Boom Knuckles Quotes

She ran into a problem at the tunnel exit, though. Her father chose one of the exits with a ladder up to the sky, where a Wingwatcher stood guard at the bottom. Ivy crouched behind a bench carved out of the rock. Her heart was pounding. She’d never been this close to this exit before — certainly never without permission. It smelled different here. She didn’t think she was imagining that. “Hello, Holly!” Heath boomed cheerfully as he approached the bottom of the ladder. “It’s Foxglove, sir,” the Wingwatcher said. Ivy didn’t know her very well, although Foxglove had left school only a couple of years ago to train with the Wingwatchers. Her hair was shaved into a close dark fuzz over her head and her forest-green uniform was neat and unwrinkled. Most interestingly, Foxglove’s expression was hard to read. It wasn’t the usual adoring gaze Ivy’s father got all over Valor. She looked calm, focused … unimpressed. Ivy smushed her face around, trying to imitate her. Violet and Daffodil would be so startled if Ivy could make a cool “I don’t care” expression like that. “Any dragon sightings today?” Heath asked, ignoring the name correction. “No, sir.” “Too bad, too bad.” He cracked his knuckles. “Can’t wait to meet another dragon with the pointy end of this guy.” He patted the sword at his waist with a grin. Foxglove raised her eyebrows but said nothing. “Well, I’ll be back soon,” Heath said. He put one hand on the ladder.

Well, next time that Gerry Rees comes in, send him to me,” Lois threatened. “I’ll wait until he’s nice and distracted and then boom, I’ll pull out the brass knuckles!” “You’ll do no such thing!” Maggie warned her. “That’d hurt everyone’s business here! …And you got brass knuckles? Where the hell did you get brass knuckles?” “They been in the family for years. Grandpap had ‘em down on the docks.” Lois admitted. “Lois being the oldest, they went to her…” Margaret added. “Well, just the same, we can’t afford anyone leaving any traceable marks on the gentlemen around here.” --Maggie Pollaski with the Raterink Sisters from The Ragtime Coven

You do the double shift like this (Figure 81 A, B, C, D, E): Telegraph that you are about to shoot a straight left at your opponent's head. Shoot the left, which he'll evade by stepping back. Then, immediately stride forward with your right foot, and (as you stride) shoot a straight right at the head. If he's fast, he'll avoid that one too, but narrowly. Then, immediately stride forward with your left foot and (as you } stride) shoot a straight left at his head. Put everything you've got into that left, for it's almost sure to nail him. The double shift is designed to force a retreating opponent to (1) step back from the first left, and (2) immediately spring away frantically to avoid the unorthodox right that should (3) leave him flustered and unprepared to avoid the final unorthodox left. It is called the "double shift" because your body is shifting to the southpaw stance as you throw the right and shifting back to the normal stance as you shoot the last left. The combination of movements should be made with utmost speed and savagery-with your fists going whoosh! -whoosh!-BOOM! Even if you miss him with the last left, you'll be back in normal punching position, ready to work on an opponent who should be extremely flustered. Some fighters use the double shift with hooks instead of straight punches. The late Stanley Ketchel, a "wild man" slugger, used the shift with overhand swings, landing on the side of an opponent's jaw and neck with thumb-knuckle and wrist. Stanley must have had cast-iron hands. I would advise you not to attempt the double shift with hooks, for your long strides will open the hooks into swings or semi-swings. Moreover, use of the hooks will leave you dangerously open as your body turns at the beginning of each shift.

The idea made me giggle, but I swallowed it as soon as a man walked through one of the doors at the back of the courtyard. His whole aura screamed danger. He was the same size as Lachlan, and both looked like they played some kind of professional sport for a living. But his eyes were as cold as a frost giant’s butt, and the aura of power that surrounded him competed with Lachlan’s. It wasn’t quite as strong, but it was enough to make my fingers itch to draw a weapon from the ether. This guy is on our side. He strode up to Lachlan, his arms outspread to hug him. Then punched him in the face. Or tried to. Lachlan dodged, avoiding the fist by inches. My heart leapt into my throat. Lachlan and the man laughed, great booming noises. Lilia looked at me. “They’re idiots.” Lachlan threw a punch this time. The man darted his head away, but Lachlan’s knuckles brushed his cheek. The blow left no mark—the man had been fast enough to avoid a real hit—but Lachlan grinned widely. “I win this round.” “Why the hell do you do that?” Annoyance streaked through me. With my job, I pretty much ate violence for breakfast. And I didn’t mind it so much. But amongst friends? I wasn’t a fan. “We met while fighting in the Coliseum,” Lachlan said. “It became habit.” “Wait—what? How the heck did you fight there?

Boxing in Hartlepool started on the beach at Seaton Carew where the fighters fought bare knuckle. In the early 1900s there was a boxing booth on the corner of Burbank Street known as the ‘Blood Tub’. The Blood Tub always drew the crowds and you were guaranteed a good punch up. Hartlepool was a booming ship port and someone would go round the docks and pick five coloured seamen for what was called an ‘All In’. One in each corner and one in the middle and when the bell rang it was every man for himself and the winner was the one left standing after some furious toe-to-toe exchanges. That was always a big crowd puller.