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The Swarm and the Slug - Nicky vs Celie pt.1.1

The Swarm and the Slug - Nicky vs Celie pt.1.2

The Swarm and the Slug - Nicky vs Celie pt.2 <------------------ U R HERE

The Swarm and the Slug - Nicky vs Celie pt.3

The Swarm and the Slug - Nicky vs Celie pt.4

The Swarm and the Slug - Nicky vs Celie pt.5.1

The Swarm and the Slug - Nicky vs Celie pt.5.2

The Swarm and the Slug - Nicky vs Celie pt.6

The Swarm and the Slug - Nicky vs Celie pt.7.1

The Swarm and the Slug - Nicky vs Celie pt.7.2

---------------------------------

Nicky remembered the exact moment the bad blood between both boxers started festering. It was on one of their earliest joint interviews leading up to the fight. Some ESPN session on a zoom call. It started awkward, she remembered. She logged in a few minutes earlier and there was Celie Amrani, her plain black t-shirt caked in light sweat and with the blurred backdrop of what was clearly her gym. In contrast, Nicky always got her one actual blazer out for the media pieces. She was also taking it in her bedroom. Unblurred. The contrast was stark.

“Hi.” Nicky said, waving awkwardly. “Guess we’re early.”

Amrani stared, sizing her up as a lion would size up a rival passing through the threshold of its territory, before turning around and barking something in french to someone training offscreen. When her attention returned to the screen, she didn’t belatedly respond to the pleasantries. Okay then, Nicky thought. All business. Not ideal but Nicky could work with that.

The host logged on and they went on with it. The usual questions with the usual answers - Training, Camp, patching up holes since the last fight and blah and blah and blah and so and so. While Nicky didn’t care much for media scrums, she at least gave it a go. It was, after all, part of the job, even if she had to give the same answers again and again and again. Amrani, on the other hand, was not hiding her lack of enthusiasm. Curt answers seemed to be her default mode, and ‘yes’ and ‘no’ were her favorite words. She wasn’t even trying, and it seemed clear she would do anything to cut the whole thing short and go back to training if she could.

And then…

“Nicky,” the host said. “Let’s talk about your amateur days.”

“What about them?” Nicky asked.

“You had eight fights. A 7-1 record. All within the confines of the Dartmouth naval boxing program over 6 months. That’s an extraordinarily short time for an amateur career. Most girls fight for years, going into the triple digits and building a solid foundation before they ever consider going pro. Yet, you seem to be doing more than fine. What’s the secret to that?”

And Nicky could have answered in a multitude of ways. She could have said that she had started relatively late and was making up for lost time and made a risky transition to the pros that paid off in the long run. She could have tried for self deprecation and joked that the two-loss streak she started with was the price she paid for her rush to the big leagues. She could have said a number of other things and moved on to the next question.

But maybe it was Amrani’s demeanor and attitude, but she didn’t really want to show weakness-

“Talent.” Nicky said. Perhaps a bit more smugly than she would have liked. Amrani, who was clearly looking down at her phone, looked up. “Natural talent and intuition, yeah? There was nothing for me on the amateur scene. I mean, I don’t see the point delaying the inevitable. I had all the foundation I needed fighting Dartsmouth’s finest. I mean, who starts in their teens and thinks “I have all the time in the world?” Something had to give and I’m glad I did it. What did you want me to do?” Nicky laughed. “Tried for the Olympics? Like, no offense to them. There’s honor in that, but I had my sights on the big leagues from the start.”

-Only to hit almost every single trigger point for Amrani in her response.

“You have no foundation.” Amrani retorted.

“S’cuse me?”

“You heard me. You have no foundation, and you disrespect every other athlete who worked their way up building it. You are sloppy, you rely on your athleticism, and this is the fight you’re gonna find out it’s not enough.”

Well, Nicky wasn’t gonna take that lying down.

“Big talk from the silver medalist.”

“What did you just say to me?”

“You deaf? Or is your com just shite?”

And that was that. Every subsequent media scrum, virtual or physical eventually devolved into a verbal sniping match. For all the talk about not caring about media, their mutual dislike for each other sure as else promoted the shit out of the whole thing.

And here they were. Every barb, every jab. Every insult or assertion of superiority or claim leading up to the moment the bell rang. They both said a lot in the weeks leading up to this, and there was a lot of pride at stake for both. And when the bell rang, both girls stalked forward, guns blazing, seeking to crash into each other in a flurry of fists. Nicky drew first blood, grazing Amrani with a vicious jab aimed for her face.

If Amrani was hurt or even bothered by it, she didn’t betray a single bit of pain.

---------------------------------

Fucked up week but I manage to sneak out a small bit of writing here. Hardly satisfactory writing but the action will pick up in subsequent pieces. As ever, credit to Leslie .

