When I was a young lad, I used to go with a girl who's Granda fought for the world fly weight title. Some of you might know of him, great Liverpool fighter, Joe Curran. He fought in the days of Benny Lynch and Rinty Monighan. Well, he ended up dying of cancer back in the early 80's - lunge cancer, poor c*nt had never had a ciggie in his life. They reckon it was asbestosis from being at sea.
Anyway, we had a fucking big massive surprise do for him in some dead posh hotel or club or something in Woolton or somewhere. I remember the gaff but not the place.
Anyway Joe was nuts. He used to go to bed at 8 o'clock everynight, with camoline lotion all over his face and get up at 6 to do his excercises. But he loved the girl I was with, so they made us go and get him. We had to drag him out with us. As we walked him into the hotel, they'd done it great. A big pair of sliding doors opened up. As they opened there was a big poster of Joe on the wall, in his hey day, in his kit. They must have had it blown up from a photograph. As we walked Joe in, we linked him on either side, he was frail by then, all the people in the gaff started cheering and clapping.
Then a song went on... When Irish Eyes are smiling. Someone had somehow got hold of a recording of Rinty Monighan, the great Irish fighter singing it. Apparently he used to sing it before/after every fight.
I looked down at Joe. He had tears in his eyes. I had never heard the auld c*nt say a nice word in my life. He was a hard man. I thought, fuck me, he's going to be nice here.
I smiled at him, said you okay Joe?
Joe: Do you hear that fella son?
Me: Yeah.
Joe: I punched that c*nt red raw.
HA! that's hard.
