Boxing With Betty
By: Beaten Man   Replies to humbled@abeatenman.com 
Her and I were the last to fight


I have a bit of a confession to make. There's a good reason I know so much
about what goes on with Ray and his wife Peg. I'm one of Peg's four brothers.
If Ray would have just asked me before he ever climbed into the ring with her
I could have saved him quite a few bruises. My dad is a tough old Korean war
vet and when we were growing up he made damned sure we all knew how to defend
ourselves. In my house from the time you were six years old until you moved
out any arguments were settled by putting on the gloves. No one had those
gloves on more than Peg.

Peg is almost eight years older than me so I was never able to give her much
of a fight but our older brother and her used to have some real wars. He was a
year older than her and a lot bigger. She was quick and tough as nails. Their
matches were events attended by the whole family. My two other brothers are a
year and two years younger than me respectively and we used to have some
pretty good fights ourselves, but nothing compared to the wars Peg and Peter
had.. More often than not she would get the better of Pete. I've seen Ray box,
he's not bad but he's not in Pegs league. Like I said, he should have asked.

But this isn't really about Peg or Ray, this is about me.

Last year for the summer the five of us met at our fathers and mothers house
in Denver to have an old fashioned family fourth of July. All of us were there
from around the country with our wives, girlfriends or in Peg's case, husband.
I was the onlyone withou a wife or girlfriend. We all spent the long weekend
eating too much and reminiscing about the "good old days" as kids.

My dad got to talking about the boxing matches we used to have and how he
missed refereeing for us since we all grew up and left home. He asked if we
were keeping ourselves in fighting trim.

Peg voluntered as to how she and Ray were boxing twice a week at the YMCA and
my two younger brothers both claimed to still be boxing on occassion. Pete and
I both had to confess to getting soft and slacking off, in our "old age" , as
Pete put it.

He could get away with it, he's 48. Since I'm only 38 I had to listen to a
lecture on staying fit from my dad. Even though I told him that I was in the
gym three times a week he still insisted that man who didn't fight was a man
who couldn't fight.

Peg, the ever dutiful daughter, said that us kids ought to give dad a last
chance to referee a few rounds of boxing between his children. She said he was
getting on and we were all getting older. Since that was the first time in
eight years we had all gotten together with our parents at the same time, it
didn't seem so far fetched that it might be the last time we'd get the chance.
My dad looked twenty years younger when we told him we needed him to referee a
few rounds of boxing between us.

It was hotter than blazes outside and we were all in bathing suits, pretty
much ready to start. All our old matches as kids were held in the fenced in
back yard. We didn't have a ring or anything, just a corner of the yard
against the fence. On the two sides of our imaginary ring that were open dad
would put rope on the ground that we weren't supposed to cross. We would box
on the grass so we were always barefoot. We all just headed outside and chose
our opponents.

My two younger brothers, Jason and Jeremy, were to start things off followed
by Peg and Pete. Then I would box Peg's husband Ray since we were short one
sibling for a third match. Ray and I are almost the same height and weight.
We're both about six feet tall and we both weigh about 190 or so. Dad got out
our old round timer and the two sets of ten ounce gloves we had used as kids.
We were ready to begin the matches.

The entire family crowded around the makeshift ring as Jason and Jeremy
squared off. Besides my parents, myself, Peg and Ray there were Jeremy's wife
Paula, Jasons wife Marie and Petes new girlfriend Betty. My brother Jason is
36 and Jeremy is 37, they fought a tough five round draw. They went at it like
it was a title fight in each of the three minute rounds, standing toe to toe
and slugging it out. Their wifes went inside after the second round
complaining that they didn't want to see their husbands beating the hell out
of each other. Betty, however, was spellbound by the action and really seemed
to enjoy watching them fight. My dad was in seventh heaven as he refereed the
spirited match.

When my younger brothers were finished Pete and Peg laced on the gloves and
took their places in the imaginary ring. Their fight was really short and a
big disappointment. Pete had gotten fat and was terribly out of shape, even
for a man of 49. He probably hadn't had the gloves on in 25 years. Peg pounded
him like a drum for about sixty seconds and he quit in disgust. Even Peg was
disappointed that it didn't go longer. My dad was really upset at Petes poor
showing, bemoaning the fact that the bout didn't even go one round.

