BILL CADY Word Count: 149,227 - At My Friend's Place

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Bill Cady, The Early Years … by Bill Cady 275 on. I continued goading him all the way through the end of the second round. He was getting pissed off from more than just my mouth and the fact I was an alleged cripple who was whipping his ass. I was scoring all the points. He hadn‟t yet even hit me with anything a judge could mark in his favor. If this was a real bout, the only chance he had of winning was to knock me out, since I had him slaughtered if we scored it by points alone. I‟m sure he knew that as well as I did, because he began with the real home run punches. They swished by above my head, or where I used to be but had vacated by the time it arrived. I also discovered I could move left almost as easily as I moved right, and that‟s confusing as hell to a boxer. It smacks of southpaw, something a lot of so-so fighters never learn to deal with. When I switched stances and took him on as a southpaw, he was lost, trying to figure me out and make everything balance. He couldn‟t do it. It only made him angrier, therefore more clumsy. He started throwing punches so hard he‟d race on by me from the follow through. Each time he went past, I‟d hammer him with a one-two-three, left- right-left, and I was hurting him quite a bit. Then he just came at me. Stalked me. Walked straight into me with the hope of crowding me into a corner and beating my brains out. I saw his “Plan B” was to hope I‟d try to slip away to either side, but we were already too close to the corner. He‟d land a haymaker on me, then beat me to a pulp in the corner. Remember how Mom didn‟t have any foolish children until they bought that David thing? Well, I proved I was right again. Maybe it was George coaching me, who knows? I crouched and went at him, instead of backing up as he wanted me to do. I ducked my head low, leaving only my back and shoulders as a target, and began to beat Leviticus, Limited 33-0505963
Bill Cady, The Early Years … by Bill Cady 276 on his ribs like they were a set of drums and I was with a band. He was the one who backed up. When he did, I never sampled the sucker bet of following him to continue. He had way too much room to reconnoiter by now. Instead, I kept after him, tagging his face and moving. He‟d swing back, swishing the air with a punch where I used to be. As he recoiled from it, I‟d hit him again and move to a new spot. When the bell rang, I was pretty much untouched, but I knew I had a brand-new talent I could use. I just wasn‟t sure how I‟d use it. Not then, I wasn‟t. I lost once. To a guy I later learned went to Sexton the same time I did. A Black Muslim named Lincoln Ashford. If nothing else, Black Muslims always had one thing in common: they hated all white people. Lincoln was a light heavyweight. Just barely. The maximum weight for light heavy was 172, and the only way I could hope to lose another twenty pounds would‟ve required a surgeon. One-ninety-two was as light as this white boy was gonna get. I‟m sure Lincoln had to bust ass to make weight, but he managed to do it. I assume his normal weight was around one-eighty-five, so he could do it. I couldn‟t. He was also fast. Very, very fast, and he hit hard. Like a heavyweight. That man was a damned good boxer. Damned good. We sparred once, a three-rounder. The first two was a couple damned quick fighters almost landing good punches, but having the other guy slip away each time. Then, maybe halfway through the third round, Lincoln slipped under my guard. He started with a right uppercut and made it a one-two-three. I saw three black guys with gloves on standing in front of me. I knew it was all over unless I got damned awfully lucky, so I decided to play the game. Never let the Leviticus, Limited 33-0505963
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BILL CADY Word Count: 149,227 - At My Friend's Place

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