The following post is a bit of satire from a very good friend of mine Scott Nairns.
It’s raw Scottish humour with some references to our home town and characters we have came across.
The legal disclaimer stands that this is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental....so if you want to sue for libel or defamation I will point you in the direct of my mate Scott “Scottyboy Malinga” Nairns a.k.a Nappies .... enjoy this writhing and buy him a pint if you see him as he maybe in training for another tittle bout :)
In what has been described as the most anticipated bout of all time, Jocky Marciano has accepted the challenge from his closest rival, Scottyboy Malinga.
Marciano, after years of avoiding Malinga, has even shed a massive 12 lbs after a long retirement from the sport to announce that the pair will meet in Maddiston, near Falkirk, in the Square Gardens.
Ex-heavyweight and local businessman Dearn Savage has even claimed that the pair should just let their grievances go and retire graciously.
"Scottyboy always had the height, the reach and the power to put challengers on the deck, Marciano must be crazy to take him on. Even a slimline Jocky wouldn't even get near Malinga on his day. He's not a prettyboy for nothing. I'll be there but I don't think it'll be a long night. In fact, I don't even think Marciano will go the distance. In all reality, he probably won't even turn up. It's a no-contest..."
Malinga, who fought Savage three times for the World Title and won every one of them, laughed;
"It's just a bit of fun really. If Big Savvy wants to bring his kit along, I'll take the pair o'thum oan! In fact, ill take thum aw oan! I've got my taxi booked for 11pm. After that, I'm booked into the Stakis Park Hotel and will be making different type of title challenge with three of Falkirk's hottest females. If Marciano's buurd wants to sleep with a World Champion, she can notch my bedpost again! SHE'S A KNOCKOUT!!!"
Marciano meanwhile has been putting-in 15 hour shifts to prepare for his toughest opponent in his illustrious career. He said;
"I took the decision 4 years ago to bow out gracefully, and retire with my buurd. I had seen off 5 title challenges in my life, but Scottyboy kept biting away at me. He's never let-up, even when my promoter offered him a multi-pound deal - he opted to take on an unknown challenger in Jamey Daley. Daley's corner flung in the towel, the bucket and the chair after fluid hit the floor. The ref stepped-in and had to stop it. Malinga walked away with a massive purse. Then he starts all this name-calling, bullying and nipping-me tactics. I've had enough of him, he won't even reach his taxi, I've booked him an ambulance. I will win..."
Matchroom promoter Eddie Hearn has welcomed the chance to see two legends together for one last swansong on a night that's sure to bring together two of Scotland's most bitter rivals...
"It's truly mouthwatering. I'm licking my lips at the build-up between these two, and the global audience that'll be tuning in after the chance looked lost when Jocky retired. Scottyboy has been talkin-the talk, let's see if he can walk-the-walk...LET'S GET IT ON!!!"
The owner, Tommy Winters, of the Square Gardens in Maddiston has been waiting for an event like this for years;
"I bought the venue 12 years ago and have always dreamed about a show like this. Sure, we've seen some up-and-coming talent on offer here, all worthy of a place on the Wall Of Fame, but these two will ensure a sell-out. I was a heavyweight myself, thought I done OK in my time, but not even I would take on Scottyboy. Marciano must have a deathwish. I'm getting a stonemason to carve the winners name into the keystone above the entrance..."
After eight weeks of solid training, the Big Night eventually arrived for both contenders. Both athletes weighing in at exactly the same weight, and ready to do battle.
Sky Sports, CNN, BBC and ITV were a frenzy of activity catching all the famous celebrities and legends. The glitz and the glamour were all here for just one thing, the match of the century...PRIMETIME FIGHT NIGHT!
The challenger Scottyboy Malinga was the first to make the long walk to the arena to the tune of Faithless-Insomnia. Then Jocky Marciano made his bizarre entrance by swinging in on a rope like Tarzan, his preferred tune was A Guy Called Gerald-Voodoo Ray. The scene was set, the disco lights faded down to just British Standard Halogen and the referee made each man touch fists - then all hell was let loose...
