Well I finally got my fight up. I don't want to over sell it, but this may be the greatest fight ever. In the history of the world, since time began. You can look at it here;
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-AIenyS3iC8
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
The week in review
I've lost count of what week we're on, I think it's nine but sure, who cares?
Finally made it back to the gym on Friday, and it felt fantastic. Mentally. Physically, it felt as though I had been passed around a group of angry bear rapists, like currency. That's bears as in ursus, not well built, hairy gay guys, although I imagine the end result would have been about the same.
Was a bit pissed off earlier in the week, had two tuk tuk's in a row, trying to rip me off. I expect them to charge me over the odds but they were after 4 times the going rate. Needless to say, there was some rather colourful language exchanged, and Thai-Irish relations have been put back a few years. Still, a moral victory was scored, I feel. Anyway, after my heated exchange, I realised I hadn't eaten that day, so scored a hamburger and all was right with the world. God bless you Mike.
2 months or so of good living has definitely taken it's toll. Not on me, I feel great, but my wallet is looking like an emaciated intern at a certain camp near Auschwitz, circa 1944. Took a realistic assessment of my fortune and re-budgeted accordingly. I can still live here quiet comfortably, but have to reign in the more extravagant spending.
Spent Paddy's Day at an open air festival in the sticks. We were there to watch some of our guys fighting. All was going well until we stopped moving, then we were quickly surrounded by goofy yokels, who queued for quite some time, to take a turn ranting at the honkeys. Despite our numerous and frequent gestures to explain we couldn't speak a word of Thai, they persisted in talking feverishly and cackling to each other every time we pointed to our mouths and said mei-di. (I can't) It felt a lot like being a rock star, except of course, I had to buy my own beer, the beer was warm, and all our groupies were middle aged, and unattractive.
That's it for this week, I suppose.
Actually, hello to all of the people who read this blog who don't know me, you must be very bored. But thanks for reading anyway.
Finally made it back to the gym on Friday, and it felt fantastic. Mentally. Physically, it felt as though I had been passed around a group of angry bear rapists, like currency. That's bears as in ursus, not well built, hairy gay guys, although I imagine the end result would have been about the same.
Was a bit pissed off earlier in the week, had two tuk tuk's in a row, trying to rip me off. I expect them to charge me over the odds but they were after 4 times the going rate. Needless to say, there was some rather colourful language exchanged, and Thai-Irish relations have been put back a few years. Still, a moral victory was scored, I feel. Anyway, after my heated exchange, I realised I hadn't eaten that day, so scored a hamburger and all was right with the world. God bless you Mike.
2 months or so of good living has definitely taken it's toll. Not on me, I feel great, but my wallet is looking like an emaciated intern at a certain camp near Auschwitz, circa 1944. Took a realistic assessment of my fortune and re-budgeted accordingly. I can still live here quiet comfortably, but have to reign in the more extravagant spending.
Spent Paddy's Day at an open air festival in the sticks. We were there to watch some of our guys fighting. All was going well until we stopped moving, then we were quickly surrounded by goofy yokels, who queued for quite some time, to take a turn ranting at the honkeys. Despite our numerous and frequent gestures to explain we couldn't speak a word of Thai, they persisted in talking feverishly and cackling to each other every time we pointed to our mouths and said mei-di. (I can't) It felt a lot like being a rock star, except of course, I had to buy my own beer, the beer was warm, and all our groupies were middle aged, and unattractive.
That's it for this week, I suppose.
Actually, hello to all of the people who read this blog who don't know me, you must be very bored. But thanks for reading anyway.
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Avast, ye matey!
This week, I was going to do me 'ole blog like cap'n Jack Sparrah. But I don't know enough pirate jargon, so I'll just leave it there. Not much going on this week, as I've been resting my much sorer than I've been letting on ribs.
