The Fighters Journey
What makes a woman want to get the shit beaten out of her and then come back and do it all again?
Tell me something.
What makes a woman want to get the shit beaten out of her, and then come back and do it again huh?”
The man in the fedora hat was speaking to the man they called Black Irish
Was looking at the girl with the bloodied nose in the gym.
“She wants something.” The man called Black Irish said.
“Isn’t that why anyone allows the shit to be beaten out of them?”
The man with the fedora hat thought about it.
“I dunno” he said. “I don’t beat the shit out of people for a living, so I wouldn’t know.”
The girl in the corner had shoved tissue up her nose to stop the bleeding, and was packing her pure white gym bag.
With a loud
it’s contents were secured and she threw the bag over her shoulder-- yelling goodbye to Black Irish and the man in the fedora hat, before leaving for the night.
“She’s a strange one…yeah?” asked the man in the fedora hat, and the man called Black Irish shook his head.
“No I wouldn’t say that.” He replied. “Why do you say that?”
The man in the fedora hat thought of the girl.
She was at the gym more than him these days… and it was unnerving watching his friend beat the shit out of her—even if he knew she’d signed up for it.
“I dunno” said the man in the fedora hat. “Same as I said before….
I just don’t understand what makes a woman sign up to get the shit beaten out of her...yeah?
She’s a pretty girl…yeah?
What’s she got to prove?
I’m guessing she can have any guy she wants.
She would be popular…I cant see her sitting in the cafeteria or lunchroom at work on her own.
I can’t see her getting bullied.
She’s got charisma…she’s got style…
Tell me Irish….it’s really bugging me…I dunno why….
But why does a girl like that come train with you?
Why isn’t she doing ballet?
Or fuck, if she really wants to know how to fight…why isn’t she taking boxing classes at the local gym..where she can learn technique but not get her pretty face smashed up?
Has she told you?”
The man called Black Irish looked at his friend with surprise.
“Has she told me what?” he asked.
“Has she told you what she wants?” asked the man in the fedora hat, wondering if his friend had really been listening to him at all.
“No.” said the man they called Black Irish.
“but she doesn’t have to.
I’ve trained hundreds of ‘em over the years now yeah….?
And I’m telling you…they’re all the same.
Nobody willingly puts themselves in the ring to have the shit beaten out of them unless it’s for one of three reasons.
They like it
2. They want something
3. They’re scared.
The man in the fedora hat thought about it and then laughed.
“Do you think she likes getting the shit beaten out of her?” he asked and the man called Black Irish shook his head.
“No” he said.
“Not that one…”
“Some do…but not her…
she hates it….
you can see it in her face….it drives her crazy—she hasn’t learned to control it yet and lashes out like a wild animal each time she gets hurt….
Not that one.
That one….” He drawled….
“That one’s here because she wants something.”
The man in the fedora hat thought about the woman with the white gym bag and bloodied nose.
“What is it Irish?” asked the man with the fedora hat.
“What’s an old man like you going to teach a pretty girl like that?
The man called Black Irish looked at his friend and laughed.
“What am I gonna teach her?” he asked.
“I’m gonna teach her to fight.