Glue (25 page)

Wullie and Duncan rolled their eyes at each other. — One nil tae the girls, Wull, Duncan said sardonically.

— Dinnae mind Sandra, Wullie apologised to his friend, — she’s always like this eftir one ay Billy’s fights. Dinnae get me wrong, it does worry me, but eh knows what eh’s daein.

— Aye, Maria’s the same. She saw aw this stuff aboot Carl in one ay they music papers, talkin nonsense aboot aw the drugs eh takes. Eh telt me that it’s aw rubbish, they jist say it for publicity, cause it’s what the press want tae hear. Eh used tae come in some states before eh goat intae aw this rave n fantasy tablet stuff. Now eh looks really fit. Ah’ve seen um some mornins when eh’s been up half the night, no trace ay a hangover. If it’s killin um then it’s makin a bloody good job ay it, that’s aw ah kin say, Duncan nodded and looked off into the distance. — Ah’ll tell ye though, Wullie,
ah
could’ve killed him that time wi that salute in the
Record
. Ah mean, ma faither doon in Ayrshire, Wullie, eh loast half ehs fuckin leg fightin they bastards . . . Aye, ah took a drive doon thair, and eh didnae say nothing, but ah knew eh’d seen it. Ma auld faither, the disappointment oan ehs face. It wid’ve broke yir hert . . . Duncan seemed almost ready to cry himself. — Never mind,
he laughed, steeling himself and pointing through to the kitchen, — let them huv a wee snivel. Ye got Billy’s fight oan video?

— Aye, Wullie said, picking up the handset. — Watch this . . .

The image flicked onto the screen. There was Billy Birrell, face set in hard concentration, staring across at Coventry’s Bobby Archer. Then the bell went and he flew out of his corner.

Ah’m flyin here now, even though there’s a fair wind up. I’m running right intae the bugger, straight up the hill, always getting the hills in, daein the distance, like Ronnie says, always like Ronnie says.
We
get the hills in.
We
dae the distance.
We
build up stamina. Always we; it’s brutal. And in the ring as well,
We
can hit harder than that boy. His punches cannae worry
Us
. But I’ve never seen Ronnie take a punch in the ring after the bell, or without a headguard.

Nope, sorry Ron, we’re always alone in the ring.

It’s steepening and I can see the top, and all the obstacles in my path. Almost all of them. Morgan’s comin up, but I can’t even look at him, I’m going right through him, and I think we both know it. Just like Bobby Archer, lyin by the side ay the road behind me. Aw they are is stepping stones tae Cliff Cook. I’m coming for you Cookie, and you’re gaunny get well done.

Old Cookie, Custom House’s finest. I like the boy as well, probably more than I can afford tae. But by the time we get tae each other in the ring, we won’t like each other. Whoever wins, we’ll have a drink n chat aboot it after. That’ll be right, we’ll never speak tae each other again ootside threats and insults.

Naw, we will. It’ll get better. It did the last time, when ah done him as an amateur. I left it late tae go pro, but no too late, Cookie. Ah’ll dae ye again.

The incline’s rising and I’m feeling it now in the calves, Ronnie’s got a thing about calves, legs, feet. ‘The best punch comes not from the soul but the soles,’ eh keeps tellin me, right up through the body, arm, doon tae the hand and ontae the chin.

He’s had me daein a lot of combination work has Ronnie. He
reckons ah rely too much on the one big shot tae pit them oot. Ah feel it peyin off but, it hus tae be said.

Also my defences worry him: I’m always going forward, always cutting off the ring, using ma power, stalking, hunting them down.

Ronnie tells me that when ah come up against real class ah’ll need to backpedal sometimes. Ah nod, but ah ken the kind of fighter ah am. When ah start gaun backwards it’ll be time to wrap it. Ah’m never gaunny be that kind of fighter. When my reflexes go and I start takin shots, that’s it, I’m right away fae the game. Cause the
real
courage is tae put your ain ego on hold and stoap at the right time. The maist pathetic sight in the world is a scabby auld fighter being tortured like a wounded bull by some youngster he’d have whipped in his sleep a few years earlier.

Make the top, and onto the slow decline of the back road down towards the car. Takin care no tae pill any muscles on the wey doonhill. The sun’s dazzling ma eyes. As the groond levels off in front ay ays, ah finish on a sprint, crashing through the sporting high, makin me feel like I’m coming up on a pill. Ah’ve stoaped and ah’m filling ma lungs with cool air, thinking that if Cookie tries to do the same in Custom House or Morgan in Port Talbot, the poor cunts’ll no last long enough tae get intae the ring wi me. And Ronnie’s towelling the sweat off me, helping me wrap up like he’s a new mother and I’m his firstborn. We’re off in the car back doon tae the club.

