Nobody except Rabbit. "I said to myself, no big old white boy ain't gonna whip me." As for smoking while he was in training, he says, "If you know what you're doing, and you're not nervous, then you don't need a lot of wind."
He didn't in this fight. Rabbit made his entrance "with an American flag in one hand, and a Chinese in another, just like Oscar de la Hoya" (who carried both the American and Mexican flags into the Olympic ring). The Norwegian came right out and knocked him down.
"If I could have survived the first round, I could have boxed him," Rabbit says. "But I put my head down. I had a bad habit of doing that. He caught me on the chin. I was lying there thinking, 'Son of a bitch, here I am in front of my people in China, and I'm getting my ass kicked.'"
Rabbit got up. After he took "25 or 30" good punches, the referee stopped the fight with eight seconds to go in the first round.
abbit came back to Houston. He fought once more in El Paso.
"But my heart wasn't in it. When you walk out into that ring, you're not supposed to be able to hear the crowd. You're supposed to be totally focused on your opponent, or you'll get your ass kicked. But that night I could hear the crowd. I could hear my buddies yelling at me. I outboxed him for three rounds, then I didn't want to box anymore."
Which doesn't mean Rabbit is through with boxing. "If I want a champion now, I'll have to train him."
Rround Eleven
As always, Rabbit overflows with schemes and plans. Now he'd like to compose advertising jingles: "Houston Press, read by the best." Now he wants to get a truck, renew his driver's license and go back into the pallet business. Now, of all his projects, Rabbit is most enthusiastic about his dream of opening a downtown gym where he would work with kids and let homeless people stay, in a pinch. Though his biography might suggest otherwise, Rabbit seems to work well with kids. "I definitely know what to tell them not to do," he says. Other boxing trainers agree that he works well with youngsters, and that he is a sound teacher.
He's a patient and soft-spoken coach, and his two teenage fighters seem to like him, even if one does groan when Rabbit begins to recite a poem.
At a recent Hermann Park rally to restore prayer in public schools, Rabbit talked his way onto the program, then recited a poem. He was introduced as "David Picha, a poet." He gave away copies later to enthusiastic well-wishers. He wished he had a published book that he could sell. A couple of hours later, he and I visited a black Baptist minister who has taken a liking to him. The minister (who stores the Alpha sculpture in his garage) told Rabbit he was always welcome to come read his poems in his church.
"I need to get that book published," Rabbit said. "I could sell some there, too." That line was pure, golden hustle, and Rabbit and I both laughed.
"Aw," Rabbit said. "That's not what I mean.