ROUND ONE
Both men take to their stool, as Scottyboy was the challenger he took a £20 note from the kitty and said GO FOR IT MARCIANO. Marciano said 'Lager' through his saltired gumsheild and Malinga went straight for the Guinness. The crowd went ballistic, surely Scottyboy was setting himself up for a fall or at least an early toilet break??? Tommy put the pints in front of the two men that were growling at each other, then as quick as a flash - Scottyboy used his reach advantage and lightening speed to grab his pint, without spilling, and easily sunk it and stormed to the first round. Standing up and taking in the adulation of the crowd, Scottyboy had set out his stall. Marciano would now have to think on his toes...quickly.
ROUND TWO
Jocky was winded, struggling for breath, but managed to reach the kitty and said, 'MON THEN!
Scottyboy leaned back and went for the jugular, "I'll huv a pint ay Guinness and a wee hauf!"
The crowd erupted, surely this would spell the end for Marciano as he needed to find his second wind. Scottyboy was going for the KO and his opponent would lose the next round on points if he never added the whisky to his bowfin' Tennents Lager.
Tommy was well versed in these bouts, but normally they went all night with lock-ins, they were reasonably well contested with the losers paying the taxis, but Tommy had never seen two rivals go like this before. Ambulances would be needed for the pair o thum...
Tommy was shaking as he placed the drinks on the placemats and rang the bell...
Scottyboy began to relax and used his experience to let Jocky fire intae the Mick Jagger, whilst he sank the Richard Gough in one swift manoeuvre, then grimmaced as he gulped-up a half pint of Guinness, belched, then dropped the rest - giving himself a little drum-roll on the table as the venue was swamped in cheers and applause.
Marciano had to go to the clock, a sitting count, a cleverly engineered part of the new rules used by the judges who introduced the chess-timer after the Grangemouth Riots of '92 when one challenger took 35 minutes to drink his pint. It had descended into a farce that night when Kenny Bradley telt Mark McGinnis that he should stick to drinking Martinis, before pouring a bowl of hot stovies over his heed.
We now adopted The Marquis Of Queensbury Rules to avoid such pussies...
What on earth was Marciano playing at? He was now two rounds down on the scorecard, and technically Scottyboy Malinga could relax a little, and showboat. He felt good, and it was only another 4 rounds until the buffet was added into the proceedings!
Marciano couldn't wait that long though...
ROUND THREE
"OK lightweight, whit's yer poison?", scoffed the challenger.
Marciano would have to box clever here. He needed to stay within distance, so he opted for a pint, a hauf AND A PACKET O CHEESE AN ONION CRISPS!
Scottyboy's head sunk, and the crowd gasped. Introducing extra calories so early in the night would make Scottyboy feel bloated. It was below-the-belt, but he knew he could handle it, being crowned world champion was never going to be easy, so he sat back to let his corner mop his brow, and said, BRING IT!
Tommy stepped-in to try and calm the proceedings, and as part of the new rules - Marciano was reminded that the challenger got to pick the flavour.
= MCCOYS, CHILLI!!! Malinga had taken a dirty shot below the belt, and as he was calling the shots now, proceeded with an uppercut!
Tears began to run down Marciano's cheeks, Malinga knew this lightweight's tell, and now he was going for the kill.
Malinga used his left on the Guinness, and jabbed a right on the crisps, and just went to town on Marciano. It was now man versus boy. It even prompted the challenger to remove his robe and prove he meant business by sitting in his white vest.
Jocky wasn't giving up though, and he clocked something that might rock his rival, up high on the gantry. It just might work...
0-3
ROUND FOUR
Marciano, with his eyes still fairly in focus, he could just make out - way at the far end of the gantry, a bottle of PERNOD!
The bottle was standing alone, covered completely in dust, and had been banned by the board of control because it was considered a 'wummins drink'. It topped the offenders register mainly because it was only ever seen at Christmas events and is locked-up in a cabinet straight after.