There’s a lot of silences with Ronnie. I like that, cause I like time to get my head right. I don’t like it when the shite of modern life flies through your nut. It’s brutal and it drains yir energy. The real fights are fought in yir heid, that always hus tae be right. And you can train yourself in your heid as well as your body; train yourself tae sift oot or bury aw the shite you get bombarded wi daily.

Focus.

Concentrate.

Dinnae let them in. Ever.

Of course you can take the easy way oot and fill yourself wi smack or bevvy like some ay them roond here. They gave up years ago, the sad losers. Ye lose pride in yerself n you’ve goat nowt.

Ah hope Gally’s off that shite for good.

The E’s are different, but naebody kens what they’ll dae tae ye in the long run. Mind you,
everybody
kens what fags and beer’ll dae in the long run; they’ll kill ye, and naebody’s in a hurry tae ban these. So what are E’s gaunny dae that’s so different: kill ye twice?

Ronnie’s still no speakin. Suits me fine.

The world looks good if yir oan one, up dancing tae Carl’s music at his club, although he’s got a wee bit too robotic, what’s it he calls it, too techno-heided for me: ah liked it better when he was on that mair soulful trip. Still, it’s his tunes and he’s daein awright. Getting noticed, getting respect. Goin roond the shoaps wi him, the clubs, n ye kin see it’s no two schemies anymair, it’s N-SIGN the DJ and Business Birrell, the boxer.

Aw we’re gittin is the same respect that oor faithers goat for bein tradesmen, for workin in a factory. Now people like that, punters that were once seen as the salt ay the earth, are taken for mugs.

Ronnie’s one ay that breed. Peyed oaf fae the dockyards in Rosyth years ago. The fight game’s his life now. Mibbe it eywis wis.

Me n Carl urnae taken for mugs though. But see wi the E’s: we do need tae cool it. We aw dae too much, mibbe no Terry, tae be fair tae him, which people seldom are. Aye, the world looks good whin yir E’d but mibbe the junky wi ehs smack or the jaikey wi ehs purple tin ay Tennent’s or ehs boatil ay cheap wine said the same thing at the start.

Silence is golden, eh Ronnie boy.

This is different fae maist ay Ronnie’s silences though. There’s something on ehs mind and ah ken what it is. Ah turn tae face um, ehs silver hair, ehs coupon; red, like a real drinker’s face. The laugh is that Ronnie’s a teetotaller, and it’s aw high blood pressure. Nae luck at aw. You’d never think it, cause Ronnie’s a man ay few words. It must aw be gaun oan inside. Maybe ah’ll go the same wey, they say we’re similar, often taken for faither n son, Ronnie says. I don’t like hearing that, eh’s no ma faither, n eh nivir will be. But think ay it though: runnin eight miles every day and Juice Terry’s gaunny huv a better complexion thin me in a few years’ time. Nae luck. But tae Falkirk wi aw that. Brutal.

N Ronnie speaks! Hud that front page right enough. — Ah wish ye’d reconsider aboot this holiday, Billy, eh sais. — We need tae make sacrifices, son.

That WE again.

— Booked up, eh, ah tell um.

— Ah mean, Ronnie continues, — we really need tae maintain our condition. Morgan’s nae mug. Eh’s goat stamina and eh’s got hert. Reminds me ay that Bobby Archer boy, he was game.

Bobby Archer from Coventry. My last fight. He was game, but I
stopped him in three rounds. It’s good tae be game, but it helps if ye can box a wee bit n aw n yir jaw isnae like Edinburgh Crystal.

As soon as that right hook connected, ah turned away n wis headin for ma corner. Business finished.

— Booked up eh, ah repeat. — We’re only away for two weeks.

Ronnie takes a sharp corner as the car wobbles across the cobblestones towards the gym. The gym’s in an old Victorian building that looks like a shithouse from the outside. It can feel like a torture chamber on the
inside
, when Ronnie pits ye through yir paces.

Eh stoaps the car n makes nae move tae git oot. When I go tae move, eh grabs ma wrist. — We’ve got tae maintain our condition, Billy, n ah cannae see how we can dae that when you’re away at a beer festival in Germany for two weeks wi the crowd ay wasters you hing aboot wi.

This is nippin ma heid. — Ah’ll be fine, ah explain tae him once again. — Ah’ll keep the runnin gaun n hook up wi a gym ower thaire, ah tell him. This shite is aw we’ve talked aboot for the last week.

— What aboot that lassie ay yours? What does she huv tae say aboot it?

One thing aboot Ronnie, for a boy that says practically nowt, eh really kens how tae overstep the mark. What does Anthea say? The same as Ronnie. Very little. — That’s ma business. Tell ye what but, yir soundin like a wee lassie yirsel. Gie it a rest.

Ronnie frowns, then goes aw that wistful wey, lookin ahead oot the windscreen. Ah dinnae like talkin tae um like that, it disnae dae either ay us any good. Ye make yir ain decisions in life. People kin gie advice, aye, fair enough. But they should huv the sense tae ken that once yir mind’s made up, that’s it.

