TMS Lockwood/Matis: Amigo Brothers

They had known each other since childhood, growing up on the lower east side of Manhattan in the same tenement building on Fifth Street between Avenue A and Avenue B. Antonio was fair, lean, and lanky, while Felix was dark, short, and husky.

They had known each other since childhood, growing up on the lower east side of Manhattan in the same tenement building on Fifth Street between Avenue A and Avenue B. Antonio was fair, lean, and lanky, while Felix was dark, short, and husky.

If asked a question about any given fighter, they would immediately zip out from their memory banks divisions, weights, records of fights, knockouts, technical knockouts, and draws or losses.

Each had fought many bouts representing their community and had won two gold-plated medals plus a silver and bronze medallion.

Now, after a series of elimination bouts, they had been informed that they were to meet each other in the division finals that were scheduled for the seventh of August, two weeks away—the winner to represent the Boys Club in the Golden Gloves Championship Tournament.

They fooled around with a few jabs at the air, slapped skin, and then took off, running lightly along the dirty East River’s edge.

Antonio glanced at Felix, who kept his eyes purposely straight ahead, pausing from time to time to do some fancy leg work while throwing one-twos followed by upper cuts to an imaginary jaw.

Antonio then beat the air with a barrage of body blows and short devastating lefts with an overhand, jawbreaking right.

Antonio then beat the air with a barrage of body blows and short devastating lefts with an overhand, jawbreaking right.

It was not natural to be acting as though nothing unusual was happening when two ace boon buddies were going to be blasting . . . each other within a few short days.

Although they kept out of each other’s way, they were aware of each other’s progress via the ghetto grapevine.

Six stories below, the lights of the city blinked, and the sounds of cars mingled with the curses and the laughter of children in the street.

The champ hunched his shoulders, grunting and sniffing red blood back into his broken nose.

Antonio’s face, superimposed on the screen, was shattered and split apart by the awesome force of the killer blow.

The champ had to be forcibly restrained.

The challenger was allowed to crumble slowly to the canvas, a broken, bloody mess.

Felix did a last shuffle, bobbing and weaving, while letting loose a torrent of blows that would demolish whatever got in its way.

Felix did a last shuffle, bobbing and weaving, while letting loose a torrent of blows that would demolish whatever got in its way.

How would the fight tomorrow affect his relationship with Felix?

A gnawing doubt crept in.

The night air was blurred with perpetual motions of left hooks and right crosses.

Antonio’s fans bet with unbridled faith in his boxing skills.

Antonio thought he caught a glimpse of Felix waving to him from a room at the far end of the corridor.

The loudspeakers blared into the open window of the school.

There were speeches by dignitaries, community leaders, and great boxers of yesteryear.

Some were well prepared, some improvised on the spot.

They all carried the same message of great pleasure and honor at being part of such a historic event.

This great day was in the tradition of champions emerging from the streets of the lower east side.

The announcer spoke slowly, pleased at his bilingual efforts.

If Felix had any small doubt about their friendship affecting their fight, it was being neatly dispelled.

Bedlam broke loose as Felix’s legs momentarily buckled.

He knew Felix had the habit of playing possum when hurt, to sucker an opponent within reach of the powerful bombs he carried in each fist.

Antonio, groggy, bobbed and weaved, evading most of the blows Suddenly his head cleared.

Antonio, groggy, bobbed and weaved, evading most of the blows Suddenly his head cleared.

Felix braced himself but couldn’t ward off the barrage of punches.

Felix braced himself but couldn’t ward off the barrage of punches.

Felix tapped his gloves and commenced his attack anew.

The sounds of their blows were loud in contrast to the silence of a crowd gone completely mute.

The fear soon gave way to wave upon wave of cheering as the two amigos embraced.

The winner and representative to the Golden Gloves Tournament of Champions is .