced on his feet and raised his arms in mock victory. The crowd was not impressed. 

     After a pause for dramatic effect,  Lemmon continued with exaggerated enthusiasm, "And in the black corner, at five feet, seven and a half inches tall, weighing in at 117 pounds with a 69 inch reach, from Parts Unknown, he is known as "The King of this Ring", "The Black Knight", "The Lone Horseman of the Apocalypse", "The Anvil of Agony", "The Ruler of Requiem", "The Hero of Hades", "The Baron of Bop", and "The Champion of the Underworld" - Plouton Chronos!"

     The crowd went wild. Paco leaned over to Juan and told him, "Don't let the crowd get to you. They love him here. Don't take it personally."

     Referee Goldstein stepped up to center ring and called on both fighters to join him. With Chronos to his right and Juan to his left, he put a hand on each fighter's glove and spoke in his in his Brooklyn accent, "You gentlemen know the rules. I run a clean fight. I will stop this fight if I have to. Good luck to both of you. Go to your corners and wait for the bell.

     Juan gestured to Chronos to touch gloves. Chronos sneered at Juan and apparently refused. He gestured again, insisting both with his hands and facial expression. Chronos rolled his eyes and swiped his gloves at Juan's then turned and walked towards his corner.

     Juan turned and walked towards his own corner. He was a little angered by Chronos' behavior. To him, boxing is a noble sport. It required not only adherence to the rules, but an air of dignity, sportsmanship, and respect. In his mind, Chronos was both undignified, and disrespectful. 

     Juan walked over to his corner. He was eager for this match to begin. Paco waited for him there. He put a hand on each of Juan's shoulders and then leaned forward to touch foreheads. Paco began to give him some advice. "Juan! This is your fight! Give it everything you've got. He has the height and reach advantage on you. Find a way to beat him! Fight like there's no tomorrow!" 

     Juan looked over at Chronos. He watched as Chronos removed his robe to reveal his ashen complexion. 

     He then nonchalantly removed his own robe in the direction of the friendly female voice. He flexed his arms and chest, pretending not have noticed the female silhouette at ringside. "At least I have one fan here," he thought to himself.

     

     Through the din of the crowd, Juan could hear several familiar voices. Each voice shouted encouragement. Then all at once, those voices came together and let out a traditional Mexican cheer. In unison they chanted "Chiquitibum a la bim bom ba, chiquitiboom a la bim bom ba, a la bio, a la bao, a la bim bom ba, Juan Juan, Rah rah rah!" They put a proud smile on his face.

     It was time. Juan walked over to his corner. Paco took his robe and sweatshirt. Ignacio applied vaseline to his face and placed a guard into his mouth. He bit down into his guard. He was ready for what was to come. Paco put his hand on his head and shouted, "This is your night, your fight, your destiny." Ignacio added "¡A todo madre o haste la desmadre!" Juan agreed, this was victory or death.

     He turned to face his adversary on the opposite side of the ring. They were both like thoroughbreds chomping at the bit, ready to start a race. They stared at each other with a look of determination.

    

     The bell rang, the contest begins. Both warriors approached each other. They met at center ring, dancing and jabbing at each other, feeling each other out for weakness.

     Juan bobbed and weaved while Chronos punched furiously. Most punches missed. There were a few glancing blows here and there. Occasionally Chronos would land a solid blow. These were stunning punches. Never had any fighter hit him so hard - or so often. Ever patient, Juan waited and found his opening. 

     Juan's attacks started with blows to the body which surprised his opponent.  A stunned Chronos left himself open to punches to the face. Chronos would stop the assault by locking him up in a clench. Referee Goldstein quickly stepped up to break the fighters apart. Dismayed but not disappointed, Juan pressed on. Never had he faced such a resilient opponent.

     Each bell sent Juan to his corner optimistic. That same bell sent Chronos to his own corner bruised, cut, and angry. As he walked over to his corner, he could hear the jeers from the crowd. He also heard the small group of people cheering for him. That gave him hope!

     Juan maintained his strategy in rounds two, three, four, five, and six. Despite the punishment he was absorbing, he knew he was impressing the judges. As the fight progressed, the landed punches were begining to take a toll. After what seemed like an eternity, the bell rang ending the sixth round.