Had my good pal Tom over for a few days last week and we managed to hook up with our old mate, Mr. B, who sometimes hangs out at a bar in town. What a weird coincidence, eh? It was pretty cool having him here and it certainly did my reputation no harm to have half the village calling out to me and waving, like Rocky in the first few movies. In fairness, they use my nickname, poompui, so it is tantamount to coming out to the front of your shop and shouting 'hey, fatso', but it's still the attention, I so desperately crave. And so I, like every shopkeeper in South East Asia, was sad to see the back of Tom on Sunday night.
In scary news, I've read about a Swedish guy who is facing 75 years in prison for 'insulting the monarchy' 75 YEARS!!! He drew on some pictures of the King apparently. I have been wracking my brains for days, trying to put an amusing slant on this, that won't land me in jail until I'm 105. So here goes...The King and Queen, walk into a bar, where they meet an actress and a bishop. And they all behave in a manner, that befits there station. Not the funniest thing I've ever written but I'm not doing three quarters of a century for you assholes!!
That's about it really. Going back to the gym this afternoon so maybe something to talk about at the weekend.
Laters, me hearties!
Had my good pal Tom over for a few days last week and we managed to hook up with our old mate, Mr. B, who sometimes hangs out at a bar in town. What a weird coincidence, eh? It was pretty cool having him here and it certainly did my reputation no harm to have half the village calling out to me and waving, like Rocky in the first few movies. In fairness, they use my nickname, poompui, so it is tantamount to coming out to the front of your shop and shouting 'hey, fatso', but it's still the attention, I so desperately crave. And so I, like every shopkeeper in South East Asia, was sad to see the back of Tom on Sunday night.
In scary news, I've read about a Swedish guy who is facing 75 years in prison for 'insulting the monarchy' 75 YEARS!!! He drew on some pictures of the King apparently. I have been wracking my brains for days, trying to put an amusing slant on this, that won't land me in jail until I'm 105. So here goes...The King and Queen, walk into a bar, where they meet an actress and a bishop. And they all behave in a manner, that befits there station. Not the funniest thing I've ever written but I'm not doing three quarters of a century for you assholes!!
That's about it really. Going back to the gym this afternoon so maybe something to talk about at the weekend.
Laters, me hearties!
Friday, March 9, 2007
Saturday night's alright for fighting...
That's the only time I'll quote Elton John-I swear.
I came. I saw. I kicked his ass! Right so, where do I start? At the beginning I suppose.
So...when I was asked if I wanted a fight I told the promoter that I was still a bit out of shape and that I'd like to get more training done before I got in the ring. "That ok", he said. "No problem. He fat boy. Like you." Right. Thanks. You forgot to mention my body odour. Anyway, after a bit of cajoling from Tim, I agreed and started my fight prep. The promoter later added, that the Thai guy hadn't fought before.
As I said before, my ribs were a bit of concern, but the couple of days rest beforehand, settled them down quite a bit. There was still a bit of a twinge but I wasn't going to back out. Actually, the few days off were a bit mentally taxing. What else does a fighter with nothing else to do before a fight think about? Luckily for me, Tom Murphy was in town and did an excellent job of keeping my mind occupied. I suspected he might be, but didn't really mind, as it was working. I was nice and relaxed until I saw my fight poster in town, about six hours before the off.
Got to the stadium in due course and watched some of the warm up fights. First fight ended with a kid having his face sliced open by an elbow. Second fight was some sort of an eye injury. Jovan, one of the gym's seasoned veterans, a nice guy, and a real straight shooter says to me that I should get ready to warm up as it looked like a night of knock outs. Nice one. Cause I wasn't nervous enough.
During the warm up, my trainer was speaking Thai to some other guys around us, while he gave me a boxing liniment massage. There was a lot of giggling and the like and I tried not to let it eat my confidence. Actually they were laughing at how much oil my chest hair was soaking up. Then I heard Jovan taking to Tim, my corner man. He was going on about a fighter being switched and the new guy was heavier, fitter and more experienced than the guy who was meant to fight. Surely he couldn't mean my guy? Oh yes he could. Fortunately I didn't find out until after the fight. Although I had a sneaking suspicion when he got into the ring. A sleek looking dude, with a mean look to him. And far too relaxed to be a debutante.
