“Tag! Tag!” Henry was screaming and jumping up and down, trying to draw Tag’s attention, and Millie was shaking so hard I gritted my own teeth to help her stop. Tag saw Henry, saw me, and then he saw Millie. His jaw clenched, his eyes widened, and he slowed, almost stopping, before he seemed to remember where he was. He actually stepped toward us, and Henry yelled his name once more and waved theatrically. Tag’s eyes shot to mine again and he pointed at me and then pointed at Millie, as if to say “take care of her.” I could only stare back.
Then, after a nudge from security, he continued on to the edge of the octagon, pulled off the Tag Team warm-ups, stepped out of his shoes, stuck a mouth guard over his teeth, and waited for the official to call him forward. He didn’t look toward us again, and I recognized the set of his shoulders and the jut of his chin. I’d seen this Tag more times than I could count. It was game time, and sadly, this wasn’t a game.
“What’s happening, Moses?” Millie asked, the fear in her voice cutting through the roar of the crowd around us. I leaned down and put my head next to hers. I didn’t have enough air in my lungs to shout.
“He’s going to do it. He’s going to fight.”
“I hate that I can’t see him.” Her face was white and her mouth trembled. I marveled for the millionth time at her courage. How would it feel to go through life in perpetual darkness, putting yourself out there and hoping the world could see you, even if you couldn’t see it? I saw more than I wanted to see, and for much of my life I’d hated it. I’d hated what I could see. But it was better than seeing nothing at all.
“He saw you, Millie. He knows you’re here. He knows we’re here.”
“How does he look?”
“He looks ready.” It was the only thing I could say.
“Why is he doing this?” The question was almost a sob, and I took her hand again. I didn’t have an answer.
The announcer began his build-up, introducing Tag first, and Henry mouthed his sequence almost word for word, the wins and losses, the nicknames and finally David “Tag” Taggert, as the crowd roared and my conscience screamed. Tag was such an idiot. It was David and Goliath, and I could only look on helplessly as Terry “Shotgun” Shaw was announced and the referee called the two fighters to the center of the octagon. Henry knew Shotgun’s stats as well.
Millie’s attention was once again riveted on the television play-by-play, the two co-hosts chatting excitedly, giving her information that she couldn’t see. I listened to them launch into an introduction of the upcoming fight as the referee stood in the center of the octagon and talked to the two fighters who stood chest to chest, eye to eye, trying to take each other apart before the buzzer sounded. Tag had told me once that those few seconds of intimidation were invaluable.
“Shotgun’s camp wasn’t very happy about the match-up. They don’t think Taggert has earned the right to be in the octagon with Shotgun. They really wanted the fight with Jones, but Jordan Jones was out, and after Taggert’s big win against Santos last month, he was the obvious choice in my opinion. He’s a rising star, popular with the fans, popular with other fighters, just an all-around great ambassador for the sport. He’s a solid striker, solid grappler, and his wrestling skills have improved immensely. He was a bull-rider in high school, so he’s definitely an adrenaline junky, though he claims a few broken bones was all it took to convince him to leave the bulls alone. But more than anything else, the man just enjoys the sport. He loves getting in the octagon, battling it out, and he claims that’s the reason he’s any good. He loves to fight, and he has a hell of a chin.”
The buzzer sounded and the announcers grew silent for all of five seconds. Tag and Shotgun circled each other, and the broadcasters couldn’t help themselves. They had to jump back into the fray.
“That’s right, Joe. In his recent fight against Bruno Santos, there were a few times where everyone thought he was going down. Bruno landed some brutal shots, and Taggert just kept coming. He just kind of wore Bruno out, and in the end, caught Santos just right and sent him to the canvas, absolutely stunning the fight world. Santos was the clear favorite, just like Shotgun is the favorite here today. But don’t count Tag Taggert out. Don’t count him out, because he just might surprise you.”
My heart bounced like a ball in my chest and the sweat trickled down my back. Tag attempted a take down and caught a flurry of fists instead.
“Oh, Shotgun lands a solid combination to Taggert’s body! And out comes the smile from Tag Taggert! He is grinning from ear to ear.
“Is it part of his game plan? Smile through the pain?”
“You know, it might be, but I’ve watched several of his fights, and I honestly think he just loves the battle. He starts smiling when the fists start flying, and he doesn’t stop.”
I had to tune the announcers out. They were making me nervous. But they were right. The harder Shotgun came at him, the bigger Tag’s smile grew. With his dimples flashing, the women in the crowd were all solidly in his corner after the second round. I’d seen it before. Tag smiling as blood dripped out his nose and from his mouth. The man was a lunatic.
But he didn’t look sick, and he didn’t act sick, and I felt a sliver of relief that Tag wasn’t trying to die. Not yet. Shotgun’s fist glanced off Tag’s forehead at the end of the first round and for a minute, Tag’s legs stiffened. Shotgun saw that Tag was temporarily rocked and flew at him, fists flying, only to have his confidence and momentum used against him. Tag lunged into a perfect double leg, wrapping his arms around Shotgun’s knees, and toppled Shotgun cleanly to his back.