Boston's Story

     What’s up, World?

     This book experience is a mixed bag of up and down emotions. When I think I’ve got one thing figured out: there are 25 new tasks and obstacles to overcome and navigate around. But, I think that’s why they call it progress. These experiences fortify the lessons learned like a hammer strike alters and strengthens metal; life is a blacksmith, and we’re being sharpened like steel. Throw in some successes and love and we’re made into shiny display pieces like ninja swords or katanas. Take too many or too much of a beating and we end up as broken, discarded or severely damaged floor adornments. I’m grateful for the process, and pray all these hard shots get me a bit closer to being a Hanzo sword (SEE KILL BILL).

     The next character from No Loose Ends I’d like to introduce to you is Chris “Iron Fists” Connoley. A freckly, red-headed Irishman. Slender dude, like Brad Pitt in Snatch; a rock-hard body from his training as an aspiring boxer, complete with a couple of battle scars from his times in the ring. He speaks with a thick New England accent, though his exposure to brothas is evident in his swag. He rocks T-shirts, fresh jeans and Adidas shell-toes; all white and only smudged if the love of his crew or Deborah, his high school sweetheart from Boston, is threatened. But, don’t take my word for it; I’ll let him holler at you:

     Yeah, Yeah, Yeah! Can you imagine a kid from Dorchester, one of the greasiest corners of Boston, makin' a name for his-self in the Biggest Little City? It’s monumental, man!  Reno is one of the bedrocks of boxing; I mean, they have a courthouse named after Mills Lane here. So, I came out to Reno with a traveling promoter that was telling me he’d open some doors, make some introductions; you know, help me make it to the big time. It sounded better than what I had going in Boston. Plus, back home I couldn’t put two days of training together without Deborah (that’s my girlie) going all whackobird about me working a 9-5 and getting my bowtie and ruffled cumberbun ready to march down the aisle. I think it was the pressure of her family back home. See, me? I’m a nobody, orphan and an outcast. The only kids like me back home were brown and black, and that’s who I ran with. Deborah’s people were kinda well-to-do out there, so her sisters are getting hitched and her brothers all hated me; but they didn’t want it because I had knuckled up all my life. Shit, you would have too if you had red hair, freckles and lived in a boy’s home in West Boston till you was 16. So, I parlayed the punches to a bunch of amateur matches, but I didn’t think anything of it until Ira Goldberg came along. He was a sham artist and traveling fight promoter back home. He’s actually how I got out to Reno.

     So, we’re throwing boxing exhibitions all ova. When I was green it didn’t matter; some fights that I won were rigged from the bellman to the card girls. But once I got good enough to know some of those early wins shoulda cleaned my clock, I approached Ira and he ran down the racket to me. So, I got on board because Ira cut me in on the fights; and when I dived like I was supposed to, I got a little extra envelope at the end of each night. None of these fights were sanctioned, so I didn’t trip on the wins and losses too much. I wanted to wipe the floor with a bunch of the bums I fought, but I had to bring something home to keep Deborah off my back. In the fights when there was lite action, I really got to mix it up. So, I get the notion that Ira shouldn’t be the only one winning; especially if I wanted to really make it one day. And a plan didn’t come together until we made it out to Reno.

     Now Reno is its own kinda place. Water from the Truckee River and this big famous Blue Lake people go crazy ova only about an hour away. Casinos, but not quite like Vegas or Atlantic City. I met Contraband and J Dub up at the University at a frat party. These two guys, forget about it! They had some herb like I had never seen before and they were partying in a big way. Contra has this huge 2-story house on the outskirts of town, and they would throw parties that lasted for days. Back then he was with this sexy chocolate sista named Asia. And she danced and worked in Moundhouse in one of the ranches out there. So, a bunch of her girlfriends were strippers and escorts. So shit always got crazy when they came around. Some of da shit I seen...

     While we were at the frat house, Contra had his eyes on this cool-looking chick, and J Dub was telling a bunch of youngsters one of his old country-ass stories. In the other room was these two mooks that decided they were tired of sharing their shine with the outsiders. Anyway, I took it as offensive; the frat-boys' party was cracking because Contra and Dub was supplying the party favors, and these preppies start back biting 'em. So, I confront them. Bear in mind: I don’t know Contra or J Dub at the time; I’m just peeping the haterism on what looks like some cool cats. So, I’m all “Check this out, Bobby or Billy: dem brothas hooked your weak-ass party up, and ya’ll ova here all salty and being haters?” So, they were sounding like surfers “Bro, you need to mind your business.” So, I didn’t wait; I just took off, and both of these dudes were no match. They shoulda called me KFC, the way I was handin' out two pieces. Extra spicy, you heard? The music stops, and these college types start freaking out. Well, Contra and J Dub are like the only brothas there and they’re carrying herb, so we all break out. I link with them, and we head out to Contra’s pad with some honeys Asia knows; and everything was everything.

     Alright, so that’s how we met; and here’s the deal now: I have still been training and getting the occasional bout here and there; and Ira was working on a match between me and this corn-fed shit-kicker from Elko (or somewhere in BFE Nevada). After I started getting money with Contra, I brought Deborah out; and she’s still ridin' my ASS! “Chris-ta-fa,” that’s how she calls me. “Chris-ta-fa, I know you don’t think you’re heading out with those thugs from the tire shop. Chris-ta-fa, all of my sisters are married and my mother wants a granddaughter. What we waiting for?”

     I swear, sometimes she dreams about naggin' me in her sleep; and the next morning is a sequel to the previous night’s bullshit. I’d like kids someday. I’d actually love them if I could get a chick like Con’s new girl. She’s got a little boy, and I like that little set up. His old chick was gone, or on the road or something, and he hooked up with this Mexican chick named Ariceli. But that’s his biz, you know? I’ve figured out that this fight with the Cowboy is gonna be a big deal. I overheard Ira with his people from back home, and he’s got a mint riding on me taking a dive; and I’ve been working on getting Contra to promote me because I’m gonna get old Ira cracked this weekend.

     I went down to see this kid I’m fighting in some exhibition in Fernly or one of those "blink once" cities way out in the desert; and, I’m just gonna say this: when ya’ll see the playbill for this fight, gather all your shillings, all your gouda and provolone cheese and put it in the Irishman. This kid must have had half of Nevada there to cheer him on. There were Ford F-250’s with horse trailers, dulleys and Wrangler-wearin' cowboys everywhere. Those people were whistling and yelling like it was bull-ridin' at the rodeo; and the kid was a'ight, but he’s not ready, man. Anyway, I got the front money to bet on me. There’s a bookie that knows about my arrangement with Ira, and he’s got his own axe to grind with Ira for something back in the days. And I haven’t convinced Contra to get into the fight game yet, but I’m sure after he sees the cash involved he’ll be on it.

     So my plan is this: keep everything the same with Ira, you know? Train, spar or whateva; and on the side I gotta get Con and Dub on-board, and get some more cheese to put on my exit plan. If Ira wants to get crazy after I sell Contra on the idea, at least I’ll have some back-up in place. Yeah, it’s gonna be a beast. It’s monumental, man.

     Well, stay tuned-in. Shit gets real in No Loose Ends, and I’m happy to be able to give you a sneak peek. It’s ya boy Biggidy Boston Chris Connoley with the Iron Fists. One.

Boston