Chapter 2 – Some Day Your Grin Will Be In Effect

Somewhere in the dark recesses of a state-of-the-art boxing facility, a pugilist prepares… 

A yellow-tinged fixture hangs overhead in a dark room. The light splits the pugilist in a two-tone color scheme; a golden hue that outlines the exterior of his body and a dark silhouette that covers everything except his G.L.U.V. and an egregious grin. 

“TIK-TIK, ” the deranged figure chants after popping off two jabs to a bag. “TOK!” followed by a straight right that hits the bag further. As it swings back, the shadow dodges using the capoeira movement, ginga. “Bag-back!” the shadow grunts, clenching the side of his teeth with his grinna. “BOOM-BAP-BOOM-BAP BOOM-BAP!” The shadow lays a barrage of hooks into the bag. 

Behind the Boom-Bap pugilist, a bright light emerges, dispersing the dirty yellow tinge that engulfed the room. The light reveals Ganja Grin, a small scrawny slab of five-foot-seven with a bandage below his left eye. He wears a dark green bandana and gray sweatpants with visible dirt and grime build-up as if it hadn’t been washed in forever.  His steez is complete with a worn-out and peeling bestus whose outer shell had been torn up from too much use. Ganja turns around in a feral pose as The Kave slowly illuminates from the other side. 

“We got our next BEF, Dork!” The light came from his Pusha T-Raw, who lifted the garage door, dispersing the private show within The Kave; an improvised training ground for the newly appointed New Gack: The Ganja Grin. T-Raw sports his signature steez, an open plaid flannel, white T-shirt underneath, jeans, work boots, and a snapback that fits him like a G.L.U.V. A tight combo that suited his line of work for his nine-to-four at Ring Depot. “I’ll never understand why you decide to train like this when there are plenty of spacious pugilist gyms to choose from,” T-Raw says as he wades through the junk that surrounds Ganja. “Even The Project has their facilities open-” he sees the bandage on Ganja’s cheek. “Is that a new laceration? Back to fighting B-Baps in the streets again, huh?” 

Ganja turns his back around to take off his bestus. An unwise tactic, whenever T-Raw starts to get pissed. “Good googly grin,” Ganja chuckles to himself. “Stop the presses T-man and tell me who the New Gack is punk!” 

“Jab check!” T-Raw gives Ganja a sock in the arm when in proximity and a slap on the neck for good measure. 

 “JMD punk!” Ganja grits.

T-Raw scolds Ganja square in the eyes. “The names T-Raw punk, in and out of the ring ya feel me? I’m your Pusha and you’re my Grinning Dork of a pugilist. It’s my responsibility to be your keeper, you understand?” 

Ganja rubs both his neck and arm, “Pusha punk, only reason you keep me around is to take potshots at me.” He gives T-Raw a sneaky I’ll have my revenge look. 

“Don’t be such a sixteen-ounce. I rented some footage of your OPP from Box Busta, so put on a shirt and we’ll scheme tactics.” T-Raw enters through the door to the house. 

“Dope,” the egregious grinning pugilist grits as he grabs his dark green short-sleeved hoodie. A shadow casts over his face again in the form of a silhouette. “Geminis, T-man must not be in the mood for my jabs today, which means… whoever I’m BEF’N must be one bad New Gack!” Ganja clenches his fist tightly, mirroring the bandage on his cheek while chewing on his grinna mouthguard like a toothpick. The yellow hue around him returns as the garage to The Kave closes. 

While the film rewinds, T-Raw hooks up the wires of the video cassette recorder to an oversized wood-grain TV in the living room. Ganja enters as he plops himself down onto the brown corduroy-lined sofa, kicking his feet onto the marble table given to T-Raw from past generations. 

“So, who am I jab’n punk?” Ganja grins.

T-Raw squints to see which wires he’s putting in. “I don’t know all the details, just some cat I heard coming from Monty Boxa Isle.”

“Y-you mean Montyleaux Island?” Ganja pauses as if he was spot-punched in the gut by a lace head. “Grin and grits! Good thing I’m raw, otherwise any other pugilist would half-step before the BEF even started.” Ganja says with a half-way grin.

T-Raw smacks Ganja’s feet off the table. “Shut ya trap Ganja… and watch.” 

***

A hype man in a red hoodie appears before the screen. “Allow me to introduce this pugilist. His name is Seymour, but we call him The Fridge.” 

Behind him is a tall slender slab of a pugilist as the camera pans out to reveal a seven-foot-two monstrosity. Tamed-afro with brownish-red hair. His signature steez was the shades he wore. Seymour stands stoically in the frame. Below him, captions appear at the bottom of the screen.

STAGE NAME: The Fridge

B-STEEZ: Battler 

G.L.U.V: Stainless Steel

A montage of The Fridge’s tactics plays out in succession:

The Fridge whips a jab to his Opposing Punching Pugilist.

CAPTION: CLINK! 

The Fridge holds the jab, obscuring the pugilist’s face, then follows with a straight right. 

CAPTION: CLANK!

The final image, a pugilist flies ten feet in the air. This is only possible because certain pugilists have wire teams that aid them in macked-out air combos. This is referred to as Wuxia-pugilism or Wire-Fu at The Project. The Fridge hops three feet in the air and swats the New Gack down like a fly. 

CAPTION: NOT-IN-MY-DOJO

The montage ends with the shaded pugilist holding his G.L.U.V hands out before his face. Through the false window, we see a glimpse of the Fridge’s eyes behind the shades. Maybe it was the glint of the camera, but it was as if his pupils were the color of a pugilist possessed: clouded and foggy.

***

The Pusha and pugilist stare at the wood-grain TV as the tape stops. 

“Gwahahaha!” Ganja lets out an obnoxious snicker of a laugh. “Geminies and grin, pugilists getting named after kitchen appliances nowadays!”

“This ain’t funny ya grin’N bastard,” T-Raw tips his snapback down. “This New Gack is dope fo-real and you only have four days until the BEF.” 

“Slow your roll, T-meister. Did you just slip me four days? Griminy(G plus criminy), I didn’t think this BEF would be that short of a notice. I was expecting a couple weeks at the very least.” Ganja grabs his grinna and starts to gnaw on it, still upholding a false mask.

“Ganja, you signed the Alleged Gory,” T-Raw breaks into his lecture stance, “which means once you start fighting for The Project, you do so whenever The Show requires you to put on. Now I’m not gonna front you, this cat might be your toughest opponent yet, but I advise you to remember how far you’ve come since your B-Bap days as The Adrenaline Junkie- pfft you and your names. The point is-opportunity comes a knock’n with a one-two combo.”

Ganja’s head is tilted down in silhouette with shadows looming over his eyes.

“One is the element of surprise; unexpectedness. Two is fear; self-doubt. Now how are you going to respond, Ganja?” 

Like a punchline to a platitude, Ganja Grin grins egregiously with a feral look in his eyes, “ With jabs and a grin!” 

“Haha- so be happy boxa boy, be happy!” T-Raw lifts his snapback with content. “Now let’s prep for the BEF to come!”