I’ve been watching the documentary about the rivalry between Joe frazier and Muhammed Ali lately.
Somehow I geel a connection to Joe frazier. Through all obstacles and fights in his life, coming to the last round, the descicive round, he was betrayed. He was first betrayed by a friend. then he was betrayed by his cornerman.
I know what he must have gone through.
On the eve before I was supposed to go on another journey, I’ve had nothing but betrayal. by people I was supposed to be able to count on during rough times to come out on top. This journey was supposed to be a new beginning. A journey that would make me able to put all the bad struggles and obstacles behind me. Joe Frazier still re lives the match over and over. Muhammed Ali was never the same after the Thrilla in Manilla.
But all I hear is no, where ever I turn. By one economical corner to the other. And my last resort is out of reach. By parents. Being stopped by a bastard of a man whom I once looked up to.
Instead of some encouraging words, he’s attacking me instead. Dragging me through the mud as if I was a part of that mud. throwing the most vile accusations, exposing his arrogance, ignorance and plain cruelty. Let’s call him Charles. He certainly have a lot in common with another Charles from an old TV classic.
I will never forgive him for screwing with me, and not even listening, but just interrupts like a RWer on Fox News. I know the analogy is a bit strange in this circumstance, but it’s the first one that comes to mind. He’s like the traitor Muhammed Ali, taunting Frazier before the big fight.
The only thing that is thicker than his wallet, is his skull and his belly… nothing gets through there. He hides his beady little heart between all that body fat, and nonchalance.
But like Joe Frazier after the 14th round, I refuse to give up. Despite the fact that I’m down trodden in many ways, I am a fighter. And all who stand in my way must pay. Including him, as well as someone I once called the Elvish queen. Perhaps the biggest traitor of them all. Doing things that I far expected. Though I should have known after her last betrayal a few years ago, when she was a part of crushing another dream I once had.
Not that I should dish out blame. but once you go in for something, you go all the way. Like a trainer, or a patron, you don’t leave me there hanging! that’s what they have done to me! That’s what the corner man did to Joe Frazier. For more than 25 years, he have never been able to forgive either him, or Muhammed Ali. the man he helped back into the ring.
I would rather die than not to go into this new adventure. And it seems that all parties that have been involved in trying to stop me, would rather see me dead than to have another chance. their wallets are thick. but you must either have a crow bar, or be an Islamic extremist to have them willingly open it.
I would fight them all for the prize! Take them out one by one, and run off with the prize! To find my destiny away from them. Away from people who rather see me rot away in my small apartment like a prisoner in a cage.
I would rather die in the fight than to be stopped just before the end. Forever wondering what the outcome of that last round would be. The small moments. the small drops.
The one word that kills dreams: No!
My heart goes out to Joe Frazier. But I vow like he did, that no one would come out the same after they have been subject to my sword, and left and right hook.
My fighting spirit, and will top go on…
If i should have to go through an army of demons from hell, they shall not stop me from fulfilling my destiny. And throughout the whole documentary, Muhammed Ali showed that he was whiter than me!