It Takes Two

One

"You think I'd still be here with you if professional scouts had reached out to me? No offence to Strikers, but the gym is nothing more than a stepping stone in the grand scheme of things."

"True."

A handful of us trained at the tiny boxing gym in downtown Edmonton, tucked away neatly between a barber shop and a massage parlour that might have been a rub-and-tug with its shady exterior. It wasn't the prettiest place at a glance, and the equipment was not state-of-the-art by any means, but Coach Jamison and the trainers did a great job of running a tight ship with what they had.

Brett paused for a second, thinking to himself, then added, "A few 'scouts' have approached me before, but they turned out to be scammers."

"Maybe you're just not good enough for the real ones."

"Eat a dick, Kearney."

We made it to the carousel ahead of schedule. A few people from our flight had already gathered here, waiting for the bags to show up. I recognize a couple faces as being the early risers who stood in the aisle right at the end of that flight. I hoped they enjoyed those extra seconds of getting off the plane and standing at the carousel. A true game changer.

Neither Brett nor myself brought a lot of extra clothes for the week, but our fight gear was enough to fill a suitcase to the brim. Boxing gloves, shorts, mouth guard, tapes, and the works really added up quickly. We brought a few extras as well, in case some of the gear really started to stink. We weren't planning on doing laundry this week, either.

A minute passed. Another minute pass. And the clock above the carousel indicated that five minutes eventually went by. Not a single squeak from the machine in front of us. People started to grumble about the delay, and to no surprise, Brett was right in the thick of it.

"For fuck sakes, how long does it take to unload, like, thirty bags?"

It was an early domestic flight. The airport wasn't busy, and our plane wasn't super full either. About a third of the seats were empty. The math wasn't really adding up for this delay, but I learned that complaining wasn't going to fix the problem. None of Brett's swearing was going to make the baggage claim process quicker.

A sudden rumble caught our attention for a completely different reason. It wasn't the carousel. Instead, it was the rumble coming from the footsteps of a large group -- maybe a hundred plus -- that made us turn around. We saw a crowd of baby-faced teenagers, likely several years younger than us, repping their schools in hoodies and sweats.

"You think they're university kids?" I asked Brett, calling them kids like they weren't five or six years younger than us at best.

"I think so. I think I saw something about some student conference in the city this week. A go-abroad fair or some shit. You know, keener shit."

I nodded but I didn't know. I was never a keener in my university days. C's got degrees was a motto that I took to heart. If I couldn't, then I wouldn't was another one that guided me through those four years. Great times, really.

The sound of the carousel buzzer brought our attention back to business. About time. I was hoping for a little down time before the event. After the early drive to the airport to catch the flight, I would love to unpack and power nap before the pre-competition briefing.

As the first black bag came out of the chute and into view, Brett yanked my arm with urgency. "Three o'clock. See that girl?"

There was at least forty girls in the group of university students. "Which one?"

"Tall blonde. White crop top and booty shorts. The one who looks like Gabbie Carter."

I found the crop top and shorts within seconds. There weren't many dressed like her within that group. I didn't know her, but I already felt that she would be a handful -- and not in the same way that Brett would mean it -- given the flirty smirk on her face. Something about her style gave me Regina George from Mean Girls vibes. She definitely liked being the centre of the attention. Now which burly boxer did that remind me of?