Golden gloves rap-story. prologue

GOLDEN  GLOVES

Rap-story































                You punish all my enemies
                and leave them powerless to harm me.
                Victory comes from the Lord...

                Psalms (3:7,8)

















ISBN : 978-5-9999-2415-5

LLC Publishing Centre "Science"

©  G. PETROV,  M. SALITA, 2015

Contents


Prologue …………………………………………………….
Rumble Fish ………………………………………………...
Breaking Down Walls ………………………………………
Letters from Odessa …………………………..
The Chess Moves of the Ring ……………………………..
Starrett City  Boxing Club………………………………….
Duel of Styles……………………………………………….
Train, Gotta Train Hard! ........................................................
Training Goes On…………………………………………..
Winds of Change…………………………………………….
First Bout …………………………………………………….
The Chilling Breath of Winter……………………………….
Saratoga…………………………………………………….
Summer 1996………………………………………………..
Bicyclist……………………………………………………..
Trial by Fire…………………………………………………
Working In Perfect Harmony………………………………..
The Love of a Son…………………………………………….
Leap into the Elite ……………………………………
The Cup of the Manor………………………………………
Love Your Neighbor…………………………………………
Salieri from Cherkass…………………………………………
Branches of One Stem………………………………………..
We’ll Live – And We Will See……………………………….
Great Expectations…………………………………………….
Gotta Hold Your Pinches………………………………………
Still to Come…………………………………………………..
American Championship………………………………………
Training for the Finals………………………………………
Golden Gloves Finals………………………………………..
Epilogue………………………………………………………..





Prologue

One day back in '91,
Me and one of my friends,
Went to the synagogue in Odessa.
Back then there was only one beit knesset.
When we got there, we couldn't get in.
The whole place was in a state of ruin.
We stood at a distance and watched like strangers,
As journalists filmed and took their pictures.
We didn't know then how the cards would fall,
But our hearts were broken at the state of it all,
Where godlessness counted as something to prize.
As we stood there and watched, the tears came to our eyes.
Odessa was where I spent my early days,
At the Fountain's sixth station born and raised.
Caught up in quarrels and cut up in frays,
Shot glasses, 
vodka,
and purple haze,
Sweating and shaking
from the withdrawals,
And don't you know,
we paid for it all.
The boat to Haifa
took my best friend away.
I didn't make it, I was high that day.
I have nothing to repent of, I don't blame anyone.
I know everyone's human, and I love my home.
In my sleep I could tell you all sixteen stations,
But I couldn't stay any longer in this situation,
Our Jewish people under such persecution
Looking on all that was happening around me,
I just wanted to get on a boat and leave,
(Some would call it youthful fancy).
But I couldn't just leave my family.
In Odessa, the tension was rising.
Rumors of bloodshed were quickly spreading.
Hunting us down, abusing, reviling,
Like calling us “Yids,” the insults kept coming.
How do you endure
and not be torn apart?
One way or another,
it had to stop.
At the border with his relations,
Our father saw plainly the situation.
We had no idea at the Chop station,
We were headed for confrontation.
Before the guards stood a towering man,
“You thugs, give me back my violin!
It's my lifeblood, my vocation! 
Don't take from me my only provision.”
They answered absentmindedly,
“With valuables, you cannot leave.”
They did not realize or care,
The violin was nothing rare.
For ten days, he lived at that station,
Unshaven, unkempt, and smelling of urine.
Finally, in terrible condition,
He came down with a lung infection.
The officer's patience came to an end.
“His sickness is only going to spread.
Get him outta here right away.
He can grab his balalaika on the way.”
There was really nothing to laugh about.
We had no choice, we had to get out.
They didn't beat us, they only went on,
that the air would be cleaner when we were gone.