An Accidental Uppercut In Boxing

Sporting accidents happen, especially when you’re a kid. Examples?

• •tried popping a wheelie Evel Knievel-style. It did not end well. The stick my brother placed in the middle of the road was intended, once struck, to propel young Evel upward, sort of skyward. Instead, the stupid stick ejected me off the bicycle seat, over the handle bars, and face-first onto the black pavement.

“Wham!”

The old saying, “What goes up, must come down,” is no mere cliche. It is a fact of life.

Not quite Evel Knievel

No sooner had my cheeks smacked the road in front of our house than my no-speed, piece-of-junk Schwinn fell to the earth.

“Wham!”

Only it didn’t touch the road. It crash landed on my back. The black eye from that daredevil stunt left me blinded and crying.

• tether ball part one. Tether ball screamed around the pole, and as I reached up to smack it the other way at my older brother, I missed. When the dirty white ball expertly dodged my young fist, it wrapped suddenly around a startled young boy’s wrist. “Zerr, zerr, zerr,” the ball kept cocooning itself around my starting-to-turn purple appendage. By the time the tether ball ran out of gas, I was out of tears.

• tether ball part two. My brother served and I volleyed the ball back to him without using my hands. Nope, I returned to sender with the assistance of my face. Game over. Too hard to continue playing through the tears.

There are other incidents involving frisbees, tennis balls, and a bb gun; but what I really want to share is how I came to be an accidental pugilist.

As I mentioned earlier, I have an older brother. He is four years my senior. At the time of the fluky fisticuffs, I was in second grade, which placed him in sixth. We were living la vida loca near Los Angeles in the early 70s. Popular at that time was roller derby LA Thunderbirds and boxing. Two of the more popular brawlers were Muhammad Ali and Joe Frazier.

Also popular at that time were slipper socks. Basically they were calf-length socks that had a hard surface on the sole, thereby allowing this fashionista to wear them indoors or outdoors and unintentionally whack the ever-loving crap out of an unsuspecting older brother.

Karma connected when Ali, Frazier, and slipper socks came together as one.

My brother Kevin, a.k.a. Ali, and I, a.k.a. Frazier, were bored, so we headed to the bedroom we shared, slipped on our slipper socks as our custom-made boxing gloves, and pretended to duke it out.

“I’m Muhammad Ali, and I’m gonna whup you,” chided Kevin.

“No, you’re not, because I’m…” countered the boxer so beat up he couldn’t remember who he was.

The “unofficial” weigh-in

“You’re Joe Frazier!” hollered the guy sporting the snazzy red and black slipper socks. “Take that!”

A soft punch landed in the second grader’s midsection.

“No, you take that!” snorted Frazier upon connecting with Ali’s right shoulder.

Being a southpaw gave me a significant advantage, or so I thought. I bobbed, weaved, and pawed at the air. I stepped forward, stepped back, and moved effortlessly around the bunk beds in the ring.

“Bam!”

A right jab woke me up. In all of superior showmanship in the ring, Frazier failed to notice that Ali was simply waiting for him to tucker out. Waiting on a seven-year old didn’t take very long.

And here is where I became the owner of an accidental uppercut.

After that right jab, I was thinking of a counter-punch opportunity. When Ali jabbed with his right, I slipped in a left-handed uppercut. It was meant as a little love tap, except for one small detail. I swung way too hard.

“Crack!”

My sock slipper sneaked through my opponent’s obviously porous defense and abso!ute!y tagged the sap

“Ow!'” screamed The Greatest. In all my years on this earth, I had never, ever seen Kevin so angry and fired up.

“What was that for?” asked the sixth grader who was pounding his slipper socks together in a menacing fashion.

“It was an accident!” pleaded a whimpering Joe.

An enormous amount of right-left combinations rained down on young Joe.

“Bam!”

“Bam!”

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it!” blubbered the accidental pugilist.

“You.” “Bam!” “Will.” “Bam!” “Never” “Bam!” “Do.” “Bam!” “That.” “Bam!” “To.” “Bam!” “Me.” “Bam!” “Again.”

Consider the message received.

I crumpled to the canvas in a crying heap.

“Down goes Frazier!”