Ready Or Not?

It was a difficult decision, best made away from prying eyes. The discussion had lasted for an hour to this point, and they were running out of time. People passed the room unaware. Some passersby would say, plainly, they didn’t care. Others would’ve offered unsolicited opinions given the chance - or vicious remarks - to cut down the confidence of the discussants therein. The building was full of true aficionados - or, at least, people working their way there.

“Don’t put your hands on hips.”

“Then, don’t cross your arms. It means you’re not open to new ideas.”

“I am open to new ideas. If that’s what you want, let Jerry do it.”

“Jerry? He’s a no-go. Why not Mikey?”

“No-go? That is so rude. Mikey won’t be ready on time. Jerry can do it.”

“Do you realize you are asking Jerry to go up against some of the best? I mean, I know the circumstances are stacked against us. It’s our first time partnering for this. But we are talking about basic training here. I do basic training for a living - I eat this up for breakfast. It can get downright hostile out there. You know the competition is no joke.”

“Jerry can do it. He’s ready. I’ve been training him - taught him everything there is to know. I eat, sleep, and breathe this, too.”

“Sure. You would think that would be enough. You would think there is no additional cause for concern. But I have already invested too much - and lost. I just don’t think we should throw Jerry in when we know Mikey could bring us a win. Mikey is key to this.”

“Okay, I am beginning to feel like you’re undercutting my experience here. I’ve been doing this for six years - and I know you have nine under your belt - but when it comes to winning, really hitting every mark that we need to hit, there’s no one better than me. I’ve got a nose for these things.”

“A nose, huh?”

“Yeah, I’ve got a nose for it.”

“Oh, well, if all it takes is a nose, then, why not?”

“Okay, wise ass.”

“Hey, back up, okay, no need for the name calling. I’m just curious why you think you’ve got some innate talent I don’t have.”

“Because I have the chops to show for it. My six years and your nine don’t balance out on the scale when we talk about rankings and titles earned. You think you know better because you showed up. I know that I know better because I showed out. I said Jerry can do it. So, Jerry is gonna do it. And stop putting your hands on your hips, okay?”

“Then stop waving your arms around! I liked it better when they were crossed. Geez!”

They were certainly an unlikely pair - previous rivals, forced to collaborate. They stared at one another, heated from the argument and poised to push the other further. There was a longer than normal beat of silence between them before they dropped their shoulders, took a deep breath, and even ventured a small chuckle.

“That got a little ridiculous, didn’t it?”

“Yeah, you’re telling me.”

“We should just take a deep breath and really think about this.”

“You’re right. How about you make your case for Mikey, and I will make mine for Jerry. Fair?”

“Fair.”

“Okay, you first.”

“I just think… Michelangelo is just so beautiful, you know? There’s grace, there’s poise. I tell him all the time that he takes instruction better than anyone I have ever trained. He has really stepped up to the plate the last few times I’ve sent him out. He’s taken out top contenders. You put him in the ring and he’s Ali all over again.”

“Really, a boxing metaphor?”

“… I think it’s apt.”

“Whatever.”

“Well fine, you tell me why you think Jerry will do better.”

“Geronimo? Why, he is simply a cut above the rest. You know I named him for an Apache warrior.”

“You do know that’s his Americanized name, right?”

“Yes, my great grandmother was Apache, thank you. Anyway, as I was saying… I named him after an Apache warrior because that’s what he is - a warrior, charging into the heat of battle. Skilled, focused, a real tactician. A strategist anticipating every challenge on the field.”

“Okay, first, you’re not Apache. You’re from Ohio. You need to stop that. Second, we gotta come up with less dramatic metaphors; the judges will think we are full of ourselves.”

“I think technically yours was a simile.”

“No, it wasn’t. I didn’t use ‘like’ or ‘as’ a single time.”

“You know, Jude, it seems like you always want to be right.”

“Yeah, Nancy, because I am right. And if you weren’t so busy likening your cat to a deceased fighter, we wouldn’t still be trying to figure out -”

Abruptly, the door to the dressing room swung open and a man with a headset and clipboard popped in.

“Okay, update: Julius Caesar The Third of His Name will probably be fine but he’s under observation and in no condition to compete. What kind of monster brings sugar free gum to a purebred feline competition - or anywhere near a cat? In any case, the judges need to know whether Michelangelo the Saint or Geronimo, Lord of Dayton will be running the course this afternoon as a stand in. We are all so traumatized out there; hope you’re okay but, hurry. Ready or not: I. Need. A name.”

The door slammed and Nancy and Jude looked at each other. Nancy’s red hair piled on top of her head drooped a bit as did the beaded chain attached to her large wide framed glasses. Jude, with her cornrows braided straight back into a neatly wrapped bun, looked unaffected. Nancy pursed her lips.

“You know… he is a Bengal.”

“That’s what I’m talking about! Give me a brush. He’s going to be gorgeous out there. Aren’t you, Mikey-wikey, my beautiful boy.”

Michelangelo meowed in agreement.