Early Retirement

All my life I had prepared myself for a few defining and important moments, my final exams in high school, my bar mitzvah, being drafted to the army, the first time I had sex, the first time I would be in love, my first fight. All of these I can remember and can describe, all but the most important, my fight for the WBC Fecarbox World Title.

I remember landing in Atlanta, on Sept. 9th, and the first thing I noted was the heat. I remember telling the driver who picked me up, how good this heat is, “its gonna be really easy to make weight with this heat, I can lose at least five pounds in an hour with this heat.” I had a full week, full of interviews, speaking engagements, press conferences, and the official weigh in.

That is more or less all that I can remember and describe, although there are a few things that stand out.

I specifically remember, shattering my knuckles on my opponents head in the first round, I remember the shockwave of pain that shot through the palm of my hand, through my elbow, up to my shoulder, and all the way down through my knees to my feet. I specifically remember that, because without knowing that it would be the last time in my life that I would feel such a thing, I remember how I enjoyed that pain, and realized how addicted I am to it. How I love it.

The next thing I remember is opening my eyes in a room unfamiliar to me, with a catheter in my cock watching my friend Dimitry walk into the room, with Israel Liberow and Mordy Chaimovits. I remember instinctively pulling out my left hand and asking them to help me strap tefillin [ed. note: leather objects containing Biblical verses which are used in Jewish prayer] on. I didn’t know at the time why that was the first thing I did. I guess my body knew what I had been through and automatically made me pray. I later realized that I had been unconscious for a few days, and was going to die, until that moment that I opened my eyes and strapped on teffilin.

The next two weeks are a morphine and pain killer induced blur, of which I can’t make a lot of sense out of, and can’t remember a lot of. I remember being in a lot of pain, mostly physical, the emotional pain would come later. I remember landing in Israel on October 1st , the Jewish New Year; a date that would mark the end of the most important and defining year of my life, a year in which I cannot remember the most important moments. After that my memory would more or less be okay, not what it used to be. After all, I am now officially brain damaged.

As odd as this might sound, the above passages describe all my memories from September 10th through October 1st. No matter how hard I try, I cannot recall anything, although the true story lies in those memories that I do not have, memories that I was taught, and was told were mine, although I do not know them...

I don’t remember the fight, apparently, he started off strong, and was ahead by one point at the end of the first round. I came back to the corner, and was told what to do. The next few rounds were all mine. I was slowly gaining points and was getting ahead, so much so that the fifth round was awarded to me 10-8. By the end of the fifth round, the score was 49-45 to me, a score that is almost impossible to come back from, unless the unthinkable happens, and it did.

Coming down off the fifth round, I remember my trainer Hector Roca, telling me “he’s ready to go, finish him” to which I replied “Roca, we’re bringing home this belt”… and then my world changed.... I don’t remember exactly what happened, but I was told that I “zoned out”. Hector sprayed some water on me, and said “come on, go on in there and finish him.”

I was told that I got up as the bell went, and he was afraid to come close as he was hurt, and scared to fight. At this point, my brain had already been bleeding and pressure was building up in it. I started losing focus and concentration, starting to black out. He threw a testing jab, just to see what was up. Since my hands were down, he thought I was trying to draw him in. He didn’t realize that I was slowly dying inside.
After this jab, I more or less collapsed on the ropes, still standing, and fighting with every breath I had, but not fighting him. I was fighting something I never felt before; I was fighting to remain conscious. I was told that as this happened Roca threw in the towel to forfeit the fight, and by doing so he saved my life. I owe Hector my life.

By now I had suffered a Subdural Hematoma, my brain was bleeding heavily, the pressure was building up and had caused my brain to shift over two inches! I passed out on the way to the hospital. I woke up a few days later, and instinctively held my hand out to strap on teffilin. I was told that I almost died, but now I live to tell about it...

I was fighting the most important fight of my life, a fight I was getting ready for over 12 years, but with four rounds to go, just 12 minutes from the end, my dream was taken from me.

A friend compared me to Moses, who walked 40 years through the desert only to get to the gates of the Promised Land and see it, but not cross through to it. He would forever remain 12 minutes out. The difference is that at least Moses can remember his journey.