I also had his corner asking me over and over, 'are you the fighter?', and laughing, then more girlish giggling at my shadow boxing and plenty of nudging and winking. Which, at first, started to destroy my confidence, but soon turned to rage, which I decided to bottle up for an explosion at a later date. Not much later, as it turned out.
I was a bit nervous by the time it came to go out but Tim had been talking to me and had settled my nerves and got me back in to focus, just as the adrenaline was threatening to embarrass me, all over the back of my pants.
Went out, did my Wai Kru and the match started. I got first touch with a nice kick to his body. That was a bit easier than I thought it would be. He answered with a kick to my arms that didn't hurt a bit. Until a half a second later. Then he landed one on my body which I registered but didn't feel, if you know what I mean. ( I can fucking feel it now, mind you) But I decided that I couldn't afford to let that happen again, so I started checking the kicks from then on. I remember landing a punch flush on the guys face, and he shot me a dirty look for my trouble. Then he stepped up his game a notch. He did land a very hard kick to my head, which made me go... ... ..., ok I'm still awake. He hit me hard although I checked it, but I remember mentally telling him that he had brought a fart to a shit fight, and stepped my own game up, several notches past his comfort zone. I went in hard with a couple of shots, we clinched and I was able to pull him around easily enough. I must admit to letting nerves get the better of me and I wasn't entirely sure what I should be doing. My mind had gone blanker than a retard's expression at a magic show. Then, like an alarm clock in the middle of a sex dream, Tim's voice cut through the haze, telling me to 'fucking knee him'. So I did, a couple of ineffectual ones to the body, and a beauty to the face. It didn't feel that hard to me, but he went down from it. I was expecting him to jump straight back up and was waiting to go for him again, but the ref started counting and Tim was shouting at me to wait in a neutral corner.
And that was more or less it. The ref came over, held up my hand, and walked me round the ring. Yay, me.
So, that was my first fight. First round knock out. I couldn't have hoped for a better result, to be honest. Well actually, I was hoping to kill him in the ring but I'll work on my death touch for another time.
To be honest, I did make a few mistakes, which I saw on the video, but I have something to work on for the next fight. I am also owed a bashing from Tim for dropping my guard, but he'll have to wait till Monday for his fun.
Oh and to the big fat faced, stupid ronnie moustached, girly laugh guy, I'd just like say;
INYOURFACE! SUCKA!
I came. I saw. I kicked his ass! Right so, where do I start? At the beginning I suppose.
So...when I was asked if I wanted a fight I told the promoter that I was still a bit out of shape and that I'd like to get more training done before I got in the ring. "That ok", he said. "No problem. He fat boy. Like you." Right. Thanks. You forgot to mention my body odour. Anyway, after a bit of cajoling from Tim, I agreed and started my fight prep. The promoter later added, that the Thai guy hadn't fought before.
As I said before, my ribs were a bit of concern, but the couple of days rest beforehand, settled them down quite a bit. There was still a bit of a twinge but I wasn't going to back out. Actually, the few days off were a bit mentally taxing. What else does a fighter with nothing else to do before a fight think about? Luckily for me, Tom Murphy was in town and did an excellent job of keeping my mind occupied. I suspected he might be, but didn't really mind, as it was working. I was nice and relaxed until I saw my fight poster in town, about six hours before the off.
Got to the stadium in due course and watched some of the warm up fights. First fight ended with a kid having his face sliced open by an elbow. Second fight was some sort of an eye injury. Jovan, one of the gym's seasoned veterans, a nice guy, and a real straight shooter says to me that I should get ready to warm up as it looked like a night of knock outs. Nice one. Cause I wasn't nervous enough.
