The Boxer

The Color Sergeant

Now, my color sergeant was a hard man and had seen action in his time and wasn' t a man to mince his words. I stepped into his office and slammed my right leg into the floor and stood at attension, it seemed as though he was ignoring me, as he went through his paper work. I was wondering what I'd done wrong  (in the army, when someone calls you into his office, it's usually not good). He looked up from his paperwork and looked me directly in the eye and said "Dog, this year you're going boxing."

I looked at him startled and exclaimed "Fudge off, color "

He then muttered "You've got a choice, either you go boxing or I'll find a reason to lock you up for three weeks "

It didn't take me long to make my choice. Going to jail in the British Army was no laughing matter, in fact it was a nightmare. They had you doing allsorts of pathetic punishments like cleaning the toilets with a toothbrush, bed packs, pokey drill and many more things that delight the minds of the regimental police staff, but I won't go into that. I squandered over to the block wondering what I 'd gotten myself into. I thought to myself "six weeks of rigorous training. I'll end up getting my face punched in."Deep in my thoughts, I bumped into Charlie, my good friend. "Hi",he said. I returned the greeting. "So, your going boxing? Well, I'm the trainer and I 'll bet you a crate of beers that you'll call me a "jerk" within the first three days of training."