Four Fires (40 page)

'Sure, what?'

There's a Police Boys Club boxing night coming up in Albury. Will you come and have a look at my lad, Bozo Maloney?'

Big Jack then explains that Bozo is up against a young bloke who's a welterweight and considered a pretty good young fighter. Kevin Flanagan asks why Bozo's fighting outside his weight division. 'Because, like I told you, he's smacked the arse of every fifteen-year-old kid in the featherweight division in Victoria.'Then he admits what he's done. 'But he could have a problem on his hands with this young bloke from New South Wales, the kid has lost only one fight and is supposed to be pretty handy with his fists.'

But Flanagan doesn't bite. 'Who's the kid?'he asks Big Jack.

'Young Aboriginal lad, well, half-Aboriginal. Father's some sort of dago, his folk have just moved down from Dubbo to Wodonga.'

'How many fights?' Kevin asks.

Thirty, twenty-nine wins, one loss, six t.k.o.s and one k.o.'

'Jimmy Black?'

'Yeah, how'd you know?' Big Jack Donovan says, surprised.

'C'mon, Big Jack, this kid isn't for your young bloke. He's a fighter. He must have moved up a
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weight division, he's seventeen, he fought

our young bloke in the National Championships last year. Pretty handy with the gloves, gave us a bloody good fight. We were bloody lucky to get the decision.'

'Your boxer was the one who beat him?'

'Could have gone either way, we got lucky, got the decision on the night.' Kevin Flanagan looks at him. 'You sure you know what you're doing, Big Jack? Stepping up a weight division is never easy, a few extra pounds behind a punch can make all the difference. Two or three years more experience in the ring, that's too much for your young lad to handle. I'm telling you now, your kid, no matter how good you say he is, isn't ready to fight Jimmy Black. We re not talking about a run-of-the-mill boxer. Jimmy Black's a pretty handy young fighter, good punch in both hands, fast around the ring, a real tearaway who can box too if he has to.'

Big Jack looks uncertain, then shakes his head. 'Sorry, Kev, but it's already arranged,' he says.

'Wouldn't want to pull Bozo now, the kid wants the fight real bad.'

'Easy to get it pulled, the Victorian Boxing Union won't let a fourteen-year-old go up against a seventeen-year-old boxer, no way!'

'Yeah well, that's just it, Jimmy Black hasn't been registered in Victoria and that's why we can fight him outside Bozo's weight division, though just the once, then we'll be breaking the rules.

It's our only chance to see how good Bozo Maloney is.'

Kevin Flanagan isn't listening. 'Big Jack, you can always pull your lad. Flu, sprained elbow, it doesn't much matter, mate, you don't want your kid in the ring with a mismatch. Later maybe, when he's stronger, it's not a bad idea to get a young promising boxer to take a few good punches, maybe even be knocked down. If your lad has had an easy run up the ladder he's probably a bit of a show pony, hasn't been tested, but now's not the time, he's too young.'

'That's my point, we don t know how good he is and I don't think he's too young, Bozo's got an old head, he's not your normal fourteen-year-old.'

'Well, you're going to find out quick-smart, cobber. From what I've seen of Jimmy Black he's a kid who doesn't take any prisoners. Take my advice, pull your young bloke.'

'Nah, Bozo wants the fight, he's getting bored, he's just going through the motions. Maybe, as you said, he's a show pony, but I'd be surprised.' Jack looks at Kevin Flanagan. 'It'd be better if he gets beat than the easy fights he's been getting.'

'Jesus, Big Jack, hope you know what you're doing, mate? These kids are amateurs, boys still growing, Jimmy Black is a street kid, hard little bugger. Getting beat is one thing, getting a bad hiding is quite another. Your lad may never be the same again.'

Big Jack grins, but you can see he's not at all sure. 'Like I said, Bozo's different, you'll see.'

Kevin Flanagan has been selected as one of the trainers of the Olympic boxing squad and he knows his oats. Big Jack feels the beginning of panic in his gut. He's never considered himself an expert at ring craft.

'Bobby Devlin reckons he's ready to take Jimmy Black,' he now says defensively.

'Jesus! Bobby bloody Devlin! Do me a favour! C'mon, Big Jack, listen t'me, will ya? That's like asking a known pickpocket to mind your wallet. Of course he's gunna agree it's a good idea!'

Kevin Flanagan seems to be thinking, then he looks straight at Big Jack. 'Okay. If you won't pull your boy, I'll come, but only under two conditions.' 'What?'Big Jack asks.

