His name was Thomas Brady and he was the local kicboxing champion of Stoke-On-Trent. At this moment in time, he was winning. His opponent was against the ropes, battered and bruised. Perfectly ripe for the taking. The fight had been long and hard but Thomas was beggining to gain control and overpower his opponent. He knew the fight was drawing to a close and that victory was only a stone throw away. This was his night and he could feel it in the air around him.
The new Evolution sports arena in Hanley was heaving with life, with more than a hundred screaming fans all cheering Thomas on. And it felt electrifying to Thomas, like as if every scream and shout from his legions of fans was giving him energy. The strength to push on relentlessly against a powerful and stronger opponent. He always drew strength from the crowd, and it had become invaluable against his battles with larger and more powerful opponents. Especially the one he was facing right now.
His adversary was a resident of Thailand, and one of the their best Muay Thai fighters. He looked big, standing at almost six feet tall with a finely toned body that was decorated from chest to arms with dragon tattoo's. He had long hair that came down to his shoulders and a face that looked like it had been hit one too many times. Any onlooker would easily have mistaken him for a Yakazu or Triad enforcer because of his intimidating looks. But not to Thomas. This was the kind of challenge he realished.
It had been his wish for months to fight against a proper Muay Thai fighter from Thailand and after weeks of trying to persuade his manger, Angus Williams, one of Staffordshires top boxing and kickboxing fight promoters, his wish soon became a reality. He was sitting at ringside in the packed out Evolution Areana. In Thomas's corner was his younger brother, Travis Brady and his personal Trainer, Douglas Dreiber. They were all screaming Thomas on, urging him to continue his relentless onslaught against his opponent who was now stumbling against the ropes trying to regain his senses.
"Keep going!" shouted Dreiber amidst the screams of all of Thomas's fight fans.
Instead of doing what his trainer told him, Thomas raised both his arms to the crowd and screamed a victory cry which sounded like a long 'woooooo!' He felt like he was on fire, as if the atmosphere itself was electrically charged, the crowds frenzied support elevating him to a new level. That was until he felt a blow to his chest. The Thai fighter was now on his feet and he had caught Thomas unawares with a crunching round kick to his chest. It sent Thomas staggering backwards, winding him slightly. Before he could even catch his breath, his opponent had followed up his attack with a few well placed punches to his midriff, ribs, chest and chin before a big elbow to his nose. Thomas was knocked to the floor, much to the shock of everyone watching. He could hear the referee standing over him, making the slow count to ten. Desparately, Thomas reached out and grabbed the ropes with both hands and clambered back to his feet. he felt dizzer and slightly disorientated, the world spinning slightly. The ref continued his count, holding out both gloved fingers and counting down until he reached eight and then he checked Thomas again for any signs of injury before waving him to continue.
Putting his guard back up, Thomas went towards his opponent who was taunting him, waving him forwards as if to say "I can give as much as I can get" It was only at this moment that the bell rang to signal the end of another round.
Tired and groggy, Thomas made his way back to his corner.
"Are you fucking crazy?" his brother screamed at him as he took out Thomas's gumshield. "You should know better than to showboat in a fight with a Thai boxer".
"Relax," Thomas said, taking a swig of water from a bottle Travis had given him. "I got it all under control. He's ready for the taking".
His trainer Douglas splashed a handful of water over Thomas's face as if to wake him up. "Pay attention to what you are doing in that ring!" he growled at Thomas. "You can celebrate and showboat as much as you want after the fight. But when you are in that ring, you fight or you are going to be on that floor with a massive hangover!"
"Yeah, yeah," replied Thomas, his tone indicating he was not paying attention. He looked across the ring at his opponent on the other side. His opponent was looking back at him with an expression that said he was going to kill Thomas. But this only fired Thomas up more.
"God man! Dont you feel it? The energy? The electricity?" he said to his borther. "That dudes ass his mine! This is my ring! I own it! Im gonna show him he's playing on the wrong turf! My turf!"
Douglas grabbed Thomas's chin and looked down at him hard. He was an old man his mid-sixties with a hard, lined face. He had a stocky build and looked like a typical Italian Mafioso. But he was someone who knew the mechanics of ring fighting and literally every kind of fighting there was. "Then show that fucker you mean business!" he shouted. "You either get out there and fight or I'll knock you out myself!" The look in his eyes meant he was serious about what he said. Douglas was not the kind of person you wanted to get on the wrong side of.
"Just try not to get yourself knocked down again," his brother Travis told him as he put the gumshield back in Thomas's mouth. "I hate it when you showboat".
Thomas just smiled at this. "Relax little brother," he said reasurringly. "This dudes going down in this round. Just watch me".
