"Why is she here?" I pondered silently. As I straightened up, my arms remained tightly crossed over my chest. Kelly and Mikaela seemed engrossed in a serious conversation.
The press club office's windows were wide open, providing an optimal view of the football field. The bright lights illuminated the scene, and I couldn't help but appreciate the carefully arranged setup. The boxing ring appeared slightly larger than the standard amateur size, but apart from that detail, everything appeared well-organized and in proper order.
Excitement coursed through me, prompting me to rub my hands together, though the chill in the air played a minor role in the gesture. As my heart quickened its pace, I realized the upcoming fight had stirred a thrill within me. Despite having no personal stake in the evening's bout, the meticulous stage arrangement, the extensive media coverage, and even the recently showcased glove selection on the scoreboard hinted at an impending intense showdown. My bet was on Michael; he appeared significantly sharper than during my last encounter with him. I was carefully studying the highlights now being displayed on the scoreboard.
"Hello," Mikaela announced, pulling a chair to join me.
"Oh, Hello," I said, mustering a greeting, with a subtle undertone of disappointment sneaking into my voice.
"Uhm, Edward?" Kelly called out, she had both her thumbs in the air with a questioning look on her face.
Understanding the unspoken communication, I raised a thumb in the air. "All good," I assured her. I didn't bother questioning why Mikaela was here instead of herself; my focus had shifted entirely to the impending fight. The noise in the background was steadily increasing every second, signaling the approach of the walkouts.
The door closed, and Mikaela proceeded to take off her jacket. She pressed a button on the microphone, and a red light illuminated as she began, "Ladies and gentlemen, fight fans around the world, welcome to a thrilling night of boxing excitement! I'm here in the commentary box, perched high above the arena, where the anticipation is palpable. We're moments away from witnessing a showdown of epic proportions as two formidable fighters make their way to the venue for tonight's highly anticipated bout."
A countdown had commenced on the scoreboard, and the football field, nearly filled to capacity, seemed to come alive. The crowd eagerly joined in on the count,
"5!"
"4!"
"3!"
"2!"
"1!"
In a burst of fiery pyrotechnics, the crowd erupted into a chorus of cheers as the first boxer, Arthur, confidently strode towards the ring, illuminated by a cascade of vibrant lights.
On the scoreboard, dynamic graphics and stats accompanied the live footage, giving the spectators, students and boxing enthusiasts alike, a closer look at the fighters' achievements, records, and highlights from their respective careers.
From the opposite end of the field, Michael emerged, met with a resounding roar from the crowd that echoed throughout the arena.
As both fighters stepped into the ring, the tension peaked. The scoreboard updated with the official announcements, and the crowd's anticipation surged to a fever pitch. The energy became infectious, spreading from the fans to the fighters themselves.
My palms were becoming sweaty, prompting me to remove my jacket as well—a gesture that elicited a brief chuckle from Mikaela.
"You never asked how I know you," she mentioned, securing her hair in a ponytail.
I feigned ignorance to her statement.
"Hit and Run," she declared suddenly.
My heart raced, "What did you say?"
"He needs to hit and run," she clarified, pointing towards Michael.
"Oh," I replied, exhaling deeply, "Why the smile?" I questioned.
Ignoring my question, she smirked, moved the microphone aside, and pulled her chair closer to the window. "It's all you now, champ," she said, glancing back and winking.
"This kid," I muttered, still gazing at the back of her head. Breaking the stare, I pulled the microphone closer shaking my head in annoyance.
"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the much-anticipated showdown at the Panat's Boxing Cup, where the past meets the present. We have the 2022 champion, Arthur, stepping into the ring to challenge the current titleholder, the 2023 champion, Michael. This is a clash of titans, a battle for the ages, and we're about to witness who will write the next chapter in the history books of this prestigious tournament and walk away with the grand price of $54,000"
"And there's the bell! Round one is underway. Arthur comes out with a confident stride, utilizing his jab to establish range. Michael, on the other hand, is light on his feet, circling and looking for an opening. It's a chess match early on, with both fighters showing respect for each other's power. Arthur tries to press the action, but Michael's defense is tight, parrying shots and countering with precision. A very tactical first round, with both champions looking to impose their game plan."
