Cnn's kelly wallace has a tough time picturing herself as a woman in a wrestling ring. A new guy is afraid of her, and she reminds him I'm a weapon now. "You really want my kid watching me hurt other people until they tell me to stop, don't you?" she asks.
Cnn's kelly wallace has a tough time picturing herself as a woman in a wrestling ring. A new guy is afraid of her, and she reminds him I'm a weapon now. "You really want my kid watching me hurt other people until they tell me to stop, don't you?" she asks.
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Cnn's kelly wallace has a tough time picturing herself as a woman in a wrestling ring. A new guy is afraid of her, and she reminds him I'm a weapon now. "You really want my kid watching me hurt other people until they tell me to stop, don't you?" she asks.
Direitos autorais:
Attribution Non-Commercial (BY-NC)
Formatos disponíveis
Baixe no formato PDF, TXT ou leia online no Scribd
men, a couple really good-looking ones, and for the most part theyre kind, can keep their machismo in check. Mick tells me this one new guy is afraid of me. I think its because I stared him down while I was taping up a few weeks ago. His standing game is shit. Im a weapon now. Im maybe not the best, but Im certainly not a civilian any more. Mick tells me as much, tells me to try not to eL InLo LLe kInds oI bar BLLs Le used Lo. I remind him Im a mom. He likes this angle. "TrIpp comIn Lo your maLcL?" Mick is washing up with a water bottle and I cant tell whats sweat and whats water. That means its harder to gauge how tough of a workout it was. You really want my kid watching me hurt other people until they tell me to stop, dont you?" He keeps asking about this. "I don'L know. CouId be ood Ior LIm." No. Abbys watching him again, after she eLs my braIds In." Mick laughs, puts a glove over one eye and says, "0ood oI' CapLaIn Abby, eL?" "YeaL. Wron eye LLouL, smarL ass." Abby is braiding my hair close to the scalp so theres nothing to grab on to in the ring, and Tripp is kind of being a little shit. Thats not fair. Hes still sensitive about my lack of involvement and interest in hurting people, so hes taking it out on me and Abby. Hes brought a friend home from school, something Im sure Im supposed to have remembered but didnt. A kid named Brad. Abby was already over helping me with a couple things by the time Tripp and Brad came in. Brad actually jumped when Abby rounded the corner with the cookies we baked. Abby has one eye, and she almost always wears a patch, except if her head gets sweaty, which is something that tends to happen in the kitchen. So when the boys came home and Abby missed them out of that left periphery, all Brad saw was her eye-hole. That about set the tone for the afternoon. Now the boys are in the living room not-so-secretly making fun of Abby while they play video games. When her family still lived at the beach and Abby was seven, her dad was addicted to raw oysters and bourbon - salt and burn together. She was fascinated with the shucking. Story goes he went down the hall for a piss, and she started in on a stubborn shell with the oyster knife, and when he got back, she was screaming, and the countertop was runny with blood and oyster sea-grime. I used to use her as a cautionary tale to warn Tripp not to screw around with sharp things, which worked better than any time-out. Abby is not the best babysitter in the world - she can literally only keep one eye on your kid - but she knows us, knows what Tripp and I need, and shes cheap. And Tripp likes her, which is a plus, especially these days. Theyre close, Tripp trusts her, and sometimes when Abby tells me how Tripp was while I was gone, it feels like they have some kind of secret alliance, like Tripp will behave for her out of unspoken respect. I dont mind; I just wish I knew how she does it. "Bo, Mom. You've oL a BLL LonILL." "YeaL, TrIpp. I aIready LoId you abouL IL." Abby pulls my head one way or another, and Tripp and Brad keep asking these repetitive questions, and Im annoyed. I could use a mouthguard for the kind of clenching Im doing. Brad leaves around the same time my braids are in, which is also when Elaines bus powers through the neighbourhood for the second time this afternoon, honking when shes even with our mailbox. She tried to make up after she found out Tripps dad was married, so I dont think she means anything else by the honk other than hello, but it still bothers the hell out of me. Shes on the After-School Special now, which means on Fridays she drives her route twice, once for the regular route, and again to bring all the