Jab Cross Slip Slip Hook

“Jab Cross Slip Slip Hook” is a personal narrative / creative nonfiction / second-person submersion piece written by Zachary J. Zolud and was first published in The University of Massachusetts Lowell’s official newspaper, “The Connector.” The published work can be found on UMass Lowell’s website for The Connector. The following is the published text of “Jab Cross Slip Slip Hook.”

As you step up to the white platform and squeeze yourself through two of the horizontal ropes and into the center of the ring, all you can think about is your strategy. That’s all you’ve been able to think about for months. But all that thinking was necessary for this. It is the cornerstone to psychological warfare — you never enter the ring without a plan.

And you look at your opponent — silly in his puffy red headgear. Stronger, yes, but look at that simple-minded gym monkey, that troglodyte. You can take him — you’re much smarter than he is. You’ve trained differently, trained harder. You should not have a problem keeping that neanderthal out of your head. You occupy that space. But you can get in his. Of course you can get in his.

That is all boxing is, really. A giant game of chess — one psychological macrocosm of chess. Each fight is a new game. In a fight, as in chess, you don’t necessarily need to be the stronger one, or the faster one, just the smarter one. It is based off defensive and counteractive strategies: you make a move or you wait for your opponent to do the same. He makes his move. You take the hit. He does it again. You drop your elbow a bit and block it. Then you start to pick up on some of his patterns: His jab is pretty slow. He’s not keeping his gloves up. His right side is pretty open when he throws that cross. If you dodge the jab, it might extend far enough for you to get in when his defenses are down. And you pick up on these over and over again during the round. And you start to get used to them. Then you notice that one time when he overthrows that jab just a bit too far, leaving you just enough room and time to slide in and land two sharp right hooks to his rib cage.

Check.

A lot of boxers will be quick to tell you how raw boxing is. But boxing is actually cooked, very cooked. You need to think and overthink everything if you don’t want to make a fool of yourself. A person’s natural tendency when engaged in a fight is to run in like a caged demon and mindlessly throw his strongest hay-makers (a wide, forceful hook that minimizes accuracy and leaves nearly every other part of the body exposed). It is an all-or-nothing mentality — if your opponent connects with those opening hay-makers, it could be a quick fight. But if he fails to connect, his entire defense is vulnerable. Your hands are your only weapons but they are also your only defense. You blocked the first punch and dodged the second. He just threw away his weapons — his only defense. You now have a completely wide open shot to his gut, his rib cage, his jaw, or his head.

Check.

Nothing moves as fast and time lazily progresses. The yellow light on your gym’s electronic ring bell flashes red and the thirty second warning reverberates throughout the gym. You take the opportunity to throw a tight right hook to the rib cage, a gutted uppercut, another hook to the jaw, a stiff cross, and one more hook.

Check.

And as your last hook connects with the side of your opponent’s red-padded skull, you catch a glimpse of the audience around you. You are not sparring in your gym anymore. The contact of the punch reverberates throughout the auditorium as sweat and blood (which could be yours, his, or a combination of the two) spatter back onto your headgear and face. The shot echoes and booms like the black, leathery bag on which you practiced. The audience roars even louder. You slip out as your opponent slowly descends to the white. The crowd becomes piercingly silent and your opponent becomes a tree falling in a forest. All you can hear is the ringing in your ears as sharp as white.

In the span of two seconds, everything catches up to you as your mind recoils from inside his head. You knew you were much smarter than that neanderthal. You’ve trained differently, trained harder. He was so much heavier than you — so much heavier than you. Everyone knew that. But you outwitted him.
You outwitted him.
You outwitted him.

And that is all you can think as you watch that fat body THUD against the canvas. The boom echoes even louder through the auditorium as your vision flares hot white — like the post-explosion of a flash grenade. It is a good thing that your ears are so numb from the grasp of your headgear that you are somewhat able to ignore the piercingly white ringing in your head. You watch the referee examine and pronounce your opponent like a coroner, without even giving him the ten-second hope for resurrection.

Checkmate.