SECONDS OUT

The referee’s pre-fight litany seemed to last forever as he first spoke in English and then in Spanish. He ordered them to protect themselves at all times; to touch gloves and come out fighting. Sonny stuck a gloved fist forward and Ricardo responded with a hard, pounding motion that was meant to intimidate him where his unblinking scowl had failed.

In his corner, Sonny bounced on his toes, made a couple of feinting movements and crossed himself. He turned around sharply at the bell to square off with Ricardo who, oddly, seemed in no rush to leave his corner. Holliday’s final admonition rang faintly in his ears, muffled by a loud expectant roar from the fans: “Keep your left high and keep an eye on his right!”

Guard held high, Sonny quickly darted forward within range of his foe. Ricardo, his greasy brow furrowed in concentration, also carried his left high, and his right, almost across his face, like a big caliber handgun held up for show.

They were both counter-punchers, so that made for many long tentative seconds before either man threw so much as a self-respecting jab. Ricardo, however, didn’t waste time trying to assume the lead in their fistic ring dance. He stepped outside Sonny’s left, teasing him to throw something that would leave him open for his vaunted right counter. Sonny caught on quickly and fell into his slipstream, following his every step as they moved around the ring in a circling motion. Ricardo crouched slightly and threw the first punch, a left hook to the body. Sonny attempted to counter with a right to the head. But Ricardo slipped the punch, came up weaving and scored with a short hard right to the temple that produced more effect on Sonny’s locks than pain. The crowd rose with a roar as Sonny, to his corner’s consternation, pulled out straight. Ricardo was quick.

Inspired, he made another move. The left dug into Sonny’s kidneys. Sonny’s counter this time was a cross between a left hook and an uppercut, and faster. But it flew through air where Ricardo’s head had been a split second earlier. The clever Mexican weaved underneath him and landed a double right hook to the body and head, followed by a left uppercut. Sonny was rocked. The crowd rose to its feet. Sonny unloaded a four-punch combination in retaliation but missed the retreating target. Ricardo had the moves.

The brief action had opened up Sonny’s pores, and his body, moistened by his vigorous locker room warm-up before the round, was now dripping with perspiration. In contrast, Ricardo’s frame glistened with the body oils that were intended to reduce dehydration.

The Mexican trotted forward again, producing another expectant cry from the packed Garden. He jabbed this time, shooting out a stiff left hand that twice brushed the side of Sonny’s face. Sonny jabbed back and scored lightly in three tries – Ricardo’s reach was longer.

The crowd broke into song. Ricardo, spurred by the melodic urgings in Spanish from his corner, pressed forward. He was in Sonny’s face and switching angles. Sonny replied with two jabs and missed. Ricardo countered with a left-right combination that Sonny felt. He threw another combo, Sonny blocked both punches with his gloves and hit back with a left hook that caught an arm. A quick overhand right to the head sent Sonny’s dreads shooting backward again. It was evident from all corners of the Garden that a boxing clinic was in session.