     During the sixth break, Juan sat in his corner as his team attended to the swelling on his face. Paco shouted instructions and encouragement but all Juan heard was the sound of his own breathing and heartbeat. As an amateur, he had never gone more than three rounds. The pain in his face and the power of the punches were begining to become a factor. He could see that Chronos' face was swollen, cut, and bleeding. Despite this he didn't seem to slow down. He had to find some way to beat this guy. He was leading in points, but would that be enough?

     Round seven began with the bell. Again, he was up for the challenge, but this time fatigue was a factor. Juan still had legs, but the quickness wasn't there. His arms felt heavy, but it was the punches. Chronos was still fresh, unnaturally fresh. His face showed the signs of having sustained a beating, his ribs were bruised but it didn't seem to slow him down.

     Juan back pedaled and dodged his way through this round. He made Chronos chase him. He stayed out of reach as much as possible attacking only when when the taller man left an opening. The bell rang none to soon.

     The seventh break was was unusual for Juan. This was The first time that he doubted himself. At first he wanted to win, he knew he could win. Then midway through the bout, he just wanted to go the distance. Going into the eighth round, he was now having doubts. The problem for Juan was not losing, but quitting. He could not bear the thought of quitting. He had to see this through.

     Round eight was a disaster. Juan was on the ropes for the first time. Time after time Goldstein broke them up and ordered them back to neutral corners only to commence again.  The bell couldn't come soon enough.

     Before the start of round nine, the ref checked on Juan's corner. He shouted, "Hey, Paco! Can your boy go on?" Before he could answer, Juan responded. "Yes ... yes!". Goldstein shook his head in disbelief and retreated to center ring.

     Rounds nine, ten, and eleven found Juan on the ropes again. Using his gloves as shields, he absorbed the impacts of Chronos' punches. For those three rounds, Chronos punched Juan, punishing him as though he had committed some crime.

     The referee recognized the tactic and allowed it to continue. Juan was hoping that Chronos would wear himself out. He still didn't realize that he faced an opponent of inhuman strength and endurance. The eleventh bell found Juan staggering back to his corner.

     Again, Juan was in unfamiliar territory. His corner frantically attended to the cuts, bruises, and one large hematoma. He couldn't feel his face any longer and his head was spinning. Again, Goldstein came to the corner, but this time with a warning. "This round you have to fight! If you stay on the ropes, I'm gonna call it! Do you understand?"

     Juan nodded in the affirmative. Then he turned to Paco. "Ok, Paco! Can he do it or are you throwing in the towel?" Before Paco could answer, Juan growled, "¡Hasta la desmadre!" Goldstein didn't understand the words, but he understood the sentiment. He slapped Juan's glove and shouted, "Show me whatcha got, kid!"

     As Goldstein retreated to center ring, Juan stood up. He steadied himself, closed his eyes, and looked skyward. He muttered a quick prayer and then the bell rang. He cautiously moved towards Chronos. Both combatants were injured, both wanted to win.

     Both men came out punching. Juan jabbed and retreated. Chronos flailed wildly in frustration. He underestimated "El Gallo".

     Juan again found his opening.  He delivered blow after blow to the ribs and solar plexus. Chronos clenched to stop the assault. Goldstein quickly intervened and broke up the pair. After the signal to commence again, the champ began to jab at the contender then with the last of his strength, he delivered a right cross to the temple.

     The blow to the head was too much. Suddenly, the world moved in slow motion. The ring began to spin and then he was face up looking at the lights. His only thought was, "I don't want to lose."

     Chronos watched the young man fall. He was suddenly filled with elation. He raised his arms in premature victory. He danced in joy as Goldstein tried to direct him to a neutral corner.  Precious seconds had passed.

     As Goldstein turned to the fallen fighter, he was already up on one knee. Goldstein admired the effort. He gave him a slow count.

     By the eight count, he was up, he was steady, his gloves were in front of him. Goldstein looked in his eyes, he still saw the intensity. He wiped his gloves on his shirt, stepped back, and then signalled for the fight to continue. 