During the warm up, my trainer was speaking Thai to some other guys around us, while he gave me a boxing liniment massage. There was a lot of giggling and the like and I tried not to let it eat my confidence. Actually they were laughing at how much oil my chest hair was soaking up. Then I heard Jovan taking to Tim, my corner man. He was going on about a fighter being switched and the new guy was heavier, fitter and more experienced than the guy who was meant to fight. Surely he couldn't mean my guy? Oh yes he could. Fortunately I didn't find out until after the fight. Although I had a sneaking suspicion when he got into the ring. A sleek looking dude, with a mean look to him. And far too relaxed to be a debutante.
I also had his corner asking me over and over, 'are you the fighter?', and laughing, then more girlish giggling at my shadow boxing and plenty of nudging and winking. Which, at first, started to destroy my confidence, but soon turned to rage, which I decided to bottle up for an explosion at a later date. Not much later, as it turned out.
I was a bit nervous by the time it came to go out but Tim had been talking to me and had settled my nerves and got me back in to focus, just as the adrenaline was threatening to embarrass me, all over the back of my pants.
Went out, did my Wai Kru and the match started. I got first touch with a nice kick to his body. That was a bit easier than I thought it would be. He answered with a kick to my arms that didn't hurt a bit. Until a half a second later. Then he landed one on my body which I registered but didn't feel, if you know what I mean. ( I can fucking feel it now, mind you) But I decided that I couldn't afford to let that happen again, so I started checking the kicks from then on. I remember landing a punch flush on the guys face, and he shot me a dirty look for my trouble. Then he stepped up his game a notch. He did land a very hard kick to my head, which made me go... ... ..., ok I'm still awake. He hit me hard although I checked it, but I remember mentally telling him that he had brought a fart to a shit fight, and stepped my own game up, several notches past his comfort zone. I went in hard with a couple of shots, we clinched and I was able to pull him around easily enough. I must admit to letting nerves get the better of me and I wasn't entirely sure what I should be doing. My mind had gone blanker than a retard's expression at a magic show. Then, like an alarm clock in the middle of a sex dream, Tim's voice cut through the haze, telling me to 'fucking knee him'. So I did, a couple of ineffectual ones to the body, and a beauty to the face. It didn't feel that hard to me, but he went down from it. I was expecting him to jump straight back up and was waiting to go for him again, but the ref started counting and Tim was shouting at me to wait in a neutral corner.
And that was more or less it. The ref came over, held up my hand, and walked me round the ring. Yay, me.
So, that was my first fight. First round knock out. I couldn't have hoped for a better result, to be honest. Well actually, I was hoping to kill him in the ring but I'll work on my death touch for another time.
To be honest, I did make a few mistakes, which I saw on the video, but I have something to work on for the next fight. I am also owed a bashing from Tim for dropping my guard, but he'll have to wait till Monday for his fun.
Oh and to the big fat faced, stupid ronnie moustached, girly laugh guy, I'd just like say;
INYOURFACE! SUCKA!
Tuesday, March 6, 2007
I love the calm moments before the storm
Think Gary Oldman in Leon.
So, I've finished training and am now resting up before the fight. I still have to learn the ritual dance called the Wai Kru, but that won't be hard.
Woke up this morning with a bit of pain in the ribs and thought about postponing the fight. When I got to the gym, Tim and Noom suggested the same thing. Now, as anyone who knows me will tell you, the most sure way of getting me to do something, is suggest that I might not have the strength or willpower to do it. It's macho insecurity on a base level, but it works for me. So, I told them in no uncertain terms that the fight would be going ahead as planned.
During my afternoon nap, I thought about it and decided that I would rest for 24 hours and decide then. So when I returned to the gym, I was greeted with flyers with my picture on them. They must have got my picture from the 'gay pride disco rejects' web site. I have that Glenda Gilson look of surprise on my face, some silver lamme shorts, not unlike Elvis' jumpsuit and what look like those oversize novelty gloves you give to retarded kids so they can't pick up anything sharp, pointy or poisonous. That being said, I'm still a handsome motherfucker. Anyway, I explain my master plan to Tim, assuring him, that 48 hours of rest will definitely be enough. He points at the flyers and says "That's good buddy. Cause it's too late now" And with that, the die was cast. So fuck it. In there like swimwear, and all that. And if I die in the ring, I'll die doing something I love. Just like one of my late heroes, Steve Irwin. N.B. Steve Irwin was that Australian naturalist who loved being stabbed by fish.
