Theme Park at its Darkest

Provocation

I had to challenge J- in such a way that didn’t amount to a threat. It’s entirely possible that he might even take a threat to the police in order to tie me up. I got his phone number from V- and texted him.

Tuesday, May 9

Hi J-

It’s Jarrod.

Why don’t you come and do some boxing?

thank you mate. i’d like that.

(The idiot obviously doesn’t get it. He is so arrogant he thinks he can humiliate me in public and I’m actually going to want to do something for him.)

When suits? You need a mouthguard.

Im in wa until next*. I call you when im home?

*next week

Text me after the 22^nd. You need a mouthguard. No training without it.

copy mate…

Friday, June 23

(No response for six and a half weeks. I text him again.)

When are you coming to box?

Hi mate. ill buzz you early next week. I’ve just come off 5 weeks of night shift.

Text me.

Thursday, June 29

It’s Thursday. Are you scared?

Ha! To be fair, I plum forgot mate. Been busy with the kids. May I pop in tomorrow to see the gym and have a chat?

What time?

11am?

[Address of gym]

Bring your mouthguard.

(That night, I began to write the piece that you are currently reading. I was way behind, and concerned that if the duel occurred, or even if it didn’t, I would lose the opportunity to produce the material. Some kind of premature outcome or reckoning would diminish it.)

I need to postpone tomorrow – something has come up. Can you do next week?

Thumbs up.

Tuesday, July 4

9:10am: Because I am a generous person, I will open the gym for you this Sunday at 11am.

Fantastic mate. Good egg. However, I fly out Friday for 3 weeks. Back on the 28^th. Let’s make it Monday the 31^st 10am

No. I have clients. This week. Fri arvo, Sat arvo.

31^st of July? Can’t do?

9:24am: No. This week.

Silence for an hour.

10:56am: I understand you are caught between your fear and your pride, but you shouldn’t worry. It will be over quickly.

Come Thursday arvo.

12:19: None of that buddy. Can’t do this week as I’m flying early Friday morning. I have kids, a routine, etc. Looks like early August.

12:28: You’re a weak prick.

2:57: Nice try (laughing emoji).

(The cunning of the desperately stupid never ceases to amaze me.)

3:00: So… here’s my question J-, you meth smoking, Forrest Gump loser – was M– smoking meth with your wife before he fucked her?

(I can feel my window closing and while he’s unpredictable and dangerous, I have to take extreme measures to attempt to solve the problem. This is brutal, and ugly, but I have to solve this while I can.)

4:04: I guess so. It was a long time ago. What’s your point?

4:16: You’ve been emasculated. Which is a big word that means you’re dickless.  

4:18: I didn’t choose that route.

4:44: You’re choosing it now.

4:47: I’m indifferent. It’s their gig. You can not move forward unless you let go of the past.

4:49: Jesus, you’re thick. I mean, you’re proving yourself dickless by avoiding me.

Thursday, July 6

12:22pm: So then next question is, do you think you can refrain from following me into supermarkets and grabbing me by the nuts?

**

Back in Training

‘Movement relieves tension.’

• Teddy Atlas.

I’ve got a shattered ankle that’s a kind of dysfunctional knot at the bottom of my right leg and any kind of twisting action causes it to swell and then stiffen. In addition, the tendonitis in my shoulders, especially the left one, becomes inflamed when I box.

Tendonitis is probably the consistently worst injury I’ve had; it burns when you use the affected body part, but at night, it seems to throb with a kind of coldness, as if irrigated by ice water. Three rounds were about as much as my body could tolerate.

In my late forties, I’ve got a host of other injuries that I’ve picked up along the way, and I won’t bore you with them. However, duelling required that I get in shape regardless, and hopefully, the actual duel itself wouldn’t last long.

As anyone who has had an organised fight knows, a round of two minute’s duration feels like an eternity. Given that I’m a heavyweight, I shouldn’t have to hit him cleanly much more than once.

I just needed to get fit, so that I could stay calm. I’d also recover my speed and accuracy. He wouldn’t train; it would be all bluster and natural athleticism, buried beneath decades of inactivity, bad food and drug abuse.

That didn’t mean he wouldn’t be dangerous, of course. He was unpredictable, and that’s always the wild card. I needed distance to work, and he always made closing it his first order of business.  

I began doing padwork with a friend around the time that I had begun to taunt J- by text. Patience in such matters is of the greatest importance; the longer he put it off, the better my condition would be. And the longer he avoided it, the more it would grow in his mind.

Secretly, I was terrified. I felt like this was almost the highest stakes it could be, a peg beneath life and limb. If I lost, I would be turned back into my teenaged self by this despicable, retarded piece of junkie shit. It was easier to avoid, except for the fact that all my self-respect relied on my willingness to submit to the necessary risk.

This entry was posted on April 26, 2024 at 11:54 pm and is filed under The Duel with tags Boxing, Teddy Atlas, The Duellists. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.