So six rounds into the family tournament it was my turn. Ray and I put the
gloves on and stepped into the ring area. As soon as we faced each other Ray
announced that his nose had recently been broken in a fight and he was in
training for some sort of tournament. I was not to hit him in the face. To
make sure I didn't he wanted his head to be off limits. I refused to box under
such a handicap and asked instead that he be replaced by one of my brothers.
Jason and Jeremy had beaten each other up so badly that neither were in shape
to fight and Pete said he had boxed for the last time in his life. Peg was
about to take Rays place when a voice from the back said. I'd like a chance to
try boxing. The voice had a heavy hillbilly drawl and belonged to Petes
girlfriend Betty.

We all turned to look at her in stunned silence. It was the first time any of
us had really noticed her. She had short straight light blond hair she wore
brushed straight back and she didn't wear any makeup on her weather beaten
face. She was wearing a dark blue bikini and had kind of smallish boobs and
not much ass to speak of... She was an inch or so taller than Peg, maybe 5ft 8
or 9 , but she couldn't have weighed more than 120 pounds. Where my sister was
big boned and sturdy this girl was thin. She had hardly any meat on her at
all. What muscle she had was long and lean, like a swimmer, even her legs were
thin. There was no way this girl was going to be able to take a punch we all
thought. There was no place for her to absorb the blow. Her stomach was flat
and looked hard but she was so narrow it was difficult to believe there was
any muscle there. She was built more like a fashion model than a fighter. It
was really difficult imagining her mixing it up in a boxing match. It wasn't
that she didn't have muscle, she did but they were like two large golf balls
when she flexed her arms for us., there wasn't anything else exept skin and
bone

She said if we let Peg go at it we should let her. My dad asked if she knew
how to box. She said she had never worn gloves but used to go at it bare
fisted all the time with her brothers and their friends where she came from.
Where she came from turned out to be some little town in Arkansas the ended in
hollow. Like moosehollow or beaverhollow. Something like that. .

She had drifted to Mobile, Alabama where my brother Pete worked and was a
thirty seven year old stock clerk in the warehouse of the company he managed.
They had been living as a couple for the passed year. Pete volunteered that
she was good and strong and did the work of any two other woman that worked in
the warehouse. I suggested he box with her. Since Pete was up to about 280 he
felt that he was way too big. Then I suggested Peg but Betty wanted no part of
her after what she'd seen Peg do to Pete. Great, I thought, she'll box with me
but not my sister who I outweigh by forty pounds.

Then my father who didn't want to see his referee's role come to an end said,
sure, John would love to box with you. I would I thought?. I'm a half a head
taller and outweigh her by over seventy pounds. And though I hadn't done much
boxing in years I had plenty of background in it. I just didn't see how it
would be fair and it certainly wouldn't be competitive. But by then everyone
was saying come on John give her a chance and let the little lady have a shot.
Peg and my brothers were having a great time goading me into boxing with her.
Finally I agreed and motioned her to come on into the "ring"

She came on up, laced on the gloves, and started to move around to warm up.
Her punches looked fine as she shadow boxed but it didn't appear that she had
any training when it came to defense. She held her hands so that her fists
were lower than. her chin on either side of her head, actually right off her
shoulders. Her elbows were down but they weren't tucked in front of her body.
If she stood like that after the bell rang both her head and her stomach would
be wide open. If she had any hopes of winning a boxing match it certainly
wouldn't be because of her defense. Her shadow boxing failed to reveal any
footwork or dancing ability either. This was going to be a slaughter and I
told my brother Pete he needed to get her out of the ring before I hurt her.
He just laughed and said a good whuppin was what she'd been needing anyhow.

She indicated that she was ready and Peg rang the bell to start round one.

Other than Peg I had never boxed with a woman and I was a bit hesitant about
hitting her. She was so thin I was afraid I might break her. To be fair and
give her a chance I just stood with my hands up and waited to see what she
would do. She threw two punches one behind the other. The first one was a left
jab which she threw into my chest, the second a follow up right at my head.
The jab I hardly felt but the right which landed above my left eye stung. The
lady had, at least in her right hand, some punching power and she wasn't shy
about throwing her fists. I felt a little better as I tightened my stance and
prepared to hit her.

