SEGUNDO MARTINEZ IS THE NAME OF A BOXER IN ALL OF US.

Segundo was ornery and caustic by nature. There was something in him that did not want to conform, despite his great adherance to the tenets of Discipline. Maybe it was the Puerto Rican in him, the goat by the horns mentality; the fact that Puerto Ricans can eat glass if they want and not bleed on the inside. The fact that they were dealt a less fortunate hand than blacks because their slavery had continued to this day because their sovereignty still rested in the hands of the United States government.

So Segundo boxed. He didn't make a career out it or anything. Boxing coaches make even less than poets, and there are so many boxers that the chicken dinner is certainly with poets, if one had to choose. But Segundo's world was devised of toppling obstacles and putting oneself in the trajectory of training that would prepare you for almost anything, except maybe an auto-confrontation. That is, the demon that you can humanize through the tenets of Discipline and Athletic Asceticism.

During the day, Segundo worked at Montefiore as an addiction therapist, meaning he dealt with the dregs, and the poorest dregs at that. He dealt with the dregs but more than not the dregs dealt him forceful jabs. For instance, only last week a a Puerto Rican Golden Gloves champ was gunned down in Brooklyn for wanting to fight fair. And then there was the administration. How administration can be so out of touch with the people that provide services in the name of that organization. It was made him leave Bronx/Lebanon General in the 80's for something a little more stable and visible. He went with Montefiore and had been with the hospital chain since the 90's, right after the scourge of Crack had become manageable again in the city.

Even though Segundo was 58, he taught three classes of boxing at the Harlem Y and swam masters on the nights he didn't have boxing. Sunday mornings he could be heard straight throughout the building yelping at his students to "Lunge!," with their attack foot or "Back!" onto their anchor leg. He had a Brillo fade and hammerhead targeting shoulders, a moustache and three o'clock shadow, and walked with his frame in some Tai Chi Architecture of big dick and larger than life ness. You could tell that Segundo hadn't had a women for months, but heaven help the Dominican potra that he could lure to his apartment; she would be fucking a steam engine, a steam engine with a fade.