When the bell sounded again, Thomas got up from his stool and walked to the centre of the ring. His opponent stood in front of him, his eyes glaring at Thomas as if he was determined to put him away for good. Thomas just chuckled at this. The heat in the arena was overwhelming as was the noise. But Thomas loved it. This was what he lived for - his battles in the squared circle.
As the ref signalled for the fighters to begin, Thomas began dancing round the ring. "Cmon sucker! You ain't so big," he taunted the Muay Thai fighter. "You think you can knock me down again? My mother hits harder than that!'
His opponent did not say anything. Instead, he just went on the offensive, launching a combination of kicks and punches and trying to grab Thomas in process. Thomas dodged the attacks with ease and this infuriated his opponent.
"What's wrong? Too fast for ya?"
The Thai boxer launched a knee at Thomas and Thomas dodged to one side and caught his opponent with a straight right and left which rocked him slightly. Seizing the initiative, he spun round and delivered a well timed spin kick which caught his opponent square on the jaw, knocking his gumshield out. He knocked the Thai boxer back against the ropes with another kick to his midriff and then went in for the kill. All it took was a few body shots, a left and right cross and the coup-de-grace which came in the form of a devestating uppercut which knocked his opponent off his feet and sent him crashing to the mat with a thud. The ref pushed Thomas back and began the count to tent. At eight, the Thai boxer was on his feet though Thomas could clearly see he was ripe for the taking.
"Get your camera's ready!" he shouted to the camermen at ringside through his gumshield. "Because this is going to be the big knockout!"
The crowd roared in excitement and this spurred Thomas onwho leapt into the offensive the moment the ref signalled for the fight to continue. He caught his opponent with another combination of body shots and a haymaker of a punch which rocked his oppenet back against the ropes. To finish the job, Thomas swung his leg high up in a crescent motion and caught his opponent on the side of the head with a devestating roundhouse kick. The Thai boxer fell flat to the canvas and did not move. Thomas stepped back, breathing heavily through his gumshield as the ref began the count again and he reached ten, he signalled the fight over. Thomas grinned in satisfaction and raised his gloved hands to the crowd. He had done it again. Another successful victory in the squared circle.
"WHOSE THE MAN?" he shouted to the crowd. "WHOSE THE MAN?"
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The foyer of the Evolution sports centre was teeming with some of Thomas's legions of female admirers and this was always a sight he liked to see. There were so many great looking women in his home city that being a martial arts champion meant that he had a fair pick of the crop on display. His brother, who carried some of Thomas's equipment and his title belt which was painted in silver and gold, groaned when he saw this.
"Jeez Thomas, do you always have to play to the crowd?"
Thomas smiled and shrugged as he lay down his sports bag to sign some autographs from screaming female fans. "Hey, I'm the champion," he told his brother Travis. "Get use to it. I'm just as big as Stoke City Football club. They love me!" He smiled at one particular brunette with long, tanned bare legs and a short dark dress that revealed her cleavage to great effect. Another woman with dark hair and big busts also caught his eye. "I think I'm gonna have me some fun tonight," he said, winking at the dark haired woman.
Travis rolled his eyes. It was only at this stage that a tall and well built man headed by an entourage of neat and well dressed people made their way through the crowds. The man was dressed in a white shirt and dark trousers. He had long dark hair and a young yet hard face. Flanking him both sides were two beautiful women, one with brown hair and a long green dress and an oriental woman in a white dress. The most distinguishing feature about her was the dragon and tiger tatoo she wore across her right arm. The other people in his party were big men dressed in dark suits and dark shades to match. Bodyguards from what Thomas could see.
"Hey, dick white! That was quite a shoddy display you pulled back there," said the muscular, white shirted man. "You really think you are such a big deal just because you wear that belt around your waist".
"Mark Tudor," said Thomas ignoring the white shirted mans insult. He knew exactly who he was. Mark Tudor was a former wrestler, Ju-Jitsu champion turned Kickboxer and Britains top kickboxing champion. For months Thomas had been wanting to challenge Tudor to a title fight and he knew he had the power and ability to beat him. Tudor was just a hothead to Thomas, quick tempered and in Thomas's eyes's, easy to work up.
"I'm talking to you shithead!" shouted Mark Tudor. When Thomas ignored him, he shook his head in disbelief. "This guy really has his head shoved so far up his own arse!" he told his entourage. He went up closer to Thomas. "You really think you are something by trying to ignore me!?"
"I am something special unlike you Tudor," said Thomas as he signed another autograph. "Hope you are polishing that belt of yours well, because it will make a nice addition round my right shoulder".