'With the greatest respect, cobber, I think your lad is gunna need someone more experienced than yourself and that old RSL fight-night glove-kisser in the kid's corner.'

Yeah, of course, be honoured to have you in Bozo's corner. What's the second condition?'

'That I be allowed to throw in the towel if I think your lad's gunna take a beating.'

'Certainly.' Big Jack puts out his hand and they shake on the deal. He's secretly relieved, knowing now that Bozo will be safe.

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Jack then invites Flanagan to stay at his place for the Friday night, show him the sights of Yankalillee next morning. It's a pretty little town and this time of the year with the leaves changing colour it's about the best it gets.

The Russell Street boxing coach agrees. He tells Big Jack he's got a sister up top who's suffered a severe nervous breakdown. It will be a good opportunity to kill two birds with one stone, see Bozo fight and pay her a visit the next morning. Big Jack, of course, has known this all along. There's not much a small-town cop doesn't know in his own community.

By now Bozo's got a bit of a Saturday-night following. He's had thirty-seven fights in three years and not been beaten yet. It may be small peanuts, but Bozo's earned himself a bit of a rep in a town and district where there's not very much going on when the footy season is over. The fights, for the most part, are held in the RSL clubs in Wangaratta and Wodonga and even sometimes across the border in Albury. There's lots of old diggers who've took notice of Bozo and as well he's attracted a following of young blokes and their girlfriends.

That's the thing about Bozo, he's only fourteen so you wouldn't expect him to attract much attention, but he comes out from the bell and goes flat out, he's got an excitement about him that makes people want him to win, makes them love him. The Wodonga RSL is chocka with the Friday-night fight crowd when Big Jack, Kevin Flanagan and Bobby arrive. Old blokes, young blokes, a fair few good sorts, they've all turned up.

Kevin Flanagan is impressed and remarks on the crowd when they walk to their seats ringside,

'Pretty good crowd. Don't usually expect this sort of roll-up for amateur fights.'

'It's not the fights, it's Bozo Maloney,' Big Jack explains, 'Bozo, the Boy Boxer's got something people want, don't know what it is, but whatever it is, he's got it in spades.'

'Well, he's gunna need it tonight, mate. Tell you the truth, cobber, if he was my fighter I'd still pull him.'

Big Jack looks up at Bozo in the ring. He's well built for his age, strong arms, good pecs, well-shaped legs, Bozo looks older than he is. He also looks happy. It's too late to pull out now.

Big Jack turns to Kevin Flanagan, 'If Bozo's taking a hiding, better to throw in the towel sooner than later. Punters won't like it, but I don't want Bozo hurt even if he looks like he's winning.'

That's not the problem,' Flanagan lectures him again. 'A young bloke, even a very promising one, boxes on confidence and a lot of that

comes from his corner. He relies on you to look after him. It's like a young kid with his dad, once he realises his old man doesn't know everything and will send him into the ring to get his head knocked off, whether willingly or from ignorance, he's never gunna be the same boxer again. If you've got a real good 'un, you need to be all the more mindful of what you do with him. Bring him along slowly.'

By the time Bozo steps into the ring, Big Jack Donovan is shitting himself. It's true, he's become sort of Bozo, the Boy Boxer's dad in both their eyes. Now he's sent him into the ring to get the devil of a hiding from a tough kid, the street fighter from New South Wales.

The referee gives them the usual talk, no holding, break when he says so, listen to my instructions at all times etcetera, etcetera, blah, blah, blah. They touch gloves and go back to their corners.

The bell goes and the two young boxers step out into the centre of the ring. Jimmy Black has more indigenous Australian black in him than colonial white and he comes storming out of his corner, anthracite and doom. He's a tearaway and real fast and Bozo's never seen anything like him before and you can almost feel his surprise. Suddenly he's backpedalling fast as he can go until he finds himself against the ropes. The Aboriginal kid is a headhunter and Bozo covers up with his gloves, then lets out a desperate left hook under the other boxer's heart. It's a well-aimed punch, maybe even a lucky one and it stops the attack temporarily. Jimmy Black steps back and Bozo gets the hell off the ropes.

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The remainder of the round Bozo tries to stay out of his way. Jimmy Black is fast and he has a jabbing, accurate left hand that hurts every time it lands and it lands more than once. Bozo, except for the one good left hook, and a good right to the jaw the other fighter brushes off, spends most of his time trying to keep out of the way. The bell goes. No doubt about it, Jimmy Black has taken the first round with heaps to spare.