     Juan had nothing left. He jabbed to little effect. All he could do was block the champ's punches. At this point even a glancing blow took it's toll. Then came a solid right. Again, his temporal perceptions changes. His legs wobbled. He didn't want to fall again.

     Chronos took a step back in anticipation of another knock down. To his dismay the tenacious denizen of Monterrey didn't fall. Instead he steadied himself. He looked at Chronos and raised his gloves in anticipation of more pummeling by the champ.

     This was too much for Chronos.  He angrily squared off against the shorter man. He jabbed repeatedly at Juan. The contender had no response. The champ judged him ripe for the taking.

     He measured his opponent. He grimaced as he cocked his arm back for what would be the final punch. The bell rang for the final time. Goldstein jumped in and shielded Juan from any further punishment.

     The arena erupted into pandemonium! Trainers, managers, cutmen, reporters, and lastly Jimmy Lemmon climbed into the ring. Trainers attended to their respective fighters. Reporters were snapping photos and asking questions. Juan turned and saw Paco and Ignacio and quickly collapsed into their arms. The trio were elated. Almost in unison, they shouted, "You did it! You did it!"

     The mass of people began to settle down as the mic dropped from the overhead. Lemmon took the mic in his right hand and announced that the fight was in the judge's hands.

     Again, both men met at center ring. Goldstein took hold of Juan's right wrist and Chronos' left wrist. They stood there waiting for the decision. The anticipation was unbearable. As they stood there, a young man climbed into the ring holding a sheet of paper.  He ran past the fighters and handed it to Lemmon.

     Lemmon read the paper, nodded his head, faced the crowd, and took a deep breath. "Ladies and gentlemen! The judges have rendered their decision. This fight is a draw!"

     Goldstein hesitated for a moment then raised both fighters' hands. Juan was relieved because he didn't lose. Chronos was furious because he didn't win. He pulled away from the ref and stomped and yelled in anger.

     He had gotten as far as his own corner when he turned to face Juan. He then stomped back to center ring. He was livid. He was nose to nose with Juan and yelled, "If I had ten more seconds, I would have beat you!" Juan looked up at the taller man, spit out some blood, smiled, and replied, "If you had ten more seconds."

     Chronos was now angrier. He pointed his gloved fist in Juan's face and declared, "I'm better than you!"  Juan smiled and nodded his head. "Yes, you are, but you still didn't beat me."

     Chronos angrily backed away from Juan.  Halfway to his own corner, he raised his arms in mock victory and let loose a blood curdling roar.  As he roared, he slowly began to vanish until only a light mist was left in his place.

     Juan was dumbstruck. He couldn't believe what he had seen. With his mouth agape he turned to Paco and Ignacio who were both smiling. Why were they smiling? "Did you see that?", he asked them both. They both just laughed.

     Paco spoke up, "You pissed him off, Juanito. He never loses. A draw? That is rare." Juan nodded his head trying fathom what he just experienced. Ignacio began to remove Juan's gloves. Ignacio looked at Juan and said, "You'll never need these again. These are going on display." He then placed the gloves in his equipment bag.

     Paco put out his hand to Juan. The two shook hands, then Ignacio shook Juan's hand. "Juan," Paco began, "It's time for us to go. I always knew that you had it in you. They're waiting for you in the party room." 

     Now even more confused, Juan asked,  "Who's waiting for me? What party room?" Ignacio reassured Juan and patted him on the shoulder, "It's ok, mijito. You'll see and it will all make sense." With that, the pair bid adios to the contender. The pair walked off. As they crouched to step through the ropes to exit the ring, the pair slowly vanished.

     The contender was now alone in the still lit ring. The ref, the announcer, the reporters had all vanished without him noticing. Even the arena had grown quiet except for the enthusiastic cheering and applauding by a number of people ringside. That's when at the far end of the arena, two doors slowly swung open to reveal a brightly lit room. The aisle way leading to that room was softly lit. 

     That's when the voices began to becon to him. "¡Andale, Juanito! ¡Vamomos!", cried out a familiar masculine voice. Then that familiar feminine voice called out to him again, "Johnyyyyyyy! C'mon, they're waiting for you!"

