Through the Glass Partition (Part 2)

“Ever wonder what makes a champion a champion? Not from what they are as far as they stature? Not they size or they build? Not even in the gameplan or how? When you think about any sport it takes an exceptional team or individual to stand tall at the end of it all. It’s a sight to witness and to be a part of but what made that particular team or that individual, the one? Is it the dedication? You gotta be in the gym constantly that’s a rule right? Heh my bad harsh subject. Is it the IQ? Being a step above the opposition no matter where the challenge goes. Is it the shoes? I’m sorry, old soul NBA Jam was the shit though. Aight cut me in.”

Daniel Fisk’s stature finally meets the voiceover with him standing on a tall balcony with the Chicago skyline around him. The focus in his eyes is zoomed in on the United Center.

“To me, the fighter became a fighter long before any glove covered the hand. They fought in life. Fought their circumstances. Fought their way up. But then, along the way they forget that drive. They forget that initial fight. Forget the hell before heaven. The starvation before the plate ever came. They forget those circumstances. They become more than what they were to the point they forget what they were. I’m saying that as a fighter with a terrible champion defense record in Union GP. I’m living these experiences to learn from them. When it comes to the champion, I believe the champion holds it. They hold those circumstances. They hold that fight. They hold that hell in them and never forget it. They hold it in them every day, every night. Then fight night, they unleash it out of them, every single time. Doesn’t matter if it’s done in style or not. They bring their hell to whoever is on the other side never letting go of those moments. Never forgetting where the fights really began for them.”

1998

The chill of Upstate NY. Never matter what time of year it is, the weather always feels cold. Middle of March, May, or October, it doesn't matter if the atmosphere naturally feels cold. The location is 99 percent of the reason to most anyway didn’t matter the weather. Skyscraper size gates topped with heavy barbed wire. A healthy welcome to the brick walls with a hopeless aura coming from each and every brick can intimidate a young boy. No need for scared straight ladies and gentlemen this one is shooketh.

The first time Daniel Fisk Jr walked through those gates at 7 years old introduced him to a world he didn’t fully understand yet at that time. He didn’t go before because his mother didn’t want him to. Until now he didn’t understand why and the further into the building he goes the colder he gets. He wants to see his father but not here. The personal checks at the beginning of the visit make the youngest Fisk even more unsettled. A couple of guards speak to his mother slick seeing her with a tribe of kids. The older brothers have words for that immediately. Gets worse the further they go. He jumps at certain noises he hears while walking in the building like the buzzers and door slams. Early in he knew this was a place he’d never want to be.

The flash on-screen exposes the focused snarl of Fisk from the convict side of the partition glass. A clip of his G2 promotional video.

A hard difference from the expression on the younger Fisk from the visitor’s side of the glass, he’s vulnerable and nervous. Poor little boy holding his momma’s hand while looking down at the floor. His older brothers and sisters have been through this before but he hasn’t. What do most children do when they have to sit still in a chair and not play with anything? Move their legs or anything to keep their own attention. Sure enough, the youngest of 6 begins to shift and shake his legs. Anything to keep his eyes off the empty glass in front of him and noises of sad conversations around him. He wraps the third time handed-down bubble jacket around himself tighter. The door opens in front of them hearing that catches his attention and Daniel Fisk Sr, soon to be a career criminal, comes walking out with a stern face which lightens a little toward his family.

The patriarch of the Fisk family takes a seat in front of them all. The five elder ones are content, far from happy but content in seeing their father healthy. Fisk Jr is in shock at the man on the other side of the glass. ‘Whose mans? Whose?’ He would be asking if that was the lingo of the late 90s. The man Junior knew was kind-faced and soft-hearted. This wasn’t this man. The man in front of him looks ready to destroy the world. Eyes raging to the pupils. Almost like an animal to his youngest son and namesake. What happened? Fisk Jr keeps looking up at his dad while he’s trying to get welcomes from everyone and give them back. Going down the line he finally sees the expression on his youngest.

Daniel Fisk Sr: “What’s wrong Junior? You scared?”

Fisk Jr looks right at his mom. The youngest boy, mommas boy. He can’t help it but she nudges him on and gives him the confidence to speak.

Daniel Fisk Jr: “A little..”

Daniel Fisk Sr: “Shake it off. Fuck that. No matter where you end up in the world you hold your head up. Respected. Even when circumstances ain't pretty. I don’t like it here either but never hang head in doubt. Hold your head, your word, and take care of your momma.”

The tone of his voice’s delivered like a warning. No doubt. Even when uncomfortable. Fisk Jr stares at the pain in his Dad’s eyes and nods.

The eyes on the United Center in Chicago return on-screen.

“I said from before the beginning here Cal. Before this thing got going this is what I came here for. The Openweight Championship. Finals. A taste of old flavor within the new. Some of the older heads will remember back then, it was openweight all the way around. The fuck is a weight class? That’s how you fought. Come as you are. Cal McCluskey is the President of that fan club. I wish I could sit here and hate on it Cal but you are literally on a Dennis Rodman tour, snorting white off titties and winning.”

The camera zooming out shows Fisk standing on that balcony but turning around toward the sliding doors.

“Not only that Cal but you are willing to go to lengths most won’t for the dub. Ways you normally don’t have to prepare for. I gotta make sure you don’t fake a baby while we in there & shit. You that wild so this is uncharted territory. You took out two of my boys and knocking me back makes the trifecta. I just kicked you like a fucking video game in G2 though so I have nothing to worry about right? I saw the motivation right in your eyes once you started to come to. A look that can bring a similar chill in the air out here in Chicago but it’s always cold out this bitch.”

Fisk pulls the leather over him a little more. The visions of a snarling adult Fisk on one side of the sliding glass and the uncomfortable child looking up on the other side.

“The doubt with my history in getting the belts but not maintaining them. I am that nigga that cleaned through both of the Union GP tournaments in my weight class. I did it for a reason Cal. Prove full readiness for a grind like this. It’s why our first go went how it did. The light you just found in this shit, I’ve been in for years. I’ve lost in it and won in it long before you clicked the fuck in. You got a puncher’s chance and an Emmy nomination of hope fucking actin’ ass pussy. A champion takes it all in though so I see thru your shit. I'ma hold it too. Take in every emotion from the circumstances. From the ace mindset lining up defenses or the uncomfortable child walking into a new prison. I’m taking it all in there with me. What kind of Cal will we all witness? That fact that question has to be asked is a goddamn shame. Either way, all my Fisk’s coming at once and we tucking your shit in. This is the newest history. Don’t waste this with your bullshit, come with the gold in mind the right way. You do that? Another fight of the night in the bag with more for me.”