I met Big Al in 2002 at Diamond A Go Go. An ex-air force tech said his friend was writing a book. Having written four unpublished novels I subscribe to the old Woody Allen adage.
“Everyone has a book in them. Best everyone keep it in them too.”
But I also agreed help his fiend, but i wasn’t ready for Big Al Harlow. An extreme boxer living off extra stints in Oliver Stone films. He gave me his novel about robbing drug dealers and doing drugs in LA. It was better than anything else ‘writers’ had shown me in Pattaya and I edited his short story TOUGH GUYS. Big Al liked it but rewrote it again in his own words.
‘Tough Guys ’ By A.L.Harlow
Mike Delio was working my corner. He’s been my friend and teacher for the past 5 yrs. Mike’s a tough Italian kid from New York. Most of his 28 yrs has been dedicated to the study of martial arts. He’s studied many different styles and as a result was a five foot eight, two hundred pound weapon. I was told on the first day of training: “Al, never call me sensei or master. My name is Mike D. I went through all the ego strokin’, ass kissing bullshit so you don’t have to.”
Six yrs younger then me and by far the best martial arts teacher I’ve ever come across. Mike had lived at a Buddhist temple in the northern jungles of Thailand for 4 yrs. There he learned a type of kickboxing known as Muay Thai. He also studied an ancient weapons based art known as Krabi Krabong, rarely taught to foreigners.
Some of this knowledge was passed down to me.
My name is Big Al. I’m a five foot eleven, two hundred and ninety pound cage fighter. I’m a white guy of German/Irish decent. My head is shaved and I have a silver hoop earring in each ear. My arms are completely covered in tattoos. The tattoo on my stomach says: ‘No Mercy’ in huge letters.
A veteran of many street battles my trophies are scars. The top of my head is marked by baseball bats. My neck’s hewed by a meat cleaver and a weight lifting accident. My mind is fucked from drug abuse and three prison sentences. Did I mention I have no front teeth?
The door opened to my dressing room and Mike D came in. “You’re fighting in five minutes.”
“OK.”
“What kind of attitude is that? Look, if you’re not into this…”
“of course I’m into it,” I shadow-boxed to keep warm and out of his face.
“Something’s not right with you.”
“I’m a little tired, that’s all.”
“I don’t mean just today. I’m talking about the last month or so.”
“I’m fine.”
“Is your girl giving you problems? Are you back on drugs?” Mike said as he grabbed a wrist and pulled me around so he could look carefully into my eyes.
“Man I’ve been clean for over 6 yrs.” I replied, pulling away from him to continue beating up my imaginary opponent.
“Look Al, you know I love you. You’re my friend and brother. Don’t ever forget that. Now give me twenty kicks, first right then left,” he said picking up the kick pad getting into position.
I just finished my kicks when a knock on the door sounded. One of the owners stuck his head in. “You’re on.”
As we walked out the door and up the aisle I could feel the tightening in my chest. People slapped me my on the back and gave the thumbs up as I made my way to the ring. There had to be at least a hundred people in here.
Sean and his brother Justin own and operate this gym. LA Boxing in the city of Costa Mesa. I used to think there were tough guys in LA County until I came to Orange County.
Some of the well known tough guys that came from around here were Tito Ortiz, Tank Abbot, Kimo and Arron Brink. Today I fight Arron. He is six foot two, two hundred and thirty pounds. At 26 yrs old his body is rock hard and chiseled lean.
Everybody has their own way of mentally preparing for a fight. Arron likes to be kicked in the balls. Not just once or twice. I’ve seen him get kicked as many as ten times. I don’t know if he already has children, but I hope he doesn’t plan on fathering any more. They may not come out right.
I was thankful the ball kicking show was over as I ducked under the top rope of the boxing ring. The super heavyweight bout was the main event. This is what people paid good money to see. This was cage fighting at its best. The referee was giving us the rules. Even on the underground fight circuit they try to have some rules.
“No eye gouging, fish hooking, or hair pulling. No kicks to the head and open hand to the face only. Everybody understand the rules?”
The referee looked from me to my opponent before signaling for the fight to begin.
The bell rang and I moved out from my corner of the ring. Arron met me in the center and immediately caught me with a right hook. I’d seen it coming and tried to block the punch, a split second too late. The blow landed in the temple area on the left side of my head. My brain went numb. Technically I was knocked out, though my body refused to fall. My mind screamed out but my hands would not work. Everything went into slow motion. He caught me with a left and another right, splitting the skin above both eyes.
My head cleared a little and I tried to pin him against the ropes with my weight. The blood from the cuts ran into my eyes. I was blind but didn’t give up. He got in behind me and put me in a choke hold. Using all my power I broke away and threw him to the mat. Hearing the crowd’s lust for blood spurred me on. My attack was cut short when I lost my footing and went down. Before I could regain my feet, Arron drove his knee into my right eye.
The pain was excruciating as it shot through my eye socket and into my brain. I was on my back but didn’t know how I got there. The blood ran freely from my ruined eyes. It tasted of iron. I rolled over and pulled myself to my feet with the help of the ropes. Taking two hard kicks to my ribs for my effort. I turned in time to catch his foot as he kicked me again. With his leg trapped against my body, I caught him in the jaw with a right hand. It had little or no effect so I drove a forearm into his face. He came back with a head butt, crushing my nose. I pinned him in the corner and wouldn’t let him up.
The referee pulled us apart. After 3 minutes and 58 seconds the fight was over. I was bleeding so bad the fight couldn’t go on. It was a good day for Arron. We hugged in the center of the ring and I shook his hand, congratulating him on his win.
Mike D helped me out of the ring and to the dressing room. I would have to clean up then go to the hospital. Before we left, Arron came to my room with the help of his trainer.
“I have to tell you. You ‘re one of the toughest mother fuckers I’ve ever fought.” He shook my hand and limped away.
Somebody once said you have to taste defeat to enjoy victory. There may be some truth to that. But that doesn’t make losing any better.
I left the hospital with seven stitches over each eye and an orbital wall fracture behind my right eye. My nose was broken and both eyes swelled shut. It would be many days before I could see again. Mike drove to my apartment and walked me up the stairs.
“Al, what happened in there?”
“He got a lucky punch.”
“Bullshit. There’s no such thing as a lucky punch. You were sleeping.”
“The kid’s a good fighter and he beat me,” I said, feeling old and tired.
“Hell yeah the kids good, but you’re better. That first punch should never have touched you.”
“Maybe I’m getting too old for this,” I replied as I lay back on the couch, wishing I had something to ease the pain.
“More bullshit. I’m going to ask you again, this time I want it straight. Are you getting high?”
There was a long moment of silence before I decided to go ahead and tell him. “Yeah, I fucked up and started using again. Just when everything’s going good in my life I reach over and push a self destruct button,” I said in a quiet voice. Disappointment was emitting from Mike as the words escaped my mouth. In a way that hurt worse then the beating I just took.
“I knew there was something wrong. I’ve seen you come back from some tough fights before, but this time I threw in the towel. I couldn’t watch you take a beating like that.”
“You stopped the fight?”
“Al, I had to. He would’ve beaten you to death before you gave up.”
“Yeah, but I just couldn’t quit.”
“Maybe fighting and drugs are like other things in life; you have to know when enough is enough.”