His left eye has turned an ugly shade of blue, his nose has doubled in sized, but it is a happy, albeit battered and bruised, Rob Peters that recounts his first boxing bout at Harrington Street Boxing Gym.

The cold night air hits me as I exit the old Harrington Street Church and make my way up to the gym. The MC is announcing my name and I can hear that the crowd is still buzzing from the fight before. My stomach is in knots and my breath is coming in short, rapid bursts. After three months of rigorous training, Fight Night has finally arrived!

The entrance song kicks off and I bounce down the stairs, my hands latched onto my trainer Felix’s shoulders as he leads me towards the ring. It is as hot as Hades as I am hustled through the crowd, clamber under the ropes and move over to my corner. I throw a couple of combinations, and bounce on my feet; I am about ready to explode in anticipation.

Johan, my opponent, and I move into the centre of the ring as Frank (Harrington Street trainer and ref for the bout) gives us the rundown. I do not hear a word he says, but I pretty much know the rules: no shots below the belt and all that...

Round one

The bell goes and we move in on each other. Before the fight, Felix instructed me to try land the first punch because whoever does that dictates the bout — I do not land it... neither do I land the second, or the third. Johan lands a flurry of punches early on; fortunately, none of them hit me flush. I strike back with a right hook that forces a retreat.

Damn, he is strong, and relentless. I have a slight advantage in reach, but he is far more powerful and I need to make sure I keep him at a distance. I throw a jab and then hit him with a right. It feels good and the crowd roars their approval. Johan answers back with another strong combination, hammering me into the corner, I counter my way out. It is about even early on.

Bang! He lands a big right, my headgear pushes back from the impact, and I can taste something hot in my mouth. My nose is leaking blood like a faucet and I can feel my left eye swelling slightly. First blood to Johan.

After some hasty repairs in the corner, I bounce back out and land a couple of well-struck blows. Johan does not budge and hits back like a Howitzer. Neither one of us is willing to give an inch as the first round ends. If we were scoring, Johan would have taken that round.

Round two

The second round gets off to a manic start as we charge in at each other. Six minutes is not much time and we both intend to get the most out of it. We exchange some meaty blows, the crowd cheering each time a head rocks back... any head.

I land my best combination of the night: a jab, followed by a right uppercut, immediately followed by a left hook. Johan feels it that time and he gets a standing eight-count. Charged up, I land a couple of nice shots. The tide has turned ever-so-slightly. I force him into the corner and land some more shots. I am running out of puff, however, and Johan knows it — he hits back with a brutal uppercut and suddenly it is me facing the eight-count...

Round three

I sink onto the corner seat, absolutely shattered, the second round left me bordering on empty. Two minutes feels like an eternity in the centre of the ring. Felix ices my legs down in an attempt to get me ready for the final round.

The bell goes, Johan flies out of the corner and smashes me with a beautiful right hook that sends my head in the opposite direction. It is going to be a long round... As if to emphasise the point he smashes me with a straight right that cracks my head back. My nose explodes in a flood of blood and I am sent back to my corner for a clean up... again.

I am dominated early in the third round and soon on the end of another eight-count. Sure, I have landed a couple of good shots, but Johan is in charge going into the final minute. We charge in one final time, throwing whatever we have left in the tank. Johan knocks me back, and I answer with a couple of stiff jabs.

"Ten seconds," the timer announces as I throw one final jab.

After what feels like an eternity, the bell goes for the final time and it's all over. Johan and I shake hands and celebrate the fight. For six minutes, we went toe-to-toe, our fists flying into one another, refusing to take a backwards step. In White Collar boxing there is no winner or loser (but if there were, I reckon Johan would have shaded me on points). Our performance, however, was enough to claim 'Fight of the Night' and the kudos of the other fighters and members of the gym, which, to be honest, is good enough for me.

  • For more information on Harrington Street Boxing Gym and Fight Night visit their website.


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