kids at clubs home. It means she makes even more money from the county. Insult and injury. She lives in our neighbourhood, and although I only see her once or twice a month, its enough for her to detail her sex life, to talk about how great her high school-aged kids are, to explain to me, to me, how great it is to be a working mom. And anyway, how can she play the other woman so freely when shes also marrIed wILL kIds? I wanL Lo LeII Ler LLaL LLe men she fucks are scrawny, that the MMA guys I see every week are better than dads. I want to tell her that her kids do drugs and cheat on exams. I want to remind her that she has a working husband, that she isnt putting up with this shit with only the help of her one-eyed babysitter and her kind, murder-machine trainer. My scalp feels tight. I dont know how I can feel so tired by six oclock. Micks small car is in the driveway, behind the big, yellow bus, and he gives it one polite beep while I grab my gym bag and give Tripp a kiss on the forehead. He lets me. Abby is making macaroni and cheese for dinner. I tell her to pan fry some cut-up bratwurst to add in at the end for Tripp. She says sure, smiling and scratching under the elastic band of her eye patch. Im at the door when Tripp takes a couple steps forward and says, "Hey, Mom? Can I. . . 0ood Iuck, Mom." "TLanks, Honey," I say. "I'II make you proud." Tripp never wishes me luck. Maybe I just havent been paying enough attention. Its the most beautiful thing hes done all week. Im rolling my shoulders, staring across aL FaLLI AIvarez, rIndIn my mouLLpIece. Tomorrow, once LLIs BLL Is In LLe ba, I'II have a couple of really nice bruises, and Ill be making Tripp a grilled cheese sandwich with French fried onions, telling him about how great his mom was. Its great that hes showing interest in some of the things I love. Micks given me the speech about Patti, how her standing game is pretty great. Her strikes are fast as hell, and she can use LLose buIIdozer knees oI Lers even In LLe tightest clinch. Shes my weight, maybe a couple inches shorter than me, which should make it easier to get her on the mat. Ground and pound. I'm 80, and LLIs Is onIy FaLLI's second raLed maLcL, buL sLe won LLaL BrsL one In under Lwo mInuLes In LLe BrsL round. Fast as hell. At this point, you never really hear what the announcer is saying about you, and sometimes you can barely hear your trainer shouting whatever it is hes shouting. Its all visual for a little while, at least until the elbows and knees start landing. Patti and I hit gloves once the ref gives the word, and I can see her bobbing, I can see Mick hitting the cage in time with whatever song is playing, and over Pattis shoulder I can see a girl and boy in the front row. The girl has one eye. Patti throws a couple test jabs my way, lands one that smarts on the right side of my ribcage. I pop her in the brow. The girl and boy have a big bag of McDonalds between them, and the boys hands are wrapped around a fat Coke. Abby shouts something; the sound is starting Lo BILer back In. My son Is abouL Lo waLcL me hand some girl her own ass. Hes about to yell something, too ***************************************************** Cody Greene lives in North Carolina, USA, and is a wrILer oI BcLIon and poeLry. HIs work Las appeared in First Inkling, The Roanoke Review, and is forthcoming in the online anthology Plain China. You can contact Cody via email: codymac.greene@gmail.com Be sure to order the next issue of Tough Talk for Part 2 of TAP OUT!! ***************************************************** 42 tough talk magazine Bummer 2018 Short Story: Tap Out JImmy 'TLe Weed' DonneIIy Is an underworId Ieend, Iamous as a key Bure In MancLesLer's legendary Quality Street gang, an enigmatic group of car dealers, club owner, ex-boxers, scrap merchants and villains who inspired the hit song The Boys Are Back In Town. He has mixed with some of the most notorious gangsters in Europe and been arrested numerous times on suspicion of offences including murder, drug supply, violence and fraud. In this extract from his best-selling autobigporahy, Jimmy The Weed, he tells how his pal Jimmy Monaghan, who went on to achieve fame as a pro boxer under the ring name Jim Swords and became recognised as the leader of the Quality Street Gang, established his repuLaLIon as LLe LouLesL sLreeLBLLer In MancLesLer. Inside the Quality Street Gang: My Life in the Manchester Underworld James Patrick Monaghan was an Ancoats lad, and in Manchester that meant something. Ancoats was a special area. A hundred years earlier, its cotton mills had driven the Industrial Revolution