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

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Bill Cady, The Early Years … by Bill Cady 337 again for tugging it up a little more just now! I‟ll see you as soon as we‟re finished here, Punkin. This old man actually climbed up on the edge of the ring, purely incensed at what I was, or wasn‟t, doing. “Why doncha get yer fuckin‟ ass in there an‟ fight the som‟bitch, ya fuckin‟ cowardly asshole?” He screamed it at me a yard away from my head. I turned long enough to glance at him. “I‟m kinda busy, old man. Why don‟t you just go fuck off, huh?” I moved away to avoid a haymaker. “Yer just a fuckin‟ punk!” he howled. “If ya had any fuckin‟ balls, ya‟d get yer ass in there and fuckin‟ mix it up, ya goddamned pussy!” I rapped the other guy three sharp jabs and got the hell out of there before he could throw a murderous response my way. A minute or so later, I was back by that nasty old fart. “What th‟ fuck‟re ya doin’ in there, any fuckin‟ ways, if ya ain‟t even got the fuckin‟ balls t‟ trade no fuckin‟ punches, ya fuckin‟ punk? Ya fuckin‟ pussy!” I stopped, turned, and walked right up to him. Taller by a good eight inches, I jammed my gloves against my hips and stared down at him. Then, in a voice even louder than his, I made a suggestion. “Look, you beat up, knocked around old shit for brains! If you wanna have somebody get in close with that big motherfucker, I think it‟s time we got your grungy old ass in the ring with him! You want that big motherfucker to be hittin‟ on you? Well, you old fuck, do ya? Do ya?” “Well, hell no, but ” “Then shut the fuck up, old man! Just shut the fuck up!” I “pushed him” away with my glove, hard enough that he landed on his nasty old ass and everyone started Leviticus, Limited 33-0505963
Bill Cady, The Early Years … by Bill Cady 338 laughing at him. When I turned around, the big guy had finally overcome his total mesmerization at my speech and was resuming the fight without notifying me. I ducked as fast as I could, just in time to avoid either a 747 going over my head, or his punch. From the noise it made, I wasn‟t all that sure. We rocked and rolled the last two rounds and, as I expected, I was declared the winner. The big guy never won a single round, and I wasn‟t hurt, so it ended the way I wanted it to end. I had another fight I dare deem memorable. It was in 1968, maybe 1969, outside of Louisville, Kentucky. I was fighting a black guy. A goddamned awfully tough black guy. I had some size on him, and some reach. Damned little of either. I was still 192 pounds, he was 184. I was a shaving above six-two, he was a trace over six feet. All the “sissy classes” used today didn‟t exist back then, especially in semipro boxing. Light heavyweight peaked out at 172 pounds. Anything, and everything, over that was heavyweight. No exceptions. This black guy was almost as fast as me, and I‟m safely able to say he hit as hard as I did. I include the fact I had a headache for a week after the fight as my evidence, along with the fact he landed a right cross that gave me serious thoughts about leaving the boxing scene altogether. I don‟t mean not taking another fight. I mean right then, when he hit me. I thought it was a goddamned Buick that hit me, not a mean looking black guy who probably hadn‟t smiled once since first grade. In round three, sensing there was an ass kicking in the offing and I had a seat on the wrong side of it, I tried something funny. A stolen technique, but modified by me. Leviticus, Limited 33-0505963
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BILL CADY Word Count: 149,227 - At My Friend's Place

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