Lost Journal

Humor Column
by Tim Mollen
September 14, 2006

Heavyweights Coach Flyweights in Brotherly Boxing Showdown

Journal Entry: November 10, 1974 (age 5)

After Mass this morning, I sat in my usual living room spot, 4 inches from the TV.  Wonderama host Bob McCallister and I capped a rousing rendition of “Kids Are People Too” with a climactic “wacka-do, wacka-do, wacka-do!”

Those non-words seemed to inspire my older brother, John, age 15.  He got off the couch and dragged me to his room, where he put his favorite new 45 on the record player.  The song was “Kung Fu Fighting” by Carl Douglas.  Then, ominously, John left the room.  He returned moments later with two more of my older brothers:  Bob, age 13, and Dan, who is about to turn 7.  John explained that Dan and I would be playing “Rock’em Sock’em Robots,” but without the robots.  He and Bob would be our boxing trainers.

Dan and I looked at each other in confusion and fear, and I started to cry.  John, as was his custom, gently soothed me by stuffing a pillow in my face until I promised to be quiet.  He assured us that this would be more fun than our usual brotherly game of “Try to Make it to the Couch.”  Instead of facing off against our impossibly bigger siblings, he explained, we would finally be fighting someone our own size.  More importantly, he pointed out, we had no choice.

John laid down the two rules of the ring.  First, no kicking.  Second, no punching in the face.  He assigned Bob to be Dan’s trainer and took me to one corner of the room to discuss “our” strategy.    “You’re smaller,” he said, “so you’re never going to win with strength.”  Instead, he explained, he had a two-pronged strategy.  First, I should kick Dan.  Then I should punch him in the face.  “But you just said we couldn’t do that!” I cried.  John put his hands on my shoulders, looked at me gravely and said with a Chinese accent, “You are small.  You must fight dirty.  It is the only way.”

Soon I was standing on the bed, squaring off against my pale, redheaded double.  John announced us.  “Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the Thrilla of Vanilla!  In this corner, from St. John’s Elementary, weighing in at 42 pounds, Dan ‘The Gnat’ Mollen.  And in this corner, from St. John’s Kindergarten, weighing in at 35 pounds, Tim ‘The Molecule’ Mollen!”  After several two-minute rounds of chasing each other around on the bed and falling on each other, Dan started to punch me.  I tried to punch back, but he blocked me every time.  As Dan pounded me in the stomach and kidneys, Bob shouted, “Take him down!” Fading fast, I looked at John, who was silent.  He glared intently at me, and nodded.  I nodded back, understanding what had to be done.

Several kicks and a punch to Dan’s face later, I thought the match was all over.  Unfortunately, though, these blows had not really hurt my opponent.  They just made him angry.  Worse still, they had made his trainer angry.  Bob jumped in to defend Dan, and John countered on my behalf.  But first, and with a big smile on his face, John put the needle back to the beginning of “Kung Fu Fighting.”

© 2006 Tim Mollen

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