It’s late on Christmas Eve and French chef Albert Ronsard is driving home through a blizzard after attending midnight mass. He sees a young man hitchhiking. Knowing he shouldn’t pick up strangers, but it’s cold, it’s snowing hard, and it’s Christmas, so ...
Casey Shaw is traveling between MMA tournaments when his car starts to fail on him. He manages to pull into the parking lot of a strip mall before the engine dies completely. Even though the weather’s bad, Casey sees no alternative but to venture out on foot.
Despite their age and cultural differences, can these two men provide each other with a little festive friendship?
Later, as the two were having more coffee in the living room, Albert asked, “Casey, would you tell me something about yourself? I do not wish to pry, but I am interested. You have something about your training. Are you some sort of athlete?”
“Yeah, I’m in MMA.”
“MMA?”
“Mixed martial arts. It’s a combination of boxing, wrestling, kickboxing, and other things like jiu jitsu and muay thai.”
“Oh. That sounds dangerous.”
“It can be, if you don’t know what you’re doing. But it’s all pretty well regulated, and the refs look after us while we’re in the ring -- or the octagon.”
“Octagon?”
Casey grinned. “Yeah. The bigtime guys have an eight-sided ring with a six-foot high chain link fence around it.”
“I see. I assume there’s a door?”
“Oh, yeah.”
Something about the idea of two young men going after each other with practically no holds barred inside a cage was repellant to Albert, so he changed the subject.
“May I ask where you were going when your car stranded you here in Colby?”
“I’m on my way to Dayton. I have a fight there the end of this week, but I have to weigh in the day before. I’m meeting my corner guys there.”
“What is your weight class?” Albert knew enough about kickboxing, which was very popular in Europe, to ask that question.
“I’m in the 155 pound division.”
“Do you have trouble, what do you say? Making the weight? I’ve heard about fighters who must seriously dehydrate themselves to bring their weight within the required limits.”
“Huh uh, it’s never been a problem for me.”
No wonder the boy looked so good. He was obviously into intensive physical training for his fights.
“Where is your home?”
“I don’t really have one. My folks don’t want to see me since I came out to them.”
“So where do you live?”
“I knocked around awhile after high school. But then my grandma gave me some money so I could go to community college. I’m in my second year. I share a crib in Cleveland with a couple of other guys. But during the holiday break from school I’ve had some fights. I was on my way from Toledo, where I had a match day before yesterday, to Dayton for the next one.”
“So you don’t make a living fighting?”
“Not yet. I make enough to help with the expenses. But I’m hoping to get into the UFC or WEC, maybe, if I can find a sponsor.”
Albert almost shuddered. “It sounds dangerous to me.”
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