لخّصلي

As the manager bent to tie up his boxing shoes, Jim smiled. "We both know what this is, Joe. It's a chance for me to earn some money for my family. And it's a chance to say goodbye to boxing in a big fight in front of a big crowd."
Suddenly, there was a loud noise from Jim's stomach.
"What was that?" cried Joe.
"We got to the soup line too late this morning," said Jim. "The food was all gone."
Joe jumped to his feet. "How are you going to fight with an empty stomach?" he shouted. He ran from the room and appeared a few minutes later with a bowl of thick meat soup in his hand.
"Eat fast." he said.
"Where's the spoon?" asked Jim. He began to put one hand into the bowl.
"Stop!" cried Joe. "I don't have time to tape your hands again.
I'll find a spoon!"
Joe rushed out again, but Jim couldn't wait. He pushed his face into the bowl and began eating. He didn't notice the changing room door opening.
"I don't believe it! Am I seeing a ghost?" said a voice. Jim looked up, with food on his chin. A young man at the door was giving Jim an unpleasant smile. "Isn't that James J. Braddock?
When I saw the name, I thought it must be a different guy." The man stepped into the room and took out a reporter's notebook.
"How's your right hand now, Jim?"
Jim's eyes narrowed as he recognized the reporter. He said the man's name: "Sporty Lewis."
Jim remembered what Lewis had written about his fight with Tommy Loughran. He repeated the reporter's words to himself:
"Loughran destroyed the unskilled New Jersey fighter. The fight was a funeral with the body still breathing."
Lewis saw the look in Jim's eyes and stopped smiling. "I don't fight the fights, Braddock. I just write about them.
32
Jim stepped up to Sporty, toe to toe and eye to eye. "Save that garbage for your readers," he said.
Suddenly, the door opened and an official pointed at Jim. "It's time," he said.
Jim left the room, keeping his eyes on Sporty Lewis's. Sporty stared after him, pale and shaken.
"That guy," he said to the official. "What a loser!"
Minutes later, Sporty was back in his seat by the side of the boxing ring. A young reporter next to him asked, "Who's Jim Braddock?"
"Get your pencil out, kid," Sporty Lewis said. "I have your story for you: 'The walk from the changing room to the ring was the only time tonight that Jim Braddock was seen on his feet.' "
"In this corner, Corn Griffin!"
Griffin jumped to the center of the ring and lifted his thick arms above his head. The tall young boxer wore a confident smile on his face. He was young and powerful, a natural heavyweight with long arms and a big punch.
"And in this corner . . . from New Jersey . . .Jim Braddock!"
The crowd were silent.
When the bell rang, Griffin came out punching hard and fast. Braddock danced and dodged, doing everything possible to keep away from Corn's powerful punches. After thirty seconds, Braddock decided that this fight was a bad idea. His opponent had trained hard and was ready to fight. He timed his jabs and punches to Braddock's body perfectly. Jim's only goal now was to finish the fight without getting hurt. He had to be able to work at the docks the next day.
Suddenly, a big left-hand punch from Griffin hit Braddock on the side of the head. He went down. As he lay there, the clocks seemed to stop.