So just shut up.

— If ah hud ye two years earlier, ye’d’ve been European Champion by now, and ye’d’ve been up for a title shot at the big yin, Ronnie says.

— Aye, ah say quite coldly, cuttin him oaf. Ah’m no gittin intae this nonsense again. Tae me it’s disrespectin ma auld man n ma auld lady. Ma faither got me that apprenticeship and it meant a lot tae him. My Ma didnae want me tae box; ever, full stop. And turning pro, fighting for money: that was really crossing the line for her.

Ronnie kept at me tae turn pro though, we huv tae follay oor dreams, he said. The WE again. The thing that Ronnie’ll never really git ehs heid roond is that it was ma faither, no him, that wis the cause
ay me gaun professional. When eh took ays doon tae London, tae QPR that Saturday night oan the eighth ay June 1985. Barry McGuigan versus Eusebio Pedroza.

We went wi ma Uncle Andy who steys doon thair at Staines. Ah mind ay the traffic oan that Uxbridge Road, us oan the 207 bus, crawlin along, worrying that we’d miss the fight. When we goat there thir wis twenty-six thousand Irishmen trying tae get in. Pedroza was the guy ah wanted tae see, cause eh wis the best. Nineteen successful title defences. Ah thought eh wis invincible. Ah liked McGuigan, thought eh wis a nice guy, but no wey wis eh gaunny beat The Man.

McGuigan even had the white peace flag, cause eh wisnae intae aw that tricolour or rid hand ay Ulster crap. Tae me though, it seemed like an act ay surrender before eh’d even flung a punch. Then this auld boy came intae the ring, later oan we found out it wis McGuigan’s faither, and eh started singing
Danny Boy
. The whole crowd joined in, aw they Belfast Catholics and Protestants thegither, and ah looked ower at ma faither n it wis the first and only time ah ever saw tears in ehs eyes. Ma Uncle Andy n aw. What a barry moment that wis. Then the bell went, and ah thought Pedroza would just spoil the party right away. But an amazing thing happened. McGuigan flew at him and swarmed all over the boy. Ah thoat eh’d jist punch ehsel oot, but by the second eh found ehs range and eh wis firing combinations aw ower the place. Ye kept waitin for the wee man tae run oot ay steam, but eh never did, eh just drove remorselessly intae the gadge, and eh wisnae silly either, eh wis usin the heid as well as the heart, still throwing the combinations but keepin the defences strong, pushing Pedroza back. McGuigan’s long airms, ehs awkward stance; tryin tae hit um must’ve been like tryin tae git the baw oaf Kenny Dalglish in the penalty boax. Pedroza had been a great champion, but ah watched him age like fuck that night at Loftus Road.

After the fight we sat wi a carry-oot my Uncle Andy had got fae a rammed pub which had stayed open all night. We just sat there, under some trees in Shepherd’s Bush Green, enjoying the atmosphere, talking about the fight, the incredible night we’d been a part of.

That was when ah thought, well, ah wouldnae mind a bit ay that. Ah’d been boxin fir years n gaun tae fights fir ages. It wis eywis the fitba first fir me though. Even when it wis obvious ah wis a better boxer. Fitba gave ays nowt though; one scabby trial for Dunfermline, a year in the East seniors wi Craigroyston.

It wis a waste ay time, well no really, cause ah enjoyed it, but ah wanted mair.

So now we’re certainly following Ronnie’s dreams. And aye, maybe ah did wait too long. The money’s been awright, but it’s the respect ye get that does it for me. Ah like it now when people call me Business. At first it wis brutal; it used tae embarrass ays, but now it’s starting tae fit.

It’s startin tae fit like a glove.

We get out the car and intae the club where ah shower and change. Coming out all fresh, ah’m watching wee Eddie Nicol in the ring, sparring with some monkey he’s pishing all over. I don’t know about Eddie though. Excellent ringcraft. Aye, when he’s good, he’s good, but you sense a tentativeness about him sometimes, it’s as if he knows that, really soon, somebody’s going to banjo him and that this latest boy in front of him might just be the one.

There’s a guy talking to Ronnie, in a cream summer suit of light but expensive cloth. He’s got a number-one shaved head and eh’s wearing light-reactive shades. As ah’m approachin him I’m thinking that the suit would look good oan a better man. — Business, he says extending his hand. It’s Gillfillan, and eh’s wide as they come. Eh’s Power’s man, who’s also a sponsor, as Ronnie keeps reminding me. He gives me the kind of hard grip that aulder radge types like tae gie you, as a daft wideo test. You pull them up about it and they go, ‘It’s just a handshake,’ as if tae say, we’re aw men thegither, n aw that shite. This wanker’s really digging in though. I point at it with ma free hand. — You goat an engagement ring in the other hand? What’s aw this aboot? ah ask.