Miraculously, it hadn't even been entered into the Queensbury Rules because it had never really been a serious part of anyone's training schedule. It wasn't even on the points system, but Marciano knew it played a big part in the underage drinking culture of Scotland in the 80's. It had even been banned from every primary school in the land, and he had done his homework on Malinga - he knew this was his Kryptonite...
"SPLIT THE BOTTLE OF PERNOD INTO TWO HALF-PINT GLASSES AND ADD THEM AS CHASERS TO THE GUINNESS AND LAGER!", announced Jocky.
The crowd turned nasty, with boos echoing around the place. This was a rabbit punch as far as the rules went...
Scottyboy's corner quickly checked the rulebook but conceded that the move was allowed. It was a bitch-slap, a manoeuvre that could be appealed at a later date, but he signalled to his corner to pour the ice bucket over his head. He then stood up and ranted at the audience, "George Best, Jim Baxter, Ollie Reed and Keith Floyd would have all walked out after hearing this dirty, childish underhand tactic. I'm much bigger than all dem fools, and I'll take it head on, even with the taboo mixture of Guinness."
Tommy was shaking almost uncontrollably as he tried desperately not to spill a drop. He knew himself what a deadly combination Scottyboy held in his hands and began pushing the crowd back to prevent any splashback from any projectile vomiting. Ding-Ding...
Marciano had failed to check the year or the nose of the drink, preferring to just get it down the hatch in one. It was a fatal decision that will go down in folklore for centuries, because the bottle, over the decades had fermented in the heat and had poured into the glasses like glue. One whiff of it and it brought tears to Tommy's eyes, and half the establishment's eyes!
While Jocky preferred to sink it asap, Scottyboy took some icecubes from his head and added it to the shot, preferring to devour the pint ay Irish first.There would be no hiding place for anyone after this.
Marciano tried holding his nose, but the liquid was like slime, congealed green slime. It was glowing like nuclear waste, and it burned his throat even hotter than the Chilli McCoys. Then he made a prettyboy error, and mixed some lager into the Pernod to thin it out? (Which is allowed, but seriously frowned upon) Had this idiot never seen 'Withnail And I!' you never mix your drinks like that. It turned purple, and started to fozz (bubble)and swell over the side of the glass like congealed jelly...
Scottyboy signalled his corner for the bucket because he was laughing so much at Marciano - he was pissing himself!
Tommy slammed the chess-timer down on the surface, YOU'RE ON THE CLOCK LADS NO MORE OF THIS FARCE!!!
If this concoction was fozzing in a glass, imagine what it was doing in Jocky's gut! In a never before seen performance, the glowing slime began leaking from his ears, nose and he was frothing at the mouth. His eyes were bloodshot and his veins had risen from his forehead.
Malinga had lost it, so early on in the bout and he had been caught with the giggles. He was uncontrollable, and as a result - he followed through with a few bursts of dark blue slime from his aersecheeks and onto his boxer shorts. No fluid had hit the deck though, so he had to quickly compose himself and end this before someone got seriously hurt. He took four counts on the clock, and Tommy accepted the round as over.
ROUND FIVE
Scottyboy, who often ridiculed Jocky for his choice of opponents could see for the first time that the guy sitting in front of him was a real bonafide fighter. Any lesser man would have dropped, or his corner would have thrown in the towel, but not tonight. He reached for the kitty and pulled out 40 notes and stared Marciano straight in his baseball-sized eyeballs.
"THIS IS A LIFELINE JOCKY. TWA PINTS AND A BOTTLE AY BAILEYS SPLIT 50/50. IT'LL LINE OOR STOMACHS AGAIN AS IT LOOKS LIKE WE'RE HERE FOR THE DURATION. It gives you a wee bit of hope here. Alternatively, I can go for the boiler-makers, yae or nae???
"F*ck you ya blouse. Yer desperate tae get the chesse and wine round ya big fat noncey pleb. BRING IN THE F*CKEN BIG GUNS!!!"
