|
|
Soul Patrol written by Damian Hospital May 28, 2oo2
Jimmy Santini entered the Te-Amo tobacco store on Flatbush Avenue in Brooklyn, New York. The smell of old newspapers, cheap cigars, and bad body odor hung in the stale air. Santini, a brute of a man, was unfazed. Every day Santini would buy his morning Post, a pack of Camels, and five-dollars worth of lottery tickets. Te-Amo is a very cramped store. Officially, it is a tobacco store or newsstand; in reality it is a front for playing numbers in the back. The owner, Abi Nehrun, has owned the storefront since 1988, when he first came into this country from Pakistan. His cousins and uncle are bookies who run the lines -- taking bets on all American pastimes. Abi has no idea who Jimmy is -- actually, who Jimmy was. If the year were 1983 instead of 2002, the Nehrun family would have been taking bets featuring Santini. Jimmy Santini, World Champion. If you followed boxing in the seventies and early eighties, before Don King killed the sport, you would know Santini. Some of the best boxing matches during this time period had Jimmy Santini on the bill. He fought the likes of Spinks, Holmes, Tate, and Weaver. On May 29, 1983 he defeated Coetzee for the World Boxing Heavyweight Championship. Madison Square Garden was packed that night. Santini’s career was by no means another clichéd “Italian Stallion” gimmick. “The Bull” was like other boxers during this era; he was born in Jersey, was a natural street fighter, worked construction, and finally got a break into boxing through his brother-in-law. Most of The Bull’s skill was learned on the streets as a teenager, and he established a reputation for his toughness at Tony’s Professional Gymnasium in Jersey City. He didn’t have the best record, never had a big winning streak, and didn’t win all of his bouts by way of knock out. Yet, Santini was a tenacious brawler and had a method that worked. First of all, he absorbed punishment second to only Ali. When he first came up in 1977, no one could knock him out cold. A couple of his opponents beat him in 12-round decisions or by technical knockouts, but never by a straight knockout. With each bout, The Bull got stronger. When 1983 came around, the experts knew he was the best. He gave 100% effort each and every time he stepped through those ropes. American Boxing Revue rated him as “Best All-Around Boxer”. The Daily Star-and-Record ranked him #3 in the world. But that was then. The Bull died December 13, 1983. That’s when the World Boxing Committee stripped him of the title after he failed a drug test; remnants of cocaine were found in his urine. The big December 23 fight against Witherspoon was cancelled, and Santini never fought in a professional boxing match ever again. There were other reasons why Santini was kicked out of pro boxing; the cocaine was the last straw. Rumors had persisted that he may have been involved in an accidental death of a stripper down in Miami. His messy divorce made headlines two months after he became king of the ring. His wife of ten years never pressed charges against him, even though the police responded to two calls of domestic violence. In addition, there were some allegations of working with a big-time gambler out of Vegas. The urine test was the only solid thing the commissioner had on Jimmy, so that was that. The fact that the media and sportswriters loved The Bull so much at the beginning of his career made his fall from grace harder. Anyone who has ever dealt with the New York media, or who has ever worked on the inside, knows that they can make you and break you. The media loves to build up superstars and then tear them down when their expectations were not met. With Jimmy, they always had a different set of standards for him. It may have been a race issue -- the white journalists and television personalities loved the fact that the heavyweight champion was an Italian; it brought them back to the good old days. So when the great white hope blew it big -- with a load of personal problems and run-ins with the police, they turned on him. After four years out of the squared circle, the burly prizefighter tried making a comeback in 1987. Unfortunately, he was out of shape; he lost two amateur fights in Kansas City and Cincinnati -- both via knockout. The combination of the drugs, the divorce, strippers, police encounters, gambling, and the fall from grace took a toll on Jimmy’s body and spirit. Full of shame and defeat, he had no choice but to give up. After losing his home in Jersey, and making poor financial decisions, he was forced to get an old apartment in Brooklyn with what little savings he had left. A shell of his former self, Santini managed to get a job at the loading docks by the piers. Once in a while, a patron at a bar recognizes him, and if the person is a fan, Jimmy will talk about the good old days. However, this is rare because he has aged poorly, and doesn’t even look like his prime self. The man they called The Bull is around 6’5”, with broad shoulders. Like most Italian guys, he’s a hairy ape. His face does not look 51 years old; his nose has been broken so many times, it stays crooked. Wrinkles and bumps dominate his cheeks and forehead. His left ear looks like a cauliflower. Every morning Jimmy takes care of the “three s’s”; he shits, shaves, and showers. Therefore, his black mustache is full and trimmed. If you saw his fingers, you would cringe. The right ring finger permanently bends sideways; the rest are slightly crooked. Calluses cover both of his hands. His skin is tan; sometimes he goes to Coney Island and watches the women pass by. If there were one indication that he is out of shape, it would be his gut. Yes, his beer belly is quite large now. So Jimmy was in the Te-Amo store on a Saturday morning. He wanted to pick up the usual before eating breakfast at Sandy’s. The sound of bells was heard as the door opened and a short blonde girl walked in. Jimmy was reading the headlines of the newspaper, but he did glance up to see the youth. She was wearing earth-toned clothes -- brown khakis and a green blouse, almost European. Her skin was pale, and her face was pretty. She brushed past Jimmy and asked Abi if she could have a pack of Marlboros. “What you age?” he asked, “You have ID?” “No, I do not haf ID,” she responded in a German accent. “Then I can’t sell, okay? No ID, no sell,” Abi said. The young girl looked dejected, but Jimmy saw her expression and tried to help. “What, you wanted Marlboros? I’ll get them for you. Hey Abi, lemme get a pack of Marlboros.” Then he glanced back at the lass and asked, “Regular, right?” “Yes, thank you, sir.” “No problem,” Jimmy said, as Abi had no problem selling him the pack of smokes. Jimmy handed the pack to the girl. She went to put her hand into her pocket to give him the three bucks, but he waved her off and told her not to worry about it. Jimmy held the door open for her as they both left. “Thanks again,” she smiled. “No problem. Anytime,” Jimmy returned a smile. They both parted ways, with Jimmy going to Sandy’s for breakfast. The blonde girl with neat short hair stood at the curb looking at the traffic, either waiting to cross the huge intersection or looking to hail a cabbie. She glanced in Jimmy’s direction, making sure that he was far away but still in her sight. The petite German with red lips and blue eyes took a cell phone from her pants pocket and pressed a number. “Yes, Richard. This is Eva. Our first goal is completed. I took his keys.” “Excellent,” the voice said, “We will proceed with goal number two. Maria will be in Sandy’s. In four minutes, Mohammed will pick you up right where you are.” “Great. I think The Auctioneer will be happy with this one,” Eva said. “Doesn’t matter either way, as long as everything goes as planned and the target is apprehended,” Richard matter-of-factly answered. “Do you think we’ll have to use Sean for our target or will Maria’s ‘methods’ work?” Eva asked. “Doesn’t matter either way, as long as everything goes as planned and the target is apprehended,” Richard repeated, almost like a computer. “Oh, silly you. See you later. Bye,” Eva said as he closed the connection. |