She surprised me when I brought my hands in. She started to throw wild
roundhouses at my arms. As I brought my arms in closer to protect the sides of
my head she just continued swinging, hitting my shoulders and even my back and
the back of my head as I rolled up tighter to protect myself. I kept peeking
out at her between my gloves until she finally tired and backed off. I was
embarassed at having stood like a statue while she swung at me for a full
minute and now I was going to make her pay. She tried to jab at my face and
was short. I jabbed over her jab and hit her in the cheek. She brought her
hands up and I punched her in the stomach with my right. I wasn't winging the
punches in but they were hard enough to give her something to think about. She
didn't alter her stance so I kept on hitting her with light jabs to her face
and medium punches to her gut. I brought them in alternating the lefts to her
head with the rights to her stomach. She kept moving back until she was
against the fence. Then she curled up bringing both her fists in front of her
face with her elbows down at her stomach. I had nothing to hit so I backed up
to let her off the fence. Again she threw her left and right, this time both
to my stomach. And this time they both hurt. When I covered up she started
throwing the wild windmill style punches at my arms again. I watched her
between my gloves and when she hesitated I let her have a hard one in the
stomach. She doubled over and went down on her hands and knees. I backed away
and dad began to count. He got to about two and she popped right up and ran at
me throwing the windmill punches. She got one in to my head and I covered up.
Peg rang the timer a second later.

We didn't have any place to sit between rounds so we both leaned against the
fence as we waited for the next round. It was really a scorching day and we
were both already dripping wet. We were grateful as hell when Ray brought us
each a bottle of cold water. I looked at her while she drank. She was already
bruised on her face and she had some welts from the punches to the stomach. I
couldn't believe this would go more than one more round. After all I could hit
her whenever I wanted.

As I was deciding how hard to hit her the bell rang for the 2nd round.

She moved right in and started throwing punches from all directions. She must
have thrown two dozen punches in all. One got through to my jaw and two more
got to my stomach. The rest just bounced of my arms and shoulders. When she
stopped punching I I started back hitting her first to the face and then to
the stomach. Upstairs and downstairs, I kept hitting her for the rest of the
round. She just kept backing away and attempting to cover herself. I must have
hit her thirty times in the round. I had her trapped in the corner of the
fence when Peg rang the bell. I don't know about Betty but was glad to hear
it. I was exhausted from hitting her so many times.

As we lounged against the fence I asked her if she'd had enough. She now had a
bloody nose and even more bruises on her face and body, I couldn't believe she
would want to keep getting hit like that. Not only did she say she was fine,
but she said I could start hitting her hard any time I was ready. I had been
holding back some particularly with the jabs to he face but the stomach
punches were thrown plenty hard. She must have had a board for a stomach. I
told her it was her funeral just as Peg rang the bell.

By now we both looked as if we had just stepped out of the sauna. We were
drenched in sweat and we both were breathing pretty hard. She was wiping the
sweat from her eye when I hit her in the cheek just below the glove that was
wiping the sweat. She sat down hard. Before my dad could even start to count
she was up and winging punches at me. Her first punch caught me on the chin so
I brought my arms together to protect my face. She started burying punches in
my stomach like a machine gun. I have a pretty hard gut but by about the
fifteenth punch I was running low on wind so I brought my elbows down to
protect my middle. She went back after my head and I curled up in a defensive
shell.after she'd hit me twice in the face. From there she just kept throwing
wild roundhouses at my arms for at least a minute as I tried to move away from
her still in my shell. When her punches finally stopped I saw her standing in
front of me and breathing real hard. She'd punched herself into exhaustion. My
arms were plenty sore but not to sore to hit her. I started jabbing at her
head and by about the third one she was in full retreat with her hands in
front of her face. I went back to the body and kept punching until her back
was against the fence. Along the fence she curled up and I stepped back. As
soon as I stepped back she started throwing punches again from all angles. She
hit me twice in the nose and about three times in the stomach as I moved back.
I missed her badly with my own wild roundhouse and then the bell sounded.

I was exhausted as I leaned on the fence and gulped some water. It didn't seem
to matter how many times I hit her. As soon as I would stop punching she would
come at me like a buzzsaw. I didn't think she hit particularly hard, nothing
like Peg for instance, but the cummulative effect was still pain. My arms were
particularly sore and felt like they weighed two hundred pounds each. Both of
us now had bloody noses and mouths and bruises on our faces. I was in awe of
how much punishment her skinny body could absorb. I wasn't sure how much
longer I could go in the heat and resolved to take her out the next time I
started landing punches. I now had too much respect for her to play games
anymore. Just then the bell sounded for round four.

She tried to jab at my face, I pulled my head back and jabbed above her jab
twice. Both jabs caught her high on the head and she threw her hands up. When
she did I stepped in and threw a combination to her unprotected stomach. She
doubled over pulling her elbows down. She was standing in front of me all
balled up. I tried punching around her arms to her sides and she came out of
her shell firing at my chest and stomach. I leaned my head back as she threw a
looping roundhouse right and when it went by me I followed it with a left I
threw over her right shoulder. My left caught her flush on the cheek and she
wobbled. I pulled back the left and hit her again in the same spot and she
crashed over and landed on her side.