"Yer f*cken nuts Marciano!"
"Get TWA packet ay them tae!"
Tommy waited...
"OK chief, you heard the man. TWA pints and divvy-up a bottle of Aftershocks."
Fear slid down Tommy's face, he straightened his bowtie and said as clearly and as calmy as he could,
"That's the BOGOF special today lads. Twa bottles for the price ay ane..."
"F*cken hurry it up Tommy or I'll be pittin you oan the clock!!!"
Both men took different styles, Jocky opted for the orthodox method whereby lining up the shots on his left, and slipping in some Mick Jagger which was held next to his chin. It was a clever combination which put him into an early lead.
Scottyboy, choosing the southpaw technique, paced himself with the shots, but was tending to just sip the Irish and end it with a big slurry.
In a truly remarkable round, this was two men totally transfixed on winning the coveted World Title, both were giving as good as they got, and eventually, after offering Marciano a lifeline, Scottyboy emptied the last ounce of the black stuff, and jumped up to take in the applause of the crowd. No clock needed...
It was showboating at his best from Scottyboy and when his corner eventually wrestled him back to his Stool, Marciano had won the round - because sitting next to the challengers beermat was his packet of nuts. Scottyboy was back on the clock...
He could afford to lose a solitary round, but he had been so transfixed on Marciano after that fateful Pernod round, he had taken his eyes off the baseballs - so to speak. Marciano was gone anyway, he'd have to order Kaliber for the next round!
ROUND SIX
"CHARLIE!" Jocky slurred, head bowed. Had his brow touched the surface, it would've been game over. He was struggling, tongue hingin oot the side ay his mooth...
His corner moved in, pointing fingers as to the outrage it would cause so early in the nights proceedings. Even the 'so-called' experts from Sky Sports had said it wouldn't even go the distance, but this would be effectively throwing in the towel. It had been allowed in his previous bouts mainly because his promoters also had Enreachio, the Columbian bag-man in their stable.
Malinga's corner never even flinched...they were expecting a stoppage anytime soon anyway, and the Bruce's Taxi was already booked for Scottyboy. It would be an even earlier victory parade than they had envisioned...
Tommy put his white gloves on, placed the pints in front of the twa fighters, then placed twa bags ay Charlie next to their glasses, but before he rung the bell, Scottyboy asked if the bags were Irn-Bru, Haggis or Hedgehog flavour...
DING DING...
Malinga was toying and goading his opponent, but he knew he had to end this bout here and now. As Jocky was cutting-up the Charlie into lines, Malinga downed the lot. The bout was over.
In what he seen as a clever ploy to defeat Malinga, Marciano had defeated himself. Like Muhammed Ali using a rope-a-dope technique to tire his opponents out, he had failed to grasp the big-hitting prowess of Malinga.
Tommy had no option but to step in, but Jocky, the undefeated (retired) heavyweight champion was almost on his knees when he suddenly started swinging punches into thin air.
"BRING OAN THE DADDIEZ O' THUM AW! BRING US THE TENNENTS SUPER LAGER AND THE CARLSBERG SPECIAL BREW!!!"
Malinga shot up and scudded Marciano with an almichty skelp that would've knocked Tyson out. The crowd were becoming electric, and were awe inspired as TWA dollybirds brought the delicacies oot in silver platters. This is what it was AW about. This was years of training and bloody bouts and horrific spells in hospital, for a stupid f*cken belt!
The maître-de let both fighters view the wares, before placing TWA cans ay each in front of the punch drunk hasbeens. This was gonna get messy...Sir Oliver Reed and Georgie Best would ne'er even touch the stuff. The De'ils Poison they called it.
TAE BE HONEST THOUGH. BAITH AY THOSE LIGHTWEIGHTS WURNAE SCOTTISH THOUGH...and they sadly wurnae here.
Tommy placed the chess-timer back on the surface. This would now be a gemme ay resolve. One gulp, after anither... They might need kebabs after this ane...
