“What’s going on?” Tegan asked loudly, looking at Fiona, who wore a look of excitement one could only compare to that of a kid on Christmas morning, as the crowd began to clap in a steady rhythm, in time with the music.
“It’s Loch Lomond!” Fiona squealed again. “When he first started making a name for himself, he was invited to be a guest at a Scotland soccer game after one of his fights. He was filmed singing their team song in the crowd. He was given a lot of heat for it by the British media, as he’s an Aussie, but he was doing this,” she said as she indicated with her hand to her arm across Tegan’s shoulders. “And belting it out. He was mocked for it, but he said he didn’t care. He can still be Australian and love the song. Being born in a place doesn’t dictate your heart. He’ll sing what he wants when he wants. And ever since, at his fights, more and more people all over the world have been doing it to show support.”
Fiona paused and then began to sing along with the crowd. Tegan could tell, as the crowd rose as one, she had been waiting for this opportunity for some time.
“You’ll take the high road, and I’ll take the low road. And I’ll be in Scotland before ye’. But me and my true love will never meet again… on the bonny bonny banks of Loch Lomond…”
It was repeated slowly and then the crowd, Fiona included, began raising their fists and bouncing on their feet before calming to continue to sing it once more. This time with no music. Just clapping the beat. Slow but LOUD. Finally, the music returned and the crowd belted the words with gusto. Once over, the crowd erupted and Fiona joined a quick-fire chant. “Gaz nee ah! Gaz nee ah! Gaz nee ah!”
New music started from the speakers. New age rap or something, and the crowd descended into boos and curses. Screaming obscenities that would make a sailor blush. Fiona herself was gesturing with her middle finger at the fighter making his way from the back. As he came closer, flanked by what could be either his bodyguards or trainers, Tegan recognised Rudy Dominov. He crossed the threshold of the Cage as he danced and weaved his way around, striking his chest while looking out among the people. He was the bad guy to all these people, and he loved it.
The lights dimmed to nothing. The crowd knew what was coming and lost their collective mind but no one more than Fiona, who squealed with repeated repetitions of, “oh my God... oh my God!!!”
It was here that Tegan rose to her feet, actually wanting to get a good look. No music pumped through the sound system, almost amplifying the chant that had started again, as a figure stepped out from the back and started to walk down to the Cage, only a single spotlight and thousands and thousands of phone flashes lighting his way. With a stride that was neither quick nor slow, he carried himself with a sense of purpose. Pride. Dignity.
Owen Gasnier was flanked by one person just as calm in his movements as the fighter. As he crossed the threshold, there was no showboating. No dancing. No pumping up the crowd. Not that they needed it. The sight of Gasnier sent them into a frenzy but even more so when he removed his robe, revealing his fight shorts to be a mock-up of the Australian flag.
Fiona and most of the other women in the crowd let loose a few cheers of their own as he revealed his shirtless torso. All Tegan could see was his back from this angle. He wasn’t overdeveloped, but it was creased with muscles upon muscles. Hard. Unforgiving. Just like him, maybe?
The crowd quietened down as the introductions were made. It was made clear from the outset that the winner of the bout would earn the right to face the number one contender later this year. If they won that... a guaranteed shot at the champion Ricky Chozen or Brent Diaz.
“What does that mean?” Tegan asked while clapping with the rest of the crowd. “Are those two fighting at some stage?”
“Yeah. Diaz was champion but was suspended pending a court case. Chozen won the belt while Diaz was away. Now, the court case is settled, Diaz is free and wants his belt back. That’s the next big fight later this year. Why they are letting him back in the ring is beyond me.”
“What did he do?”
“Killed a guy in his last fight.”
“He... what?”
Fiona couldn’t reply even if she tried. Gasnier had been introduced to the crowd, and it erupted into the largest cheer yet. Then both fighters were getting their last-minute instructions from their corners. Dominov’s camp was much like the fighter. Jumpy, frantic, bouncing around, hammering words with the gestures of their hands. Gasnier’s corner was calm. He barely moved. Only minimal nods of the head, acknowledging he heard his trainer. The trainer might as well have been describing the subtleties of an oil painting or reminding him they needed milk from the shop. Both sides of the Cage could not have been more different in mannerisms if they tried. The bout was seconds away.
“Fi... killed? What are you—”
Fiona held her finger to her lips. “I’ll tell you in like... ninety seconds.”
The bell sounded and the fight was on. Both fighters moved to the middle of the ring and touched hands. Dominov immediately put distance between himself and Gasnier, moving around on his toes, circling Gasnier with his fists up, protecting himself.
“He leads with the right... watch it. Watch it!” Fiona hissed.
Dominov snapped a right jab at Gasnier’s head but only hit his forearm. Gasnier parried the strike with a sharpness that brought an almost unconscious smile to Tegan’s mouth. Dominov stumbled back two steps, a cut under his right eye stunning him. In the same motion as blocking Dominov’s strike, Gasnier had retaliated like a viper. He was that fast; Tegan hadn’t even seen him connect. Neither, it seemed, had Dominov.
“Yes!” Fiona screamed as Gasnier took a step forward. Measuring. Calculating. “Come on baby...”
As if Gasnier heard her, he spun on the pad of his foot, sending a swift side kick directly into Dominov’s head. Tegan knew it was over before Dominov hit the mat. So did the crowd. Once down, he barely moved. The ref declared an end to the fight, but the resulting eruption from the crowd drowned out the ringing bell. The main event was the shortest fight of the night, but no one cared. This is what they all came to see: a hometown boy victory.
Tegan couldn’t help it; the joy was infectious. She clapped and cheered the result and hugged a delirious Fiona. As Dominov was attended to by his crew, Gasnier, finally, took a few moments to acknowledge the crowd. Tegan studied him, this man, this hero to so many here. Now, that the fight was over, it appeared a weight had been lifted, and he allowed himself a precious few moments to soak in the adulation as he humbly waved to each section of the arena. With his stomach muscles contracting and his shoulders and chest glistening under the lights, he unintentionally caused a few stomachs to drop, including hers.
A bunch of people gathered in the middle of the ring for the official announcement, but there was no surprise. Gasnier was presented with the Australian flag, which he placed over his shoulder like a prized championship belt. Tegan admired that he initiated the handshake which Dominov accepted, bringing him in for a short embrace.
The cameramen that had invaded the ring caught every moment, and soon an interviewer stepped up next to Gasnier. The exchange was shown live across the various screens in the arena.
“Owen. Owen. Firstly, congratulations on the win. How does it feel? More importantly, how does it feel winning in Sydney?”
Gasnier grinned slightly at a new cheer. “Mate, it feels fantastic! I wanted to do you guys proud. Hope you enjoyed coming out. Sorry it didn’t last longer.”
Gasnier gave another grin as the crowd chanted,“We. Don’t. Care.”