     As he stepped down from the ring, the small crowd surrounded him. He looked at each smiling face and knew that he knew them but didn't know from where. A bit confused, he felt at peace nonetheless. Then a light hand touched his shoulder.

     He turned around to see who was touching him. He turned around to see a petite young lady. She had smiling eyes and wavy black hair. He looked into her eyes and felt his heart sink into his gut. At once both familiar and unfamiliar, he couldn't help but know that she was somebody special. But exactly who was she?

     That's when two security guards approached the gathering. The leader stepped up to Juan and spoke in a monotone voice. "Mr. Gámez," he began, "would you and your friends please follow us? You're expected in the Banquet Room."  With that said, they turned and began walking towards the open double doors and the lighted space inside.

     Juan followed them, staying a few feet behind them. He in turn was followed by the small entourage of well wishers. Thoughts raced through his mind, "Where am I going? Who's waiting for me?  What's going to happen to me? Who are these people?"

     When they reached the doors, the guards stepped aside and ushered the group in. Once inside, Juan could see a large gathering of men. They were all well dressed, racially diverse,  talking, drinking, and laughing amongst themselves. 

     As Juan approached the group, they began to turn around and spontaneously burst into applause. What he noticed was that each man there had a gold ring and either a championship belt, at least one gold medal, or both. All of these men were boxing champions. "Why are they applauding me? I didn't win." he thought to himself.

     He then noticed that the crowd began to part as a tall African American man with a familiar face sauntered towards him. With a big smile on his face, the familiar man greeted Juan with an almost condescending tone. "Well, we'll, well. Look who we have here. We've been waiting a long time for you."

     Juan was now even more confused. He knew the people behind him and he also knows the man before him, but yet didn't know him. The tall man wearing a championship belt around his waist and several gold medals hanging from his neck let out a chuckle. He could see the confusion in Juan's face. "Look man, even I was confused when I got here. I'm going to clear things up a bit." The champ then reached out and lightly touched Juan's forehead with his right index finger.

     He felt a slight dizziness for a moment then when he opened his eyes and looked at the champ and knew who he was. "Cassius Clay!", he blurted out.

     The champ smiled and rolled his eyes. "Hey, man. That ain't me no more. The name is Muhammad Ali and I am the greatest of all time!"

     With that mystery solved, things became even less clear to Juan.  Ali could see the confusion in his face, so he asked, "Tell me, Johnny, do you know where you were about two hours ago?"

     Juan pondered the question, but his oldest memory was of him sitting in the dressing room. He struggled to remember anything else. Anything. It's as though nothing existed before that dressing room.

     Ali put a hand on his shoulder and began to explain. "Two hours ago you were in a hospice breathing your last. You were surrounded by family and friends. When the end came, you were brought here."
  
     "You spent your life as a printer, working hard to feed your family but in your heart, you were always a fighter. You had to quit boxing so you could start a new life in a new country. You sacrificed everything for your family. Despite that, you were still a fighter deep in your soul. Whenever life hit you hard, you never threw in the towel. You were always ready for one more round. You even scored seven knockouts, all outside the ring."

     "You had the potential. You would have been a contender, maybe even a champion, but we'll never know that. That's why you were in the ring one last time.  All these men here were boxing champions in every weight class. They were amateurs, Olympians, and pro fighters. They are all here to honor you. You put up a great fight against Chronos. No one ever beats him. Only a handful have ever gotten a draw."

     Juan raised an eyebrow then asked, "Who else got a draw?" Ali smiled broadly and boasted, "Well, Johnny, you're looking at one of them. When Chronos entered the ring, I started to taunt him, I got under his skin. Then during the fight, I floated like a butterfly and stung like a bee. Sure, he got his punches in, but he had trouble laying a glove on this pretty face. I danced around him so much, he thought he was in a disco. I told him that I was young, handsome, and fast and he didn't have what it took to beat me. He found out why I am the greatest that ever was!"

     Juan pondered what he had heard. Another memory drifted in and Juan put his still taped hand to his chin. He looked at Ali and said bluntly, "Now I remember why I didn't like you. You talk too much!"