ROUND SEVEN
"SAME AGAIN! BAWBAGS!" both men yelled.
The crowd were going wild and both corners were desperately trying to calm their fighters. After all, this was the buffet round and historically both men would be allowed a rum and coke to wade through the plates ay sausage rolls, scotch eggs, pizza and garlic bread with an array of haggis pakora and rolls on square on offer.
The rulebook stated the buffet had to be consumed by the 12th round, but both men were going at it hammer and tongs. Scottyboy did reconsider because as the night wore on it would start to go cold and stale. It was probably leftovers from Tommy's breakfast anyway.
No time for pussyfooting around now and back down, that would be a sign of that horrible word called weakness.
Scottyboy nodded, TWA cans each, plus a double ay Grouse. Ice was allowed, but never any mixers. Water was deemed a trick for thinning it oot, but this was Maddiston. A part of Fawkuurt that took the 'Mad' pert o the name as a badge ay honour. They'd clock ye as an ootsider if ye stooped to those poofy tactics. AW hell would break loose, well actually - it already had!
Both men went at it with a sluggers pace. Marciano had to play it cool here because Malinga could wipe this stuff away easier than he could. During his heyday, he preferred to drink cans ay Red Stripe, Shlitz and Lowenbrau. A crate a night, and he would still go home and go a few bedroom rounds wi the buurd. This Grade A stuff had been banned years ago, but most exclusive offy's stock it oot the back for the auld pro's.
Suddenly, Malinga belched and a glub o the paint stripper tore back up through his throat and burnt the chute like acid. He held it in and grimmaced as he downed it a second time, sending a heatwave down towards his heart. The silent killer, heartburn. He shook his head violently and decided to fight fire with superior fire and he opened the hatch and skelped doon the grouse.
Then in a show of his supremacy, he scudded the two cans of industrial strength lager and uttered the immortal words; "bleffurin eetff thffat marsherinchow!" Which roughly translated means, 'f*ckin beat that Marciano..'
Marciano had finished at the exact same time, flung the empties in the bin and claimed the round as his own due to speech-play. He then reached over and placed a smacker on the brow of Malinga in a show of the traditional Scots-Italian etiquette. Things were hotting up and both corners now demanded they eat the buffet because the traditional one was scrapped at the last minute due to advice from health and environmental. It was now chicken buryani or lamb vindaloo!
Both corners glanced the rulebook, if one dies before the buffet is cleared, the remaining fighter has to finish it all before he can claim the purse and belt...
Both fighters agreed, the fire in both bellies was now about to explode, and with only one toilet working, it could get really messy in the ring.
ROUND EIGHT
Both athletes knew this round would either kill thum or cure thum. In the early title bouts of the 90's, this was the round that could potentially see an opponent gain that magical 'second-wind'. Many a challenger could then go the full distance, others would just be sent to sleep.
Malinga, who had been on a diet of salad, bread and soup for the fortnight leading up to this night - suddenly realised that a 'Ruby Murray', mixed with ethanol-laced rocket fuel would send his frail gut to the ends of despair.
This was the biggest night of his entire career, why not goad Jocky with a taste of Tommy's legendary punches???
Tommy tried to intervene, but Marciano was up for anything now. He knew by dropping below Malinga's weight, then building-up, he was now in the best shape to challenge Scottyboy.
THE GLOVES WERE NOW OFF...so to speak.
The platter that was put before both fighters was the size of Henry VIII's banqueting proportions. Buy the time the bell sounded, Malinga cleared away a corner of it just in case he was sick. If he was, the Marquis Of Queensbury ruled the platter must be 'cleaned' to continue to the next round.
Tommy, who was an ex-rep on the 18-30-stone circuit in Spain in years gone by, poured both kings his punch concoction which floored many of the heavyweights on those fateful resorts in Magaluf and Benidorm.
Pouring TWA big ladels into each massive golden goblet, like it was some magical holy wine, Tommy released a wry smile...'THIS COULD POTENTIALLY BE THE LAST SUPPER FOR ONE O THUM...'
