Miguel, you was short
But made of spit and fire.
A Chicano on your own.
Liven’ hard and loven’ hard
In the Barrio of San Antone.
You grew up with a plan…
To be the best you could.
But it’s hard when 5 foot 1
Is all ya ever stood.
Yea, you was small my friend
But like the Devil on a spring
With muscles made of wire
And a spirit made of fire.
You’d take on all the comers
As they climbed in to the ring
But everybody knew
You’d still end up as King.
So when the lot was cast
And the Gentle Giant drawn
We wondered if your reign was gone.
Sweet as they came in a six foot frame
With a jaw as fragile as glass.
All he could do was hold on to your head
And hope that your arms wouldn’t last.
Yea, we called it a draw
So you both won that day.
The Giant and little Miguel,
And both were King of the Hill.
©Copyright December 2008 by Alan L. Winters
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Author’s Note: To relieve moments of boredom on VC Hill we would sometimes hold boxing matches on the basketball court. Fighters were drawn by lot so you never knew who was going to have beginning advantage. This was the most amusing match we had. Miguel was short and wiry and the Gentle Giant was neither. How strange the mind works. Although it was 36 years ago I remember exactly what he said. The crowd was pumped up rooting for him saying “hit em’ Miguel, come on hit em”. Still not tiring with his arms swinging away, he yelled back “Hit him, I can’t even reach him.” There was a full foot between Miguel and the Gentle Giant. |
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