Boxing Christmas

The code of fair play which rules most games is not apparent in the boxing racket.

Jimmy Cannon, sportswriter

My younger brother, Terry, and I each received a pair of maroon boxing gloves for Christmas.  Anxious to try them out, we built a makeshift boxing ring in the upstairs bedroom using twine wrapped around bedposts and chair backs to form a not so squared circle.  We invited our parents to be spectators to our main event.  Dad helped us lace up our gloves, and gave us the last minute instructions of a referee.  “Boys have a good clean fight.”  He said.  “Now shake hands and go to your corner.  When the bell sounds come out boxing.  And may the best man win.”

No problem, I said silently to myself, as I returned to my corner, “I’m the biggest and best, and I will whip his little ass.”  Mom and Dad sat side by side on the bed-bleachers, and Dad spoke the bell – “Bong!”  The fight for the championship of the Arnold family was on.

My brother charged out of his corner toward me with head down and arms flailing like a drowning swimmer.  I had little defense against his windmill barrage, and he quickly and repeatedly landed several stinging blows to my face and body.  His style was not what I had expected.  Like most younger brothers and sisters, he wasn’t playing by the rules -- that’s what I should have expected.  I mistakenly thought we would have a boxing match involving strategy and slow circling and quick jabs and clinches and breaks and occasionally a solidly landed counter punch, just like the real boxers described by Don Dunphy on the radio every Friday night.  Something was radically going wrong with my vision of humbling domination of this mutant little gnat with flapping wings and the sting of a bothersome bee.

However, none of his blows hurt more than when Mom and Dad began cheering for the “little shit”.  How could they root for him?  I’m the big brother here.  I’m the biggest.  I’m the best.  He’s not doing it right.  But who could I whine to about his unorthodox and unprofessional boxing tactics -- the partisan crowd?  The bell finally sounded and the fight was over.  I knew he would be declared the winner on younger brother browny points.  That night, in the upstairs bedroom surrounded by a ring of twine and with the hangover of defeat pounding in my head, I confirmed something about sibling rivalry that I had always suspected ever since my little brother entered the family -- They really did like him best.