Big Jack turns to Kevin Flanagan. 'What do you think, should we get him out of there?'

'Well, it was the black kid's round by a country mile but your lad can box. I'm impressed, good sound defence, let's wait and see a bit. If Jt's a mismatch next round, we'll do the deed.'

Meantime Bobby Devlin is in Bozo's corner because Big Jack doesn't have the heart to tell Mr Sullivan, the governor of the prison, that Bobby isn't needed, that his bigtime cobber from Melbourne is taking over the corner duties. Bobby is in for a seven-year stretch, and being made the coach for the Police Boys Boxing Club and being let out of prison for training two afternoons a week and for fight nights, has given his life a whole new meaning and turned him into a model prisoner. Bobby's taken a fair bit of shit from some of the other prisoners and also from the screws, who aren't too happy about a prisoner getting a soft option. He has to work to keep his nose clean as he doesn't want to be put on a charge and not get out to coach his beloved boxing team. When Big Jack goes to pick Bobby up from the gaol he tries to tell him, real tactful like, what an honour it is to have an Olympic boxing coach in Bozo's corner and that he knows Bobby won't mind sharing the duties. The old lag just grunts. Either Bobby's cauliflower ears have closed down on him or, like most professionals, he has a very poor regard for amateur coaches, no matter how high falutin'.

At the end of the first round Bobby's flapping a towel in Bozo's face and shouting instructions.

'Mix it. Get stuck in! Fight him, don't step back, you can beat him at his own game,' he shouts at Bozo.

'Whoa! Just a minute,' Kevin Flanagan interrupts. 'Listen, Bozo, this guy's a headhunter, he holds his gloves high but wide, he doesn't think you can hit him, he's got three inches on you in reach but he isn't using it, he's coming in flat-footed, looking for the shortest distance to your chin.

He's looking for the one shot that will hurt you. But he's leaving his body exposed, showing a fair bit of contempt, you saw that when you threw the left hook off the ropes, he's wide open down below. Keep hitting him in the body, below the heart. Don't worry about his head, worry about your own. Hook him to the body. You understand me, all might to the body?'

Bozo nods, he's smart enough to work out that Kevin Flanagan makes sense. The bell goes for the second round. Like Flanagan said, Jimmy Black is looking for the one big punch against his lighter opponent, but Bozo is now making him miss and ripping him to the body every time he throws a left and then tries to follow with a right cross and misses. Towards the end of the round, Bozo has Jimmy Black

on the ropes and he puts together an eight-punch combination to the body that makes Kevin Flanagan gasp. 'Jesus, where'd he learn to do that?'The second round clearly goes to Bozo.

'You've got him where you want him, Bozo,' Bobby Devlin yells. 'Get in there and finish him off, ya hear me?' Bozo nods, but he's no fool. Kevin Flanagan's advice worked real well the second round, so he turns to listen to the police sergeant from Melbourne.

'Okay, son, he's tried fighting you and it ain't working. He's gunna try to box you next round, take it on points and get the win, if he gets lucky, get a shot at your chin. Now listen good, Bozo, what you've done to his body is going to start to count. You've hit him fifty times below the heart and towards the end of the last round he's started to blow. He's gunna try and box you out of this contest. Keep putting them into his body, they're good scoring shots. Watch him, about halfway through the round he's gunna drop his gloves. The kid's not as fit as he should be and he's gunna realise he can't outbox you, so he's gunna put everything into the last minute. Stay calm, lead with the left, keep him - off you. When he tries for the big shot, set him up with the left and follow through with a right cross. Don't go too early, the last twenty seconds will do,
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you don't have to knock him out to win.'

Bozo knows he's getting good advice and he nods, he's enjoying the contest and is anxious to get back for the third and final round.

The bell goes and it's almost exactly how Kevin Flanagan said it would be. Jimmy Black decides to box, but Bozo proves to be the better boxer, smaller but faster, and makes the other boxer miss, then steps in fast and jabs a left into Jimmy Black's face.

Bozo's punches are pretty harmless, but they serve to frustrate the other boxer, who's aware he's a bigger man and has the longer reach. Bozo either makes him miss or takes almost all the other fighter's punches on his gloves. In the process, almost without trying, he seats five well-aimed left hooks on the button, right under Jimmy Black's heart. They are hard punches that score. Maybe with the Aboriginal kid having to move down to Wodonga, he's missed out on regular training sessions working out in the gym, but towards the end of the third round he's slowing down noticeably, his mouth slightly open, blowing hard.