It was too much, and Tommy placed the chess-timer back on the table. After the three minutes were up, both would now be on the clock...
Both were struggling, but Marciano sped into the lead, mopping-up scoop after scoop of the red-hot delicacy with his naan breed, then roaring in pain as he took yet another mighty blow to his beaming red napper.
"Whaurs the chips???" he spat agressively in the direction of Malinga, who was flailing rapidly.
Malinga, so easily the entertainer on the night, sank his head above the plate as the bell rang. He had to give himself a massive shake, reinvent his gameplay, and start afresh in the next round. His corner whispered in his ear, and he slowed down to a canter, the trots would come later...
"These rules are flawed. I quite legitimately have until round 12 to leave the plate clean. You can't put me to the clock until the end of round 12, then I'd lose my time advantage..." he stressed.
Tommy looked horrified, glanced quickly at promoter Hearn, then the judges, and the rep of the honourary Marquis Of Queensbury. Before taking advice from the suits, he quickly asked his missus what he should do?
"Do whit ye always dae Tommy, f*ck AW..."
It took Malinga's management team to explain the wording in the rules. If they were allowed to delay the buffet round, he could reasonably be expected to finish it before the stated 12th round. Its time to 'Bury' the rules and go toe-to-toe!
Marciano was like a burst baw by this point, ready for his bed, yet the rules - like so many on any given day, had beat him. He simply flipped his glove and waved PLAY-OAN!!!
ROUND NINE
Malinga had his taxi booked in a short while, so confident he could put Jocky on the deck, so he called over Hearn. He whispered in his ear and Hearn was astonished. Malinga was asking for an early stoppage, via the Russian Roulette Round...
Eddie Hearn went inside his tux and reluctantly pulled out the six-gun. McGuigan came over and tried to wrestle the gun off him, but Hearn biffed um. He laid down the shot glasses, poured the Absolut vodka and took the silver bullet from his pocket. He inserted the bullet in the barrel, spun it - then placed the shooter on the surface.
Marciano slowly picked it up and placed it on the side of his head. Pulled the trigger, and sighed as the loudest noise was a solitary click. Then he downed the straight vodka.
Hearn spun the barrel again, and Malinga, up to now he was so confident he was untouchable he downed the vodka then quickly placed the gun onto his karate-kid headband and pulled the trigger. Not even the noise of the security flinging out Dearn Savage had even made him flinch...
The record before tonight for successful empty barrels was 15 in the brutal undercard for the Benn-Eubank Fight in the 90's when relative unknown middleweight by the name of CoolHand Luke McGillivray shot to fame after his 32 round battle ended in the fatality of the then champion, Bonecrusher Nigel Littlmiss.
On number 31, Marciano held the gun up to his head, pulled the trigger, and with an almichty bang, the fight was over. He wasn't dead though, but he might as well have been, as his boxers were filled with the aftereffects of his Indian. Hearn had inserted a blank into the barrel, on the authority of The Scottish Bevvying Board Of Control.
The fight was over. Malinga finished his platter, took the acclaim from the crowd, then collapsed right into the awaiting wheelchair, before being carted away to his taxi with his shiny new belt and large purse. Marciano, who was shaking at this point, having lost his coveted title, but still breathing, would be led away to Larbert Hospital to have his stomach pumped.
Sky Sports tried desperately to get interviews with both men, but all they could get was slurred comments...
"FFflet thlish flee a weapon for thlee"
mumbled Marciano, before letting the interpreter translate to [Let this be a lesson for you!]
And Malinga only stopping to say, "Fliggin shneuw ay wish eehe shampilain. shlats shclash..." [Fucken knew I was the champion. That's class...]
After two months arguing about a rematch, they announced their retirements and both now tour the circuit doing after-dinner speeches and educating would-be fighters about the perils of drink and drugs, and vindaloos.
Dearn Savage meanwhile went on to win the vacant title, only to lose it after failing a urine test. He said later, "The SBBOC just took the piss outta meh..."