One of Tudors heavies handed him his title belt. It was a lot bigger than Thomas's and was etched with diamonds round the edge. It shone brightly in the light and everyone in the foyer could see it was made of solid golg.
"The only way you are going to have this is by killing me which I doubt very much," spat Tudor. "Face it Thomas. You are a chump. You been fighting nobodies, has-beens. The kind of fighters that I can beat with both hands tied round my back. You think that fighter your manager imported from Thailand was someone real big. He was a has-been Thomas!"
"One of the best in Thailand," said Travis, leaping to Thomas's defence.
"Yeah sure he was," said Tudor. "But at 38 years of age, I wouldnt think he was now. He was retired in his home country and the only reason he was fighting was because that fat fuck of a manger you got, Angus Williams, paid him a lot of money to fight again. I could see that. Jeez Thomas, you really think you can fool your fans with this publicity stunt and make them think you are this real tough guy. Well lemme tell you this....you aint got shit!"
"He's got 21 wins and 15 knockouts!" shouted Travis. "And he is the local Stoke-On-Trent kickboxing champion who represents the whole of Staffordshire!".
Mark Tudor just laughed at this. "Yeah, a kickboxing chump who has fought has-beens. He has not been in a real fight his entire life!" He turned to the crowd who were now listening to him. "I've fought harder opponents than this fake! I wasnt the pampered champion they made him out to be! I had to claw and fight my way to get to where I am, and it makes me sick seeing arrogant guys like Thomas here wearing a title like that and thinking he is something! He's a fake and fraud and he's not even in my league! He gets in the ring with me, I'll expose him for the fraud he really is!"
Thomas finished signing another autograph and then let out a sigh of frustration. Mark Tudor was really starting to grate on his nerves so he turned to face the British champion.
"You name the place Tudor and I will be there," he told him "Hell, why wait. I'll fight you right now in that ring if it was not for this games stupid rules".
"My ring does not have to be the squared circle," said Tudor, squaring up to Thomas. "We could step outside right now and settle this".
Thomas grinned. He was neither shaken nor stirred by Tudors remarks. "You wanna street fight, fine, lets do it right now. No rules, just plain fist cuffs. Sounds good to me".
"But not me," barked a voice in the crowd.
Waddling and puffing his way through the crowds, Thomas's manager, Angus Williams came up to them. He wore a grey suit and white shirt which looked grey and dirty from sweat. He was balding and very big, round and fat and he had a large cigar in his mouth. He always looked to Thomas like Boss Hog from the TV series, The Dukes Of Hazard because of the gruff way he talked. From the look on his face, Thomas could see that he was not happy and it seemed evident that he had heard every word that had been said.
"Angus. Me and Tudor were just getting acquainted," joked Thomas.
"Yeah, and I am the fucking pope!" growled Angus as he came between the two fighters. "You two fucks need to act your fucking age! You are like two wrestlers bad mouthing each other! What do you think this is? The fucking WW fucking E? You want to take your big egos and join that circus of beefed up steroid freaks, then thats fucking fine by me. But here, this is a respectable sport and you act respectable!"
Mark Tudor huffed his frustration and looked away. Thomas remained light hearted and joking. "Hey, cmon Angus," he said, putting an arm round his small and fat manager. "What harm is a bit of squaring up going to do? The crowd loves it. It brings them in". He leaned forwards as if to whisper in his managers ear. "Cmon man. Get this fight arranged. I wanna stick that ego of his where the sun dosent shine".
Angus pushed Thomas away. "You secure that shit!" he warned Thomas. He adjusted his tie and then looked at both fighters either side of him, the look on his face indicating that he wanted to punch both fighters himself. "Okay, you will both get your fights but right now, get the fuck out of my sight, the fucking pair of ya!"
"You ain't my manager," said Tudor. "Deyton is!"
Angus puffed in his cigar and blew a cloud of smoke in Mark Tudors face, causing him to cough lightly at this. "You can tell Deyton he owes me fifty grand," he told Tudor. "He doesnt scare me nor do his cronies. The whole lot of yer are crooks down to the bone".
He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out an envelope which Thomas knew was full of money and gave it to him. "Here's your payment for the fight. Knock yourself out".
Without another word, Angus turned and headed back inside the sports arena.
Pocketing his prize winnings, Thomas smiled in satisfaction to himself and then turned to the doors of the foyer to leave. He loved the feeling of getting paid and he knew he was now grands richer. Now he could do whatever he wanted. He did not need to prove himself against Tudor, at least not yet.
"You are going down," Tudor threatened Thomas as he left with his brother. "Mark my words. Your next fight will be your last".