I moved off and my father came over to count. This time he got to four and she
was up. He held her back and asked her if maybe she didn't think that she'd
had enough for one day. I was so happy that he did. I was dog tired. But, in
her thickest hillbilly drawl, she told my dad that they were only getting
started back home after the third or fourth knockdown and she was just fine.
He let her go and we were back at it.

I knew what was coming so I curled up with her first shot and waited out the
storm in my shell. She punched away at my arms and sides for about half the
length of her previous attacks and then ran out of steam. I thought good,
she's finally getting tired. I took advantage of her stopping and went back to
the jabs at her head followed by the punches to the stomach. I got about three
or four of those combinations in before she curled up in her tight little
ball. I knew what would happen when i quit punching but there was nothing for
me to hit. I tried a few shots to her arms and then gave up and moved away.
Sure enough as soon as I backed off she came straight at me firing away at my
head. I was so tired I just threw my arms up in front of my face to protect
it, She shifted to my stomach and pounded away until I curled up in a ball.
Then she went back to pounding at my arms and sides. Finally I grabbed her and
bulled her back to the fence. My dad seperated us and looked pretty pissed at
me for clinching.

At least the clinch had got her to stop punching. As soon as my dad moved off
I was able to begin the upstairs downstairs combinations again and kept her
against the fence covering up until the bell finally sounded..

We both leaned hard against the fence and then just slid down until we were
sitting on the grass with our backs against it. We sat there drenched, side by
side, like a couple lounging at the beach. A bruised and bloody couple. We
were both breathing as if we needed iron lungs. My arms felt like they weighed
four hundred pounds. I couldn't believe we still had a round to go. I hadn't
been that tired since I stayed up for three nights in a row when I was in
college. I don't know how my skinny opponent was feeling but I felt like hell.
If she felt half as bad as me and still wanted to fight she was one tough
cookie in my book.

When the bell sounded for the fifth round we had to help each other up.

By the time we got to our feet and squared off news of the war being fought in
the back yard had brought my brothers wives back out so we had a real crowd
for the round. I knew if I didn't start punching right away she would so I
started right in jabbing at her head. Instead of bringing her arms up to
protect her head like she usually did she just began punching with both fists
at my chest. I punched back at her stomach and she took advantage of my hands
coming down to throw a four punch flurry at my head. The first and fourth both
landed, one to my mouth and the other to my eye. I brought my hands up and
tight to my face and she fired at my sides. I tried moveing sideways and she
reached over my fist and punched me in the temple. I stumbled and she began
throwing another of those windmill flurries. I stumbled ever faster as the
punches came and eventually went down on my side.

My dad came over and pulled her back away from where I was laying and then
turned back and began to count. I was more tired than hurt. I rolled to a
sitting position and waited for the count to get to seven before I stood up.

As soon as I got my hands up Betty the Bomber, as I now thought of her, came
straight in and threw her jab at my chin. I was too tired to block, I just
threw my right at her and let the jab land. I was braced for another of her
flurries and was surprised that no more punches were coming. I realized that
my right must have stunned her so I threw another right and then a left at her
head. They both landed and she covered up her head. I kept throwing punches at
her raised arms and drove her back to the fence. When she got to the fence I
went downstairs with four hard punches to the stomach that droped her to all
fours.

This time my dad got all the way to six before she was up and heading for me.
I remember thinking that I'd wished we had a mandatory eight count when the
first punch from her flurry arrived. I was too tired to move so I just punched
back. We cuffed each other about three or four times and then the beautiful
tone of the bell brought an end to the fight.

We were hugging each other and exchanging compliments when my sisters in law
starting complaining that they'd missed all the action. They wanted us to
fight a few more rounds so they could watch. Pete and my dad were against the
idea but my moron younger brothers and my sister thought it would be great
fun. It was Pegs jackass husband Ray who suggested that it should be up to the
fighters. Betty immediately agreed to continue fighting another three rounds
so I had no choice but to say what a keen idea I thought it was. I would have
rather gone to the dentist for root canal.

If you ever want to know what hot and tired is try boxing for fifteen minutes
under the midday summer sun. It's hard enough just shadow boxing without an
opponent. When you add having to defend yourself and having to absorb punches
the sum equals awfully fucking sweaty and awfully fucking tired. I was awfully
fucking both.

I couldn't imagine what was inside of Betty that made her able to go on. I had
hit her with almost every punch I'd thrown during the fight. She'd had to
throw six times as many punches as i did just to land half as many as I had .
And the ones I landed were heavier punches. When I stopped to consider that
she had seventy less pounds to absorb those punches with I was truly amazed at
her grit.