     Ali smiled and quickly put up his fists and began jabbing at the contender. Juan quickly responded by putting up his own fists and dodged Ali's feigned punches. Ali laughed as he continued to pull his punches. "That's right, Johnny, you're lucky that we're not the same weight class. I would beat you so bad, you'd think that Chronos was a girl!"

     Juan relaxed his guard and chuckled a bit. Ali relaxed his stance and looked Juan squarely in the eyes. "Johnny, I think it's time." Ali turned to the crowd and in a commanding voice called out, "Gentlemen!"

     At that signal, movement began from within the mass of champions. A number of diminutive men wearing championship belts or gold medals began to move towards the pair. These were the bantam weight champions of days past. They formed a circle around Ali and the contender. Ali put his left hand on Juan's shoulder and said, "OK now, close your eyes." 

     He cautiously closed his eyes. Ali then made a fist, cocked his arm back and landed a solid punch directly to Juan's forehead. 

     All he experienced was a flash of light and the sensation of waves and waves of memories rushing back into him. When he opened his eyes, he was showered, fresh, and wearing the plain black suit that hung in his locker. Then he noticed that his face didn't hurt anymore. He then touched his face and found that all the cuts and swelling were gone and the tape had vanished from his hands.  He then looked up at the smiling Ali who was pointing at the small gathering behind him.

     He smiled as, one by one, he recognized the faces of family and friends. Family and friends that had passed before him. Each one welcomed Juan home with the traditional Mexican "abrazo" (embrace). Greeting after greeting, endless abrazos, until he was facing a familiar couple. He had forgotten how tall his father was. His mother, petite but strong willed, opened her arms for the first of her children to join her in the afterlife. He was then joined by another couple. 

     "Juanillo!", said the big booming voice behind him. He turned to see who was speaking and was met by the sight of Nicasio and Luz: his in-laws. He was elated with this reunion of loved ones but noticed that one person seemed to be missing. He turned towards his parents. Juan and Juanita  each put a hand on their son's shoulders.  Juanita looked into her son's eyes and said softly, "Mijito, there's one last person waiting to see you. Turn around."

     Juan turned slowly to see who was behind him. He was met by the sight of Janie, his beloved. She was the petite young lady that was cheering him on rigside. She was a vision with her black wavy hair. She wore a white sweater, black poodle skirt, bobby socks, and saddle shoes. Her enthusiastic voice moved him to tears. "Johnny! I've been waiting for you!" 

     They reached out to embrace each other. It was an embrace that felt like it was both in slow motion and fast forward at the same time. They laughed because they began talking to each other at the same time and embraced again. That's when they both noticed that the room was filled with the sound of "their" song - "Smoke Gets In Your Eyes" by The Platters. The song brought them both to tears. They looked at each other and kissed. It was that same first kiss from a lifetime ago.

     Ali's voice broke up the moment. "Mr. Johnny, It's time for you to go." Confused, He asked, "Where am I going now? That's when Ali pointed at another set of double doors which revealed another brightly lit room with more people in it. 

     Juan looked over at Ali and asked, "What is that party for?" "That's the party for the contenders. Those are the ones who had a shot at the title. The top ranked fighters in their weight classes, the silver and bronze medalists. You had the potential to be a champion. You had the heart, but we'll never know. You can only become a champion in life. The only reason you came to this room is because you went the distance with Chronos. The fact that you got the draw was just the cherry on top."

     Juan looked at his young again bride, smiled, and asked, "Are you ready?" Janie smiled back and responded, "Where you go, I go." She took his arm and the pair began to walk towards the door. As they approached, a tall figure stood in the doorway. Juan stopped and then remembered. He smiled at the man and asked, "Jerry Quarry?"

     Jerry laughed out loud. "That's right! Welcome to the Contender's Room. There's allot of people waiting to meet you here." 

     Juan and Janie were about to walk in, when Juan balked. He turned to Quarry and asked, "What happens after this?"

     Quarry laughed and slapped Juan in the back and reassured him. "Don't worry. You're going to love it!"

#gamez #boxer #boxing #eternity #apotheosis
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