As the bell sounded again both fighters touched gloves and headed off to their corners, I instinctively reached for the water bottle on the desk with my left hand, simultaneously switching off the microphone with my right. I noticed that the commentary was also reverberating through speakers on the field. It was doubtful anyone would catch what I had been saying. The enthusiastic audience easily drowned out any other sounds, ensuring an immersive experience for everyone present.
The first round was a brilliant display of skill and defense. Arthur, known for his powerful jabs, started with some probing shots to the body, while Michael displayed nimble footwork, looking for opportunities to counter.
As they entered the penultimate round, there was a palpable sense of urgency from Arthur. He had lost several rounds and he needed something significant to sway the judges. He came out aggressively, throwing power punches with more frequency. However, Michael's conditioning was shining through; he was still moving well, still dodging the heavy artillery.
Mikaela chuckled in a sing-songy tone, "This kid is gonna get knocked out..."
"I mean he's in the lead though, he just needs to end on the front foot " I replied.
"Oh!" Michael had caught Arthur with a perfectly timed uppercut during an exchange.
"Mammamia Tuscaloosa! He's been stung!" I screamed at the top of my voice, holding tightly onto the microphone.
"He's rattled! Oh, he's desperately trying to hold on!" I exclaimed. "Oh, and there goes Winslow!!" The crowd burst into cheers. "Ladies and gentlemen, Arthur Winslow is down on the canvas! He's been caught with a clean uppercut, can he beat the count?"
"Nine! Are you alright?" the referee asked.
Arthur nodded, he seemed to be looking for something on the ground, he was badly hurt.
"Step towards me!" the referee commanded. Arthur took a step forward, only to collapse onto the canvas. The referee quickly embraced him, signaling the end of the fight with a wave. He didn't even look to notice the corner had thrown in the towel a few moments.
"Oh!!! It's been called off ladies and gentlemen, they've waved it off!"
When the announcer finally declared the winner, Michael's demeanor remained composed. Instead of an exuberant display, he acknowledged Arthur with a nod and a handshake, recognizing the skill and resilience displayed by the former champion throughout the match.
He was giving his post-fight speech when he suddenly looked in my direction and our eyes met.
"...Oh, Who's that?" he asked, shading his eyes with his wrapped hand to get a clearer view.
"Well, well, well, if it isn't Eddie Miller the Smooth Killer. What's the Little man doing top side?" He continued, his voice echoing through the microphone.
The interviewer was Kelly, she attempted to regain his attention, "So what's next for you Mr. Bryant, any possible opponents?" she asked.
"Oh, I want his skinny ass next, that guy," He replied, pointing towards the open window.
The crowd erupted.
Continuing, he gestured with his hands, mimicking a phone, and exclaimed, "When the hotline blings, there's only one thing it can mean!"
He lifted his hand, let the microphone fall, directed a pointed gesture in my direction, and then mimicked a gun to his head.
"Woah, " Mikaela said standing from her chair.
Michael picked up the microphone and handed it to Kelly who was just as surprised as everyone else. "I apologize, darling," he said looking at her. "Hey, my man Ed, we'll catch up."
He planted a kiss in the air, winked, and began making his way out of the ring, soon surrounded by a cluster of microphones.
"There goes your Monday headline," Mikaela remarked, patting my elbow before heading to the door. She swiftly returned, briefly, to grab her coat.
Flashes from the camera started—first one, then two, and eventually several—illuminating the room enough for me to locate my coat and shut the window.
I was on autopilot, strolling without a clear idea of how to process all the information from the night. After locking the office doors, I went to the lockers to drop off my coat before heading straight home.
The night had been more than eventful.