Also some good/bad news, got a camera so there will be some pictures up soon. Actually got a camera a while ago, but I've only got round to reading to instruction book. And blog pictures are much better than real pictures, because you don't have to let on you care about the mind numbingly dull life your friends lead. Or what utterly banal and meaningless building they were able to get 37 separate shots of, at various angles. Pictures that would suggest that their trip was not in fact fascinating, but one as depressing as an eastenders Christmas special during a funeral. But I digress.
Got a massage from one of the trainers on Sunday, and again today. Done with boxing liniment, which is a lot like the bastard child of deep heat and chilli oil. And the heart of the sun. Fuck, the pain was everywhere. Especially bad were the armpits and the open cuts all over my body. I imagine my suffering to be like that monk in Vietnam. And just like him, no one really took any notice of my burning body.
So that's about it I guess. Next post will be after the fight in which I'll either be saying "I am the champions" (like the queen song, but more self indulgent) or "that fucking ref was bribed".
Talk to you all soon....
So, I've finished training and am now resting up before the fight. I still have to learn the ritual dance called the Wai Kru, but that won't be hard.
Woke up this morning with a bit of pain in the ribs and thought about postponing the fight. When I got to the gym, Tim and Noom suggested the same thing. Now, as anyone who knows me will tell you, the most sure way of getting me to do something, is suggest that I might not have the strength or willpower to do it. It's macho insecurity on a base level, but it works for me. So, I told them in no uncertain terms that the fight would be going ahead as planned.
During my afternoon nap, I thought about it and decided that I would rest for 24 hours and decide then. So when I returned to the gym, I was greeted with flyers with my picture on them. They must have got my picture from the 'gay pride disco rejects' web site. I have that Glenda Gilson look of surprise on my face, some silver lamme shorts, not unlike Elvis' jumpsuit and what look like those oversize novelty gloves you give to retarded kids so they can't pick up anything sharp, pointy or poisonous. That being said, I'm still a handsome motherfucker. Anyway, I explain my master plan to Tim, assuring him, that 48 hours of rest will definitely be enough. He points at the flyers and says "That's good buddy. Cause it's too late now" And with that, the die was cast. So fuck it. In there like swimwear, and all that. And if I die in the ring, I'll die doing something I love. Just like one of my late heroes, Steve Irwin. N.B. Steve Irwin was that Australian naturalist who loved being stabbed by fish.
Also some good/bad news, got a camera so there will be some pictures up soon. Actually got a camera a while ago, but I've only got round to reading to instruction book. And blog pictures are much better than real pictures, because you don't have to let on you care about the mind numbingly dull life your friends lead. Or what utterly banal and meaningless building they were able to get 37 separate shots of, at various angles. Pictures that would suggest that their trip was not in fact fascinating, but one as depressing as an eastenders Christmas special during a funeral. But I digress.
Got a massage from one of the trainers on Sunday, and again today. Done with boxing liniment, which is a lot like the bastard child of deep heat and chilli oil. And the heart of the sun. Fuck, the pain was everywhere. Especially bad were the armpits and the open cuts all over my body. I imagine my suffering to be like that monk in Vietnam. And just like him, no one really took any notice of my burning body.
So that's about it I guess. Next post will be after the fight in which I'll either be saying "I am the champions" (like the queen song, but more self indulgent) or "that fucking ref was bribed".
Talk to you all soon....
Thursday, March 1, 2007
Week Five and Six
Well faithful readers and bored net junkies, you may have noticed that there was no post last week. This was due to me being a bit lazy, but mostly it was down to me thinking I would have to cancel the fight due to my ribs.
