On the Ropes (Down for the Count) by Christa Cervone Page A

head and hangs up the phone.
    “Well, I guess training is out today,” I smile coyly.
    “Why do you say that?” Frankie looks at me, confused.
    “’Cause we’re going to check out the new gym.”
    “Oh kid, you’re not getting out of training. You’re packing your stuff and bringing it with us. We’re gonna break in Blaine’s new equipment even before he opens his doors.”
    I raise my eyebrows at him.
    “Don’t think for a minute we’re skipping a day.”
    “Alright, if you say so,” I stand up. “I’m gonna go pack my gear.”

 
     
     
    “Champions aren’t made in the gyms. Champions are made from something they have deep inside them - a desire, a dream, a vision.”
    —Muhammad Ali
     
     
     
    We arrive at Blaine’s gym at exactly ten o’clock on the dot. Like usual, Frankie is right on time.
    “Wow! This place is huge,” I’m in awe. “It must be twice as big as your gym.”
    “Maybe not twice as big, but pretty close,” Frankie corrects me.
    The two of us exit Frankie’s car and start to walk around towards the front door. The outside of the building is painted stark white, and there’s a large sign on the parking lot side revealing that “TKO” is the name of the gym.
    “I’m gonna be boxing at a gym called ‘TKO’?” I laugh, shaking my head in disbelief.
    “It’s just a name, kid. Don’t worry ‘bout it.”
    “That’s easy for you to say! You’re not the one who’s gonna be fighting in less than a week with the announcer proclaiming, ‘Fighting out of TKO,’ and your name.”
    Frankie pauses. “Since when do you care what people think?”
    “I dunno,” I reply, shrugging my shoulders.
    “It’s not where you train, it’s who trains you that matters.”
    As we round the front of the building, we’re looking right into the gym. The front has floor to ceiling windows, so when people are stopped at the traffic light, they can see directly inside. The place looks just as large on the inside as it does from the outside. The ring, being centered right in the middle of the room, is set up to be the main attraction. It’s in pristine condition, unlike Frankie’s used and abused canvas. I notice, in complete wonder, that there are at least a half-dozen brand new, heavy bags hanging against the back wall and some speed bags as well, which Frankie doesn’t even have at his gym. To the left of the ring, there are three stair climbers, four ellipticals, two rowing machines, and five treadmills.
    I turn to Frankie, “They have cardio equipment!” I’m trying to contain my excitement, but it’s hard.
    He just smiles and nods.
    Opening the door, I beckon to Frankie, “After you.”
    “Well, aren’t you the gentleman? No wonder all the ladies want you,” Frankie teases.
    “That’s not the only reason,” I wink at him.
    With a chuckle, Frankie leads the way through the gym. He walks slowly, examining everything around him, with his arms crossed at his chest, and nodding his head in approval.
    “Hi, can I help you?” We turn to see an overly tanned guy coming over.
    “We’re looking for Blaine,” Frankie replies.
    “And you are?”
    “Tell him Frankie and Gabriel are here. He’s expecting us.”
    “Oh my God,” he seems stunned, “you’re ‘ The Saint ’!”
    I flash him a grin, “In the flesh.”
    “I’m so sorry. I didn’t recognize you at first. Please forgive me.”
    “It’s alright. Don’t worry about it.”
    “My name is Charlie and I’m the gym manager. Please wait here, and I’ll go get Blaine.”
    We watch him rush to the back of the building, then disappear through a door.
    I start howling with laughter.
    “What are you laughin’ at?” Frankie asks me.
    “Did you see how nervous he got when he realized who we are.”
    “Not who we are, kid. Who you are.”
    “Oh please,” I roll my eyes at him.
    “When are you gonna realize…”
    “Saint… Frankie… I’m so glad you guys could make it,” Blaine calls out from across the