After a few minutes, the crowd finally dies down enough for the announcer to speak over them, although they’re still going pretty strong.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, in the blue corner tonight, we have a man set for revenge. He’s been waiting eighteen months for his chance to take back his family’s honor…I give you, Trevor ‘The Aaaaaaaa-vennnnnnnnnn-ger’ Crispino.”
Unlike last time, the crowd doesn’t boo. Even Nico’s family falls silent. There are some cheers from his fans, but most say nothing and I don’t know if it’s out of respect for Nico, his contender, or his late brother. Either way it sends a chill up my spine at the mere mention of the horror that was his brother’s last fight.
After a few more mind-numbing announcements, the two men are sent to their respective corners. It’s funny how my reason for worry changes, yet the worry stays the same. The last time I sat in this room I was worried that watching men come to blows would be a trigger for me. Something that would dredge up the memories of the past that I’d worked so hard to tuck away. But as I sit here today, I’m still worried about Nico’s fight, yet it no longer has anything to do with my own self-preservation. All of my worry is for the man in the ring, how he’ll manage to handle striking a face that is all too familiar. The similarities are haunting and it isn’t even my nightmare. I worry that he’ll freeze and get hurt, or that he won’t and the emotional damage will take its toll later. Either way, it’s hard to see a win for Nico at the end of this fight, no matter who comes out the victor.
I hold my breath as the fight begins and the two men meet in the middle. I want to look away, save myself the pain of watching it all unravel before my eyes, but I can’t seem to allow myself to blink for fear of missing even a second. Nico strikes first, not giving his opponent time to even acclimate before knocking him back three steps with a thundering hit to the left side of his jaw.
As much as I struggle seeing the two men fighting to win something back, something that was taken wrongly from both of them, there is a sense of relief that Nico seems to be back to fighting the way that made him a champion. But my relief is short lived. Not ten seconds after I finally exhale, letting out the breath I had been holding, Trevor lands a kick to Nico’s chest and Nico stumbles, his back hitting hard against the unyielding cage. His back arches with the contact, and I see his face register pain, but he quickly recovers. Sitting so close, I can see the toll each blow takes on their faces.
By the end of the first round, both men have taken and delivered harsh blows dealt with brute force strength. I don’t claim to have any experience judging a match, but, to me, Nico is the clear leader as they take their seats in their respective corners. His blows are stronger, more precise. And he has the ability to recover faster from the ones he receives. But all in all, it doesn’t appear to be an unfair fight.
Again in round two it’s Nico who comes out blazing. He strikes fast and furious and lands a series of kicks which almost knocks Trevor to the ground, but his opponent somehow remains on his feet. Trevor regains his footing and takes aim at Nico, with a windup and punch that Nico manages to avoid by weaving, leaving Trevor plunging forward with the sheer momentum of the hit that never lands. Nico sees an opportunity and seizes it, pounding brutally on the man’s back before he has time to recover from his missed punch. It’s all too much, too fast, and Trevor falls forward, landing first on his knees, before both arms go wide and he plummets face first into the mat below. For no more than a split second, he lays still on the ground. But that’s all it takes. I watch as something passes over Nico’s face and everything changes.
Nico just stands there, blankly staring at his opponent, even as Trevor recovers, taking his time to get up, wobbling to his feet before regaining his footing. It’s as if he’s quit the fight, except there’s still more than two minutes on the clock until the end of the round. But even though Nico might have thrown in the towel, his opponent sees it as an opportunity. He hits Nico with a left, then a quick right. The second punch landing so hard that I watch in slow motion as Nico’s head swings to the side and blood splatters from his nose all over the shiny grey canvas below.
I’m watching in horror as Nico is pummeled, each series of blows taking my breath away. He’s not even protecting himself, he’s just standing there and taking it, like it’s his punishment and he needs to be man enough to accept it. Preach is screaming like a madman from the sideline, trying to snap Nico out of it, but it’s as if he doesn’t even hear him. I wince at each strike, silently begging for the ref to stop the fight. I don’t know the rules, but this can’t be legal. Clearly, the ref sees that Nico has checked out and being in the cage is dangerous to a man that won’t even protect himself. But they let the fight go on and on, and it’s the longest two minutes of my entire life.
By the time the bell sounds at the end of the round, Nico is a bloody mess and I want to die. I feel helpless and I want to run into the cage and grab him and hold him tight against me and tell him everything is going to be okay. Only I can’t.
The crowd doesn’t know what to make of things either. The once frenzied chant of Nico! Nico! has died out and even Vinny and Max are eerily silent in their seats. It’s as if they’ve all accepted the path that Nico has chosen…but I can’t. I won’t. I refuse.
The final round starts off almost the same as the last one ended, with Nico getting his face pummeled and him doing little to change things. I don’t understand why everyone is so quiet. His brothers are all sitting and his mother sits silently on the edge of her chair, looking pale, her face turned away from the fight. She can’t even bear to watch.
I just can’t sit and quietly watch him go down without a fight. So I don’t. I get up on my chair and start screaming. Like a loon. The people around me are staring, but I don’t care. Screw them, they were all chanting his name when he was winning, but where are they now? After a few more punches that few men would be able to endure, let alone stand after, Trevor lunges and takes Nico down to the mat. The two men wrestle around for a few seconds, and then Trevor emerges on top, Nico’s arm pinned behind his back, his head to the ground.
“Get up Nico! God damn it, Get up!” My screams are torn from my lungs, each word burning as it bleeds from me. I don’t know if he hears me yelling, but somehow I doubt it since Preach is closer and can’t seem to get his attention. But then something happens. Nico lifts his head from the mat, his arm still pinned behind his back, and I could swear, for just a split second, he looks right at me.
There’s less than a minute left in the match, but we both know that so much can change in a single minute. The course of an entire life can be redirected, a man can choose to live, a man can die unexpectedly. Nothing is over until you call it quits or you take your last breath.
I have no idea how Nico gets himself out of the hold that Trevor had him in without breaking his own arm, but less than two seconds have ticked from the clock and Nico is back on his feet and there’s a fire in his eyes. Trevor gets back up and readies himself, expecting to continue the fight, but it’s no longer a continuation, it’s suddenly a whole new fight. Nico lands a blow to the ribs and his opponent staggers back three steps. There’s no time for Trevor to recover, to regain his footing, before Nico lunges, taking him down to the mat. And then Nico’s on top, landing blow after blow, each more heartbreaking than the next, even though it’s Nico I want to come out unscathed.