Last week was a total write off. Did fuck all training, mostly just ate drugs from the hot pharmacy chick. I reached the stage last week where I would take any drug, no matter how dangerous, if I thought there would be any benefit. Now, those who know me longest may realise that I reached that stage years ago, if you substitute the word buzz for benefit. But that was the old me. Now it's all clean living. Honest...... Suckers.
Well, if last week was a write off, then this week was a right on. Mickey moused around a bit Monday morning, gave the ribs a bit of a twang, but for some unknown reason the pain was mostly gone by Tuesday afternoon and I hit the ground running. Both literally and figuratively. So fight prep is back on track and I'm set to knock this fuckers lights out. Getting better has really got me out of the funk I was in. Who'd have thought I'd want to fight so bad? Well, my counsellor obviously, and all those kids I bullied in school, but who else?
So, other news, let's see. Went to a very cool bar in town last week. Got a bit of a shock when a behemoth came over to talk to me, then noticed it was just a woman who had never seen the bottom of a salad bowl in her life. Honest to god. Venus, in a blond wig with lipstick smeared in the appropriate places. That's the planet Venus, mind you.
"Fancy a bucket?", she asked. I had to get her to repeat it a few times, just to be sure I wasn't agreeing to something I would later regret. Yes, definitely a bucket. "What's that?", why it's like a normal drink, but it's served in a bucket with a load of straws. I get the idea, but seriously love, a bucket? Any consumable item that is served in a bucket lends a certain amount of bad publicity to the consumer. Now if that consumer looks like she never met a chocolatey dessert she didn't like...Basically, a bucket is the very last stage before they are serving you in a trough. You fat bitch. You fat, fat bitch.
Then on our way home we thought about writing a series of travel guides for the, *ahem* modern gentleman. It will not be like other travel guides that tell you about the history of the place, and the things to see before they are spoiled by tourism. Oh no. It will basically be a list of all the steakhouses and brothels. We are going to call it: 'Desperately Lonely Planet.'
Last week was a total write off. Did fuck all training, mostly just ate drugs from the hot pharmacy chick. I reached the stage last week where I would take any drug, no matter how dangerous, if I thought there would be any benefit. Now, those who know me longest may realise that I reached that stage years ago, if you substitute the word buzz for benefit. But that was the old me. Now it's all clean living. Honest...... Suckers.
Well, if last week was a write off, then this week was a right on. Mickey moused around a bit Monday morning, gave the ribs a bit of a twang, but for some unknown reason the pain was mostly gone by Tuesday afternoon and I hit the ground running. Both literally and figuratively. So fight prep is back on track and I'm set to knock this fuckers lights out. Getting better has really got me out of the funk I was in. Who'd have thought I'd want to fight so bad? Well, my counsellor obviously, and all those kids I bullied in school, but who else?
So, other news, let's see. Went to a very cool bar in town last week. Got a bit of a shock when a behemoth came over to talk to me, then noticed it was just a woman who had never seen the bottom of a salad bowl in her life. Honest to god. Venus, in a blond wig with lipstick smeared in the appropriate places. That's the planet Venus, mind you.
"Fancy a bucket?", she asked. I had to get her to repeat it a few times, just to be sure I wasn't agreeing to something I would later regret. Yes, definitely a bucket. "What's that?", why it's like a normal drink, but it's served in a bucket with a load of straws. I get the idea, but seriously love, a bucket? Any consumable item that is served in a bucket lends a certain amount of bad publicity to the consumer. Now if that consumer looks like she never met a chocolatey dessert she didn't like...Basically, a bucket is the very last stage before they are serving you in a trough. You fat bitch. You fat, fat bitch.
Then on our way home we thought about writing a series of travel guides for the, *ahem* modern gentleman. It will not be like other travel guides that tell you about the history of the place, and the things to see before they are spoiled by tourism. Oh no. It will basically be a list of all the steakhouses and brothels. We are going to call it: 'Desperately Lonely Planet.'
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