If this was meant to cheer Danny up, it didn’t. It only seemed to bring on the nervous gravity of the occasion.
“The boy needs some time, Tommy,” said Patsy, ushering Costa out of the room. “We’ll see you out there, all right?”
Costa reluctantly left and Danny’s warm-up began. Hitting pads and skipping ropes, Albert reminded Danny of tactics while Patsy worked on his confidence.
“You’re looking sharp, son. You’re moving well. Keep going, that’s it, that’s good.”
The Watson-Davies fight was top of the bill. Patsy was bandaging Danny’s hands in readiness when the fight official came in.
“Ten minutes please, gentlemen.”
A flow of adrenalin shot through Danny’s veins. He sought reassurance from his father’s medal, which he had placed inside his sports bag, taking it out and turning it over in his fingers.
“You’re gonna win this,” said Lenny. “Make your father proud. Go well, I’ll see you after.”
The official returned as Lenny headed out to find his ringside seat. “Time to go,” he said in a matter-of-fact way.
Danny kissed the medal for bravery and followed Albert and Patsy into the crowded auditorium.
Cohen had laid on a bit of showbiz for the gladiators’ entrances, with spotlights blazing and fanfares sounding. The crowd rose to its feet to greet them. As the lesser-known and the undoubted underdog, Danny entered first. “Danny! Danny!” echoed around the hall as he walked with Albert and Patsy through the crowd, flanked by security men.
Danny and Patsy entered the ring. Albert stood by Danny’s corner. Danny went through some shadow-boxing moves and waited for the Dragon’s entrance. He didn’t have to wait for long.
“Dragon! Dragon! Dragon!”
In the Dragon came, led on by a Welsh flag held high by one of his entourage. The noise of the crowd rose in a deafening crescendo as Davies, his trainer and cut-man bounced into the ring.
The referee called both fighters together.
“A nice clean fight, no holding, eight four-minute rounds, clear?”
Danny heard the instructions, but was intent on looking the Dragon straight in the eye. He was not going to be intimidated like at the weigh-in.
But this time Danny saw a different look in the ageing warrior’s eyes. The cockiness had gone. In its place there was a flicker of guilt, a look of resigned sadness.
The boxers returned to their corners. With a few last words of encouragement, the announcement of “Seconds out!” rattled the speakers in the smoke-filled room and, with a roar from the crowd, the battle commenced.
Danny did as he was instructed, keeping a good distance from the Dragon and using his longer reach. But the explosion of violence from the Dragon that Danny and his camp had expected was more like a damp squib.
Round one went by without much drama. Danny landed a few jabs and the Dragon hit Danny with a decent body shot. Honours were even as the fighters felt each other out.
Round two was more of the same. Danny felt surprised at the Dragon’s lack of aggression. The crowd, who had paid good money to watch some decent action, were beginning to get restless.
“Time to change tactics,” Patsy said in the break between rounds two and three. “Stop back-pedalling now and go on the offensive, all right? We need this fight to catch fire.”
Danny settled in his gum shield as the bell for round three rang out. He went straight on the offensive, pushing the Dragon round the ring with a barrage of quick jabs. The Dragon answered back with a few wayward haymakers that were easy for Danny to avoid. The crowd were becoming more and more frustrated by the lack of action, and a few boos began to resonate around the room.
At the end of round three, Patsy and Albert were right in Danny’s face.
“You’re ahead Danny, keep it going!” said Albert.
“Yeah, same again!” said Patsy.
Round four started. Now on the front foot, Danny was definitely the aggressor, and the Dragon was backing off, dropping his guard and bouncing off the ropes. Danny pushed forward, relentlessly forcing his opponent into his own corner. It looked like the Dragon was indeed struggling, when a straight right from Danny hit him fair and square, smack on the chin.
The Dragon went down like a pack of cards.
“One, two, three, four…” the referee counted as the Dragon lay still on the canvas.
The crowd, who had initially greeted the knock-down with stunned surprise, started getting vocal. Amid the cheers from Danny’s followers were boos of derision from most of the rest.
“…eight, nine, ten!” counted the ref.
That was it. Danny had beaten the ex-champ, knocking him out for the very first time in his illustrious career.
There was joy in the ring. Albert and Patsy lifted Danny on to their shoulders. Lenny clambered into the ring to celebrate.
But in the hall, pandemonium had broken loose. Boos were ringing out, chairs were being thrown. The Dragon’s followers were frustrated and angry because of the lack of fight in their man.
The referee lifted Danny’s arm. “And the winner is… Danny Watson!”
A mass of derision and boos greeted the decision. The crowd’s reaction confused Danny. He’d won fair and square. He had knocked out the legendary Dragon.
“What’s all this about?” he shouted at Patsy as the noise level continued to rise. “I won, didn’t I?”
“They’re just bad losers,” Patsy shouted back, leading Danny out of the ring, away from the fracas and back to the safety of the changing room.
Grinning broadly, Cohen and Costa were waiting for Danny with a bottle of champagne.
“Brilliant, Danny boy,” said Costa, kissing Danny on the cheek.
“You gave him a boxing lesson,” agreed Cohen.
“But what about the crowd?” said Danny, still stunned by the reaction.
“Don’t you worry about that,” Costa soothed. “Bad losers, those Welsh gits.”
The wonderful reality of winning started flowing through Danny. So much had rested on the result, and he had come through. He had actually won.
Costa cracked open the champagne with a flourish. So much of a flourish that it looked for a moment as if he would spray the crowded dressing room with it the way racing drivers did. But in the nick of time, he poured the fizzing liquid into some plastic glasses instead.
“To the future,” he toasted, handing the glasses out.
“To the future!”
Albert stood quietly to one side, watching the others drinking champagne and laughing. He felt troubled. He was a wise old fighter, and he’d seen that the Dragon had had no fire in his belly. Davies had not come to fight.
He watched Danny’s face as he tasted champagne for the very first time. The boy’s happiness radiated around the room. Albert decided that, if this was indeed a hollow victory, he was in no way going to let on. To put a damper on Danny’s great night would be wrong. Best to enjoy the surprise win and keep his reservations to himself.
Lenny, merry and a little drunk after several glasses of champagne, went to bring the car round. As the team left York Hall, congratulations and handshakes followed Danny to the waiting car.
“How about that then?” said Danny jubilantly as Lenny drove them home. “How about bloody that?”
Lenny broke into a tuneless calypso about cricket from Whitechapel to the Blackwall Tunnel. Patsy, not to be outdone, attempted a chorus of something Irish about Galway Bay. Albert just sat, quietly piecing parts of the jigsaw together.
We have invested heavily in Danny…
I think the odds are stacked in your boy’s favour. Know what I mean?
By the time they reached the Bristows’ house, Albert had come to the conclusion that the fight had indeed been fixed.