BEASTLY TALES

THE PUNCHING BAG

Horace Thredbo was looking for easy money.
He didn’t want a day job, work wasn’t funny.
He had read that big money could be made excelling at sport
But any sport involving balls, his prowess was nought.
“I know that huge sums can be made in boxing.”
“But one has to be fit, smart, good at out-foxing,”
“An opponent showing great cunning,”
“The fitness part, from sparring and running.”

So this became the direction he was determined to go.
He went to a boxing club, to train real slow.
With a quizzical brow, the Coach looked at him go.
“Most athletes do have a large girth,”
“But around the chest, for what it’s worth!”
“Your large girth is around your tummy,”
“And you don’t look too smart, more like a dummy!”
But Horace did have a determined streak.
He was determined to show aggression, not to be meek!
On further training he did insist,
So to become a successful pugilist.

Into the ring went he, with a trainer,
He swung a left, missed, a no-brainer!
Swung a right, missed again, puffing, collapsed against the ropes.
It seemed to all, he had no realistic hopes.
During a practice match, his opponent hit him hard.
Horace just stood there, smiling, through his mouth guard.
The rubberised whiteness of his smile,
Conjured up thoughts of something vile.
He was then hit many times again,
How it must have agitated his brain!
But Horace just stood there, held his ground.
His opponent became exhausted as he did pound.
At last Horace’s opponent collapsed in a heap,
Exhaustion had led to an unconsciousness deep.
Horace was declared the winner of the fight,
The crowds went wild over Horace’s might!

After that fight, Horace was given a medical check.
A few bruises, split eyebrow, but what the heck!
Otherwise, he was fighting fit,
All that pummelling hadn’t hurt him a bit!
Horace had made boxing history,
Just stand your ground, it wasn’t a mystery!
Horace went on, in similar manner,
To win every boxing accolade and banner.
Prize money poured continuously in.
Into Horace’s well-used money bin.

No matter how many times Horace was punched in the head,
No matter that his opponent’s fists were like lead,
Horace remained seemingly unscathed,
Only superficial wounds needed to be bathed.
Horace’s secret seemed to lie in his cranium.
His mother suggested it was from having a brainier Mum.
But, perhaps it was due to his head being solid,
Not much brain to be bruised, as Horace was a dullard!