Yes it’s true, I come from a long line of Hooligans.
Hooligans.
Wasn’t ever anyway around it, ya see? we were born into it.
My oldest brother Slim was a boxer. he preferred the term Fighter or Scrapper.
“I like to fight. you wanna fight? I’ll fight ya.”
He would tell anyone who’d listen when he was young. eventually finding his way into a boxing ring. got himself a trainer, then a manager.
Fighting first as an amateur, he turned professional at 20. only because he found he could make a few bucks in doing so.
The truth is he’d fight anybody, anywhere, anytime for free.
I didn’t see many of his professional fights, I caught a couple when dad would let me tag along. I’ll never forget the pure insanity of it.
The arena was filled with noise. smoke. massive lights hung from above. it was a joyous ruckus. I’d never seen anything like it.
The ring announcer waved both fighters to center ring as he announced them.
Glancing at my brother, he shook his head from side to side while making the sign of the cross.
A lone microphone lowered from above into the ring. the announcer grabbed it, raised it to his mouth.
Ladies and Gentlemen…..
Our next bout is a welterweight contest. 5 rounds of boxing. New York State Boxing Rules, There will be no saving by the bell.
This next fighter has a record of 150 fights. 17 wins 120 losses with 13 disqualifications. He hails from Hells Kitchen, New York City. He always shows up, shows up on time. He’s as good as he’s ever gonna get.
Please Welcome Slim Hooligan The Participant!
Smattering of applause, some groans, some boo’s. One very loud old bag two rows in front of us dropped her beer, fell out of her seat.
We were in the lower bowl, My Dad, Brother and I leapt to our feet shouting.
Go get em Slim! Kick His Ass!
I don’t think he heard us. The old bag did, shooting us a wild eyed quizzical look.
His opponent has a record of 33 fights, 30 wins, all by knock out, 3 losses. training out of Gleason’s Gym in Brooklyn New York. He eats steel for breakfast, iron for lunch and god knows what for dinner. he ain’t no tomato can.
Please Welcome Phil “Killer” Coghlan.
Thunderous applause rained down from the rafters.
Soon as the announcer left the ring, The referee entered, motioning the two fighters over to deliver his instructions.
Once finished, My brother smiled and attempted to touch gloves, Coghlan would only glare back at him.
It would last exactly one round.
Slim came out with a flurry of punches that mostly missed. following that up with a head butt in a clinch, later telling me that might have been a mistake.
Mistake?
I meant accident, it was an accident.
Coghlan put together wicked combinations that night, I hadn’t seen hands that fast ever. still haven’t, maybe Ray Leonard or Ali? eventually catching Slim with a left upper cut that seem to lift my brother off the ground. The participant was out cold before he hit the ground.
His Corner men scrapped him up off the canvas helping him wobble out of the ring.
I had a sick feeling.
We saw him in the locker room after the fight. Dad gave us the look before we went in. instructing us to “keep your yaps shut.”
Dad would do all the talking, Sitting down next to Slim putting his arm around him, leaning in to tell him he loved him. and ask him if he was alright?
As If On Cue.
My Brother spit up blood on the floor. his eyes didn’t look quite right.
We wouldn’t know it at the time. This fight ended Slim’s career.
While recovering, he confided to me that he’d never been hit that hard ever in his life.
He had the fear.
Though I seemed to be the one who was most scared.
I would sit down with him a short time later.
I desperately wanted him to know I was worried about him. That I didn’t want him to die.
He looked at me, smiled best he could. then winced in pain. Leaning forward holding his head in both his hands.
Telling me, he didn’t want to die either.
He tried to find work, after all those fights, it was a difficult time. Dad tried to help him. the jobs he was able to get, he couldn’t keep. often late, if he showed up at all.
Experiencing migraine headaches, fits of intense temper, difficulty sleeping. made holding a job, or even being in a relationship impossible.
We all knew he was suffering intense emotions. foggy thinking.
Doctor he saw called it Disinhibition.
He was angry, really angry. lashing out at everyone and everything.
One evening, he disappeared. no note, nothing. we never knew what had happened to him. if something had happened?
I keep hoping he’s out there. maybe someday he’ll call?
Deep down I knew the truth, My big brother was gone.
Our conversation together was the last time I saw him.
“Everything was going to be ok.” were the last words he ever spoke to me.
My brother loved me. He knew I loved him, looked up to him.
I miss him terribly. I couldn’t save him,
You can only save yourself.
If you’re strong enough.
We shared the same room.
When my baby teeth began to fall out, he was the one who tied the string and slammed the door to eject my tooth.
In the backyard, he’d have me hold a bat, stand in the imaginary batters box and proceed to throw hard fastballs.
Hit me so many times that when it came time for me to try out for little league? I wanted no part of it.
Had me believing the boogeyman lived in our bedroom closet and was gonna get me.
Each night as I tried to drift off to sleep, in our darkened room. he’d do the voice.
Muhahahaha or Nyaaaaahahhhahhhh
I still check the closet every night.
He taught me so much, how to ride a bike, throw a football, protect myself. he was my dad where my dad wasn’t.
I miss him everyday. he helped shape my life as a boy.
His choices took it all away….from him….from me….from us.
Life doesn’t always provide you with all the things you want.
You have to be careful. Make smart choices. Avoid getting punched in the head.
One lesson nobody ever had to tell me.
I learned all of this watching my big brother.