Description
The Swarm and the Slug - Nicky vs Celie pt.1.1

The Swarm and the Slug - Nicky vs Celie pt.1.2

The Swarm and the Slug - Nicky vs Celie pt.2 <------------------ U R HERE

The Swarm and the Slug - Nicky vs Celie pt.3

The Swarm and the Slug - Nicky vs Celie pt.4

The Swarm and the Slug - Nicky vs Celie pt.5.1

The Swarm and the Slug - Nicky vs Celie pt.5.2

The Swarm and the Slug - Nicky vs Celie pt.6

The Swarm and the Slug - Nicky vs Celie pt.7.1

The Swarm and the Slug - Nicky vs Celie pt.7.2

---------------------------------

Nicky remembered the exact moment the bad blood between both boxers started festering. It was on one of their earliest joint interviews leading up to the fight. Some ESPN session on a zoom call. It started awkward, she remembered. She logged in a few minutes earlier and there was Celie Amrani, her plain black t-shirt caked in light sweat and with the blurred backdrop of what was clearly her gym. In contrast, Nicky always got her one actual blazer out for the media pieces. She was also taking it in her bedroom. Unblurred. The contrast was stark.

“Hi.” Nicky said, waving awkwardly. “Guess we’re early.”

Amrani stared, sizing her up as a lion would size up a rival passing through the threshold of its territory, before turning around and barking something in french to someone training offscreen. When her attention returned to the screen, she didn’t belatedly respond to the pleasantries. Okay then, Nicky thought. All business. Not ideal but Nicky could work with that.

The host logged on and they went on with it. The usual questions with the usual answers - Training, Camp, patching up holes since the last fight and blah and blah and blah and so and so. While Nicky didn’t care much for media scrums, she at least gave it a go. It was, after all, part of the job, even if she had to give the same answers again and again and again. Amrani, on the other hand, was not hiding her lack of enthusiasm. Curt answers seemed to be her default mode, and ‘yes’ and ‘no’ were her favorite words. She wasn’t even trying, and it seemed clear she would do anything to cut the whole thing short and go back to training if she could.

And then…

“Nicky,” the host said. “Let’s talk about your amateur days.”

“What about them?” Nicky asked.

“You had eight fights. A 7-1 record. All within the confines of the Dartmouth naval boxing program over 6 months. That’s an extraordinarily short time for an amateur career. Most girls fight for years, going into the triple digits and building a solid foundation before they ever consider going pro. Yet, you seem to be doing more than fine. What’s the secret to that?”

And Nicky could have answered in a multitude of ways. She could have said that she had started relatively late and was making up for lost time and made a risky transition to the pros that paid off in the long run. She could have tried for self deprecation and joked that the two-loss streak she started with was the price she paid for her rush to the big leagues. She could have said a number of other things and moved on to the next question.

But maybe it was Amrani’s demeanor and attitude, but she didn’t really want to show weakness-

“Talent.” Nicky said. Perhaps a bit more smugly than she would have liked. Amrani, who was clearly looking down at her phone, looked up. “Natural talent and intuition, yeah? There was nothing for me on the amateur scene. I mean, I don’t see the point delaying the inevitable. I had all the foundation I needed fighting Dartsmouth’s finest. I mean, who starts in their teens and thinks “I have all the time in the world?” Something had to give and I’m glad I did it. What did you want me to do?” Nicky laughed. “Tried for the Olympics? Like, no offense to them. There’s honor in that, but I had my sights on the big leagues from the start.”

-Only to hit almost every single trigger point for Amrani in her response.

“You have no foundation.” Amrani retorted.

“S’cuse me?”

“You heard me. You have no foundation, and you disrespect every other athlete who worked their way up building it. You are sloppy, you rely on your athleticism, and this is the fight you’re gonna find out it’s not enough.”

Well, Nicky wasn’t gonna take that lying down.

“Big talk from the silver medalist.”

“What did you just say to me?”

“You deaf? Or is your com just shite?”

And that was that. Every subsequent media scrum, virtual or physical eventually devolved into a verbal sniping match. For all the talk about not caring about media, their mutual dislike for each other sure as else promoted the shit out of the whole thing.

And here they were. Every barb, every jab. Every insult or assertion of superiority or claim leading up to the moment the bell rang. They both said a lot in the weeks leading up to this, and there was a lot of pride at stake for both. And when the bell rang, both girls stalked forward, guns blazing, seeking to crash into each other in a flurry of fists. Nicky drew first blood, grazing Amrani with a vicious jab aimed for her face.

If Amrani was hurt or even bothered by it, she didn’t betray a single bit of pain.

---------------------------------

Fucked up week but I manage to sneak out a small bit of writing here. Hardly satisfactory writing but the action will pick up in subsequent pieces. As ever, credit to Leslie .