Fighting to the Death Read Online Free PDF

both pulled back and walked in opposite directions.
    A couple of nights later I turned up at the gym as usual and the head trainer came over and warned me I’d be suspended if I was ever seen scrapping outside the ring again. I’d broken the golden rule, which was to never use the skills I’d learned inside the ring to gain an advantage in the outside world. But when you’re a kid and someone starts taunting you, it’s difficult not to resort to what you know best. I deserved that warning for other reasons too. I should never have let that little prat get to me. The first rule of boxing is control and I’d lost it in bucket-loads when I’d steamed into him.
    Back in training at West Ham Boys’ Club, older fighters continued trying to wind me up to get me to hit out at them, I only just kept my cool, and later heard that one of the trainers had put those more senior boxers up to it, just to see if I’d got the message about not losing control.
     
    Throughout this time I kept my boxing training up to the highest standards. Sweat, leather and the slight aroma of oils they used to ease the pain of torn muscles were theoverpowering smells down at West Ham Boys’ Club. A typical week during school term would begin on Monday with me going out and running at least three miles as part of my boxing fitness regime. Tuesday evening, I’d pop down to the gym where I’d go through the full routine. Wednesday would be my only weekday night off, when me and my mates would go down to a youth club at Ilford Town Hall for the weekly disco. Thursday I’d be back in the club gym for training. Friday I’d always stay in and watch TV with my brothers, sister and mum. Saturday there would usually be a party at someone’s house. Sunday I’d try and get to the pictures if I had any dough left on me.
    My training schedule was punishing on my nights at the gym: I’d start out with the three-mile run from Forest Gate through the streets to the club. I’d have my gym bag slung over my back. It was a great way to warm up and it meant I was saving mum the cost of the bus fare.
    Once in the gym, I’d head straight for the bag room where I’d spend a few minutes limbering up. The whole place was full of mirrors, which all the fighters used for shadowboxing. I’d step in front of one and start jabbing away, then would duck from side to side, using a bit of body movement, twisting and turning, keeping agile. It was all intended to get my muscles flexible and soft. I was boxing myself in that mirror. And, naturally, I always won.
    Then I’d head for a sparring session. That’s when it hurt the most that my old man wasn’t around. Most of the kids had their dads watching and shouting for their boys. Each session, the trainer would shout orders while the fathers sat on a row of chairs up against one wall of the gym.
    ‘Elbow in.’
    ‘Jab straight. Don’t sway.’
    ‘Stand right.’
    ‘Chin down.’
    ‘Stand to the side on, not square.’
    I could tell many of the dads felt sorry for me and I didn’t like that one bit. Feeling sorry for someone doesn’t help them – it just makes them even more angry. A few of the dads even hung about when I got in the ring and shouted a bit of encouragement to me because they knew my old man wasn’t around. I know they meant well but it just didn’t help matters. If anything it made it even more painful for me that my old man had done a runner.
    I usually made mincemeat of my sparring partner and would then head off to do some skipping, back near where all the mirrors were. I loved skipping although I found it a bit tricky to start with. Once I got into the rhythm, it felt like I was floating off the floor, though sometimes I’d lose my timing and end up tangled in the rope. There’s no doubt that skipping really helped my co-ordination and speed. Some trainers at the club weren’t so convinced that skipping was important for a boxer, but I disagree. To achieve a double swing through one jump