and made Manchester the workshop of the world. The steam-powered engines of its huge factories Lad LLumped away aII day Ion, Banked by row after row of terraced houses for the thousands of families drawn in by the promise of a living wage. Ancoats created riches for the mill owners and merchants, but its inhabitants were the poorest in the city, living in cramped, overcrowded slums. Many families were Irish or Italian, descended from immigrants who had arrived with just the shirts on their backs, looking for work. They formed a huge casual labour force, and many ended up aL BmILLBeId MarkeL or as sLreeL sellers and hawkers. Many of what would later be called the Quality Street Gang were born in Ancoats of Irish or Italian extraction. I was myself adopted by the place when I was sixteen years old and I live there now, nearly six decades later. The area bred a certain type of person: tough, self-reliant and clannish. It was my kind of place. Jimmy Monaghan was a typical Ancoats urchin, brought up near the canal on Woodward Street. I learned that hed had a very hard upbringing. His father, a foreman at a timber yard, had died a few years earlier, leaving his mother, Flo, to raise four children: Jimmy, his older brother and sister, Chris and Mary, and a younger brother, Joe. Flo was a tough woman and a real character, in the pub drinking a Guinness every night, but she had little money and the kids grew up with nothing. Jimmy had little schooling and ended up in childrens homes and approved schools. He was raised in the streets, did some boxing and knew how to look after LImseII - Low weII, I wouId soon Bnd ouL. We got on well from day one and within a few weeks we had formed a tight group of pals with some other market lads. Our workIn day usuaIIy BnIsLed around noon, after which we were free to do what we wanted, with money to spend. If someone was skint, we clubbed together and sorted them out. Every day we earned and every night we enjoyed ourselves. The Edwardian dress craze was sweepIn LLrouL ErILaIn and rock and roll was infecting the jive, jump and dance bands of the youth clubs and halls. Drape suits, ducks arse haircuts and crepe shoes became our uniform, complete with studded belts that could be used as weapons when required. A new suit every month was not uncommon, made to measure for less LLan a Bver. Jimmy Monaghans reputation as a BLLer was earned aL daybreak one mornIn when he wheeled his porters truck to the Ice works. EresL BsL came InLo MancLesLer on wagons from the docks at Fleetwood, and LLe BrsL job oI LLe day was Lo oIBoad IL and ice it up to preserve it. The market had a big machine to break up slabs of ice and Jimmy was sent for a barrelful. There was usually a rusL Lo eL LLere BrsL and avoId LLe queue, though it never bothered me, I was content to go for a cup of tea and a bacon butty and wait until the line had gone. The boss at the ice works was a surly bloke in his mid-twenties known as Big John. On this day the wait seemed longer than usual, so Jimmy asked why the delay. Fucking wait your turn, was the answer from Big John. Jimmy gave him some verbal back, so Big John, who was not accustomed to young whippersnappers giving him grief, threw a punch at him. TLe BrsL I Leard oI IL was a sLouL: '0eL round Lo Ede BLreeL! JImmy MonaLan Is LavIn a BLL wILL EI JoLn Irom LLe Ice works!' I LurrIed round Lo see LLem squarIn off in the middle of the street, with seventy or eighty porters watching. Fights were common on the market, as the porters were always falling out, accusing each other of stealing customers or whatever, but this one looked a total mismatch. Big John was a powerful man and towered over his opponent, who was only in his mid-teens. Nobody gave Jimmy a chance. Then he went to work. JImmy beaL EI JoLn Lo a puIp. HIs BsLs were a blur and you could clearly hear the thud of his punches even through the shouts of the crowd. The scariest thing was, he would not stop. Some of those watching had to step in and haul him off. Big John was in a bad state and went for medical treatment. The next day, Jimmy went for ice again. EI JoLn came ouL oI LIs oIBce wILL a LeavIIy bruised face and said to his worker, Serve LLIs IeIIer BrsL,' LLen sLook JImmy's Land. They became friends, and James Patrick Monaghan became a name. I soon reaIIsed wLaL a BLLer LLIs kId was. At weekends, some of the market lads started coming to Wythenshawe for dances. The dance halls were little more than youth club huts but we were still too young to drink in pubs, so this was our social scene. We soon bumped up against a nasty fellow called Sutton, who