He is straight ahead, straight out, straight and hard, and ready to fight.Hope you're better than your brother, someone calls.It hurts me. Wounds me.I am.But not as much as that.
As weeks edge past us, he fights and wins and he doesn't bother shaving. He turns up and wins. Turns up and wins. He only smiles when *I* fight well.
I notice a deliberate change in my brother. He's harder. He has a switch, and once a fight comes near, he flicks it and he is no longer my brother Rube. He's a machine.