As I was admiring her grit the bell sounded for round number six.

We pushed off the fence and squared off again. I had long ago stopped throwing
pitty pat jabs and everything I had hit her with had been pretty hard from the
third round on. She was really messed up. Her hair was no longer brushed back
but instead hung straight down, matted to her face and head by perspiration.
Her mouth and nose were both bloody and her face would be sporting bruises for
a while. I hadn't escaped punishment either. The few wild roundhouses that had
gotten through had closed my right eye and my nose had been bloody for the
last few rounds. My lips were swollen and I had nasty red welts all over my
body, just as she did, and I was even sweatier than she was. But the worst
part was the fatigue and the sore arms. It was a struggle just to get my hands
up.

I didn't have the energy to just wing it back and forth like I had at the end
of the fifth, I figured that the best thing I could do would be go back to the
upstairs and downstairs combos and get her to curl up. I felt if I could keep
her arms moving up and down to protect herself she wouldn't be able to hit
back. I started in with an easy left to the cheek and a hard right to her
stomach. Instead of covering up she just started throwing roundhouse punches
back over my attack. As my right hit her stomach her left crashed into the
side of my head. Her right followed a second later to the other side of my
head and I stumbled back with my forearms all the way up in front of my face.
She tore into my unprotected stomach with three hard punches and my hands
dropped to my side. That was the first time I had been in front of her with my
arms down. She took advantage and charged in throwing straight punches at my
head. The first got me to stumbling back and the second put me down on my ass.

My head was clear as I sat there but I was so exhausted that I just laid back
and waited for the count. I didn't really want to get back up but the way she
was whooping around and pumping her fists pissed me off. I struggled up to my
feet as the count got to eight.

I still felt that the only way to protect myself was to attack. If i could hit
her hard enough she would go down and as far as I was concerned it was her
turn. I rushed at her and landed a good right to her nose as she was short
with her punch. She stumbled back towards the fence and I pushed forward
throwing a left and then a right as I advanced. The two punches kept her
retreating and now she was again against the fence. My tired arms kept
punching at her head as I tried to get her to cover up. She doggedly kept
punching back at me from against the fence.

I felt my punches getting slower and slower as we pummeled each other. The
looping punches coming back at my face and chest began to sting and each one
felt successively harder As we slugged it out.my arms refused to punch and I
grabbed at her arms to halt the exchange. I leaned against her and pressed her
to the fence. I could hear her heart pounding and her heavy breathing as I
pushed my head against her chest.

My father pushed me off her and yelled that clinching wasn't allowed. I took a
step back and tried to raise my arms to defend myself as she pushed off the
fence. They wouldn't obey and I was again standing with my fists at my sides.
Her first punch hit me in the chin and I heard a rushing sound as I staggered
back. The second, to my stomach, brought a wave of nausea and made the ground
look wavy beneath me. The third to my jaw made the spectators began to spin
and after the fourth, to my nose, I found myself staring up into the bright
sun.

I shut my eyes against the burning light above me and over the roaring in my
ears I could her my father begin tolling the numbers. When he got to five I
began trying to push myself off the ground. My arms and legs refused to obey
and when he reached nine I laid my head back down. At ten I reclosed my eyes
and placed my forearm across them.

I could hear Betty above me yelling I won I won over and over and the excited
conversation of my family members as I laid there panting. Peg and Ray came
over to me and made me stay down until they were satisfied that my eyes were
focused. After about five minutes they helped me to my feet and Betty came
over and gave me a hug thanking me for the terirific match. She was as
gracious in victory as she was tough in battle.

I can't say the same about my brothers. I had to take a lot of ribbing from
the three of them that afternoon, and they were unmerciful. Thank god Ray and
Peg didn't see any shame in my losing and I had at least two defenders.
Interestingly enough it was my Dad who got the boys to stop ribbing me. He was
as awed by Betty's gritiness as I was. As far as he was concerned I had done a
great job and had just run into someone who was a bit tougher.

While my brother Pete was ribbing me I imagined him and his out of shape 280
pounds and 49 years of age trying to box with his girlfriend. He could laugh
now but if he ever tried her he'd find himself out like a light in two rounds.
That was fine with me. If things didn't work out between them I would be more
than happy to fill his shoes. Women as tough as his skinny hillbilly aren't
easy to find. You could look your whole life and never find one.

As for me. I've been thinking about a trip to Arkansas. Maybe they grow more
like Betty in them thar hills. I don't know if I'll ever find one, but I do
know that I'll be polite as hell to all the women I come across while I'm
there searching.