Que the Trainer Montage
"Hey, Bruce. It's Bob."
"Bob?"
"Yeah, Bob Foster. W had a gate-breaking match a few years ago where you whupped me, but I whupped you worse?"
To be fair to Bruce, one of the last people he would have expected to receive a telephone call from was Bob Foster- they hadn't spoken after the biggest fight of Bruce's life.
"Yeah- Bob! Sorry, I guess you punched me a bit harder than we both thought. Ha!"
"Nah, it's fine. Figure that you weren't expecting my call?"
"Well, not really. What's going on?"
"Well, Mike Eisner called me up. Said you were training for the Olympics but that you didn't have a trainer?"
Ah. Yeah, that made sense. Mike had told him that winning the Gold Medal would be a huge marketing boon for Lucasfilms. Not that Bruce was planning on losing...
"Yeah- I just started getting really serious about it a couple of months back. Been pretty busy, you know?"
There was silence. Bruce thought he heard Bob sigh over the phone.
"Bruce- you ain't getting serious about boxing unless you have a dedicated trainer. I don't care how good or fast you're."
"Well, it's worked for me so far. There're lots of good guys giving me pointers in each gym I go to."
"Not good enough. We're talking about the Olympics- you're repping the US. Plus, Mike said you were doing some movie about the Olympics?"
"Yeah. It's a documentary of the athletes going to compete-"
"And you're in it?"
"Of course!"
"And you want a good ending with you getting the Gold, right?"
"Yeah-"
"'Kay. I'm gonna do you a favor: I'll drop by LA next week. We can do some sparring and I'll introduce you to an old pal of mine. He could set you right."
"I mean, I'm not gonna say no to that, Champ. But...why?"
"Honestly?"
"Yeah," Bruce said.
"I'm thinking of retiring soon- and it wouldn't hurt my legacy to have a documentary showing me giving tips to a future Gold medalist. Especially someone who I fought before. Sort of giving back to the boxing community."
"Huh."
A week later...
Bruce breathed deeply as he looked at Bob Foster from behind his guard. This spar was brining back a lot of memories from the last time they fought. It was a brutal pace of flurries of punches being thrown by both fighters. Thanks to his headgear, Bob's blows felt a little lighter- but that didn't mean that Bruce wasn't feeling pressured by the pace. Even with his extreme cardio.
But, that wasn't going to keep him back. Bruce kept pressing forward, aiming to put Bob down. Bob, on the other hand, was going for pure quantity of blows, but Bruce knew the power of Bob Foster if he got serious. The only thing that would bring the fight to an end was one man falling-
*Ding*
-or the bell being rung, signaling the end of the spar. Six rounds of three minutes- twice the number of rounds as in the Olympics. As Bruce took his headgear off and spat out his mouthguard, he saw the cameraman giving him a thumbs up. They got some good footage, then. Bruce gestured to the man as he walked up to Bob.
"That was a great spar, Champ," Bruce said in between heavy breaths as he gathered his stamina.
"Yeah, Bruce," Bob nodded as he wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his glove. Bob leaned against the ropes as he loosened the straps of his headgear. It had been a few years since he had to put up that pace. A few years didn't seem like much, but...he could feel the difference," is it just me or are you in better shape than when we last faced off?"
Bruce smiled," Thanks for saying that. I've been working out."
Bob returned the smile," But I won this time, too."
Bruce's smile turned into a frown," You think so? I think it was pretty close- none of us got knocked down, but it seemed pretty close to me."
"Under professional rules, you'd be right. But, Olympics? You notice anything different about my punches this time around?"
"Err...."
"Yeah- thought so. Seemed kinda pitter pattery, right? No power, but lots of numbers? You wonder why I did that?"
"I thought you were going to sneak in a hard blow in between the lighter ones."
"Nope- I was just racking up points. Armature rules, Bruce: those light hits will add up and I stole that match. Don't matter what it would be like in the pros- you gotta know the rules. And its gonna be harder to knock out your opponents in the three rounds- especially when they're wearing headgear."
"Huh. Thanks for the pointer, champ. So...you think I should go for a constant flurry of hits rather than going for the knockout?"
An older, black man wearing a cardigan spoke up from the side of the boxing ring," No- what he's saying is you need to learn proper defense."
Bob nodded and pointed his gloved hand at the older man.
"Yeah- that's right. Bruce, Eddie. Eddie, Bruce. This is the guy I was talking about, the old pal of mine who could help you out."
Bruce looked at the older man and took a moment to take him in. Eddie?
"Wait- you're not Eddie Futch, are you?"
"Sure am, youngster," Eddie Futch said with a warm, gentle smile.
Bruce looked at Bob, then Eddie, and then back at Bob.
"He's Joe Frazier's trainer," Bruce said, dumbfounded to be in front of the legendary trainer.
"He trained me, too," Bob said with his head shaking," a while back. Eddie's solid and I told him about you going for the gold."
"I'm between prospects right now and when Bob here said that the Emerald Splash was going to try for the gold...well, I thought I could take a look. I can see why some people call you the white Ali. Even your uppercuts are similar."
"Thanks."
"Wasn't a compliment. Ali only thinks those are uppercuts- they aren't," Futch said in utter seriousness.
Bruce fidgeted a moment, unsure of what to say.
"So, you're going to take this seriously? I know you're a Hollywood star and all. If you want my help, I'm going to ask for dedication and you gotta follow my instructions. I've been training fighters for decades. You have the heart of a fighter- the fact you took a beating from Bob here and still stayed up says it all. And you got the physical attributes. But we're going to have to work on some basic skills. Like defense."
"Yes, sir. Uh...but defense? I think I know how to defend myself."
"You only think you do. Don't get me wrong- you're sense of distance is impressive. Don't think I saw you throw a single punch out of distance even when you don't use your jab enough. But, you didn't slip punches you should have slipped and your defense isn't setting up your offense. If we can come to terms: don't you worry. I have a person I'm working on transitioning from being a fighter to a trainer. We'll work on you together. He has a defense that's a tough nut to crack."
A week later...
Bruce watched his opponent behind his now modified stance: his lead hand across his torso and his rear hand near his chin. It still felt a bit odd this way, but he thought he was getting the hang of it. And, Eddie was right in retrospect: he didn't really know much about boxing defense other than the standard form of blocking and, of course-
Bruce stepped back as he saw his opponent get ready to let loose a right hook.
"Stop!" said the calm, but loud, voice of his primary trainer, George Benton," Good eyes, as usual. But why did you step back?"
"To avoid the punch."
"Yeah. It's fine- but it'd be better for you to slip that punch and go for the counter. Remember we worked on that this week. I get you say that Bruce Lee taught you about fighting with hands and feet, but this is boxing. Its a game of inches and you're taking an entire foot to defend. And missing your counterpunch."
Bruce nodded. Okay- he was a fast learner. He could work on this.
"You're doing well, Bruce. But, do that again. Don't care if you get hit a bit more- we're practicing defense and counter. Again."
Bruce took a deep breath and got back into his still awkward defensive stance. He'd had a montage of trainers over the years of boxing, but only now did he have two who had taken the time to polish his total skills and offer an interesting way to box- a shell defense that was truly a tough nut to crack. If only he had these trainers before he had fought Bob Foster. Or, if only he had quality trainers since he started boxing.
Bruce just hoped that the newest trainers of his montage would be enough to help him bring home the Gold.