was a few years older than us and who ruled the roost in the local dance hall, where he had a habit of threatening people. We had a bit of a row with him and some of his cronies, a few people got arrested and BuLLon ended up wILL a Bne. Not long after, I went to the annual funfair in Wythenshawe Park with some of my market pals: Jimmy Monaghan, Jimmy Specchio, Charlie Pearson and Dave Grant. We were fooling about, checking out the girls, when we spotted a few fellers watching us. Within minutes, twenty of them were glaring in our direction. The ringleader was unmistakable for his huge head and fair ginger hair: it was Sutton. We knew it was on top, so we slowly made our way out. They followed and, as we reached the main gate, they broke into a charge. We had little choice but to scatter. I cut off the main track and headed for a small fence. I was just about to clear the fence when a blow on the back of the head made me stumble. I turned to see a guy with a bat about to hit me again. Suddenly an arm wrapped round his neck, then another hand with a blade came over and round his face. He gave a terrible scream as the blade tore his cheek, cutting from his ear to his chin. Then the blade was stuck up his arse. It was Jimmy Specchio Lo LLe rescue. We Bed LoeLLer, IeavIn my attacker writhing on the ground. We crossed the fence and found the others. Everybody had got away. 'WLere LLe Iuck Lave you been?' saId Jimmy Monaghan. I told him what had happened and showed him the lump on my head. Right, he said. Find out who the guy with the big head is. A few weeks later, I had the information I needed. His full name was Derek Sutton and he went every night to a caf called the Boxtree. The plan was laid to go after him: me, Jimmy Monaghan and Dave Grant. We met at my mothers and at nine oclock we headed for the caf. I went inside and spotted Sutton. Nobody took any notice as I walked back out. We split up and waited. About an hour later, he came out alone. We regrouped and followed him. Hey, Sutton, shouted Jimmy. This monster turned around and quickly took in the situation. 'Do you youn pups wanL some Iun?' Le rowIed. 'I'II BLL you aII.' No, said Jimmy. Just you and me. Sutton closed in on him. He was as strong as an ox but he could not put punches LoeLLer IIke JImmy. A IILLnIn Burry puL him over a wall into a garden and he was at Jimmys mercy. That was not a good place to be. Jimmy hit him with everything. With the commotion and the yelps of Sutton, windows opened and someone shouted, Phone the poIIce!' I LoId JImmy we Lad Lo o buL BuLLon had hold of his legs and was screaming, Im holding you for the police. So Jimmy reached into his pocket and pulled out a small blade. He jabbed it into Suttons face, then slashed him across the head for good measure. Sutton let go, Jimmy got back over the garden wall and we were off. I grabbed his blade and another one off Dave Grant and dropped them down a grid. We put some distance behind us and were trying to walk nonchalantly down a road when we were surrounded by police. There was no escape. They took us to the local nick, BuLLon IdenLIBed JImmy and Le was cLared with causing grievous bodily harm. However, when it came to court the case against Jimmy was slung out because of Suttons actions in the witnesses box: he ranted, raved and threatened barristers and even the judge. Jimmy and I had a conversation afterwards. I want you to come with me and watch my back, he said. I am going to batter every hard man and doorman in Manchester. Anybody with a name. I am going to take them all. He was deadly serious. And for the next three or four years, that is what he did. ************************************** Jimmy The Weed: Inside the Quality Street 0an IBEN 9781908479198, pubIIsLed by Milo Books is now available in paperback, prIced 7.99, vIa LLe TouL TaIk websILe, or as an eEook vIa Amazon KIndIe, ITunes and Kobo. ************************************** T h e W e e d ******************************************** *********************************** ***************************************** ******************************************** *********************************** ***************************************** ******************************************** *********************************** ***************************************** J I M M Y Bummer 2018 tough talk magazine 45 44 tough talk magazine Bummer 2018 Chapter Extract: Jimmy The Weed
First Aid for Common Dance Injuries"TITLE TITLE"PRICE and RICE First Aid Techniques"TITLETITLE"Identifying and Treating Dance Injuries"TITLETITLE"Heat, Sprains, Strains - Dance Injury Care