Read Your ESL Contract
Sandra Seeden was lying on her back again and the crowd was going crazy. Straight overhead she saw the Chinese flag hanging from the rafters was clearly. She pivoted her head slightly to see the American flag that she knew was hanging opposite, but it was blocked by the referee’s perfectly round pot belly. Then, for the twentieth time this evening, she made her way back to her feet, shook her head, and tried to locate her assailant. Yes there she was—a boyish-looking Chinese girl adorned nattily in red headgear, matching boxing gloves, and the hint of a smile. Sandra wasn’t in pain; she was just irritated at getting knocked down so many times and the crowd’s never ending glee over it. She didn’t understand that.
The waiting had been the worst part, and that’s how she knew this wasn’t some bad dream. Dreams, even very bad ones, move much more swiftly than this. She had arrived at the arena a good two-and-half hours ago. She saw all the television cameras outside. She even saw a few of the other American kick boxers. They had looked through her. They were serious male kick boxers. Obviously they didn’t care for her presence. She didn’t mind. Kick boxers were at the bottom of her list entitled “Eligible Intelligent Men.” For those were the only men for her. So she had waited and waited. After she gotten bored she had wandered out of her dressing room to watch the pre-match festivities from the tunnel. And for a while she had wondered if there would be any kick boxing at all this evening. Maybe she had misunderstood.
Every five minutes the ropes in the ring were pulled apart so the next petite singer dressed in shiny, ruffled polyester could climb in and pay homage to Celine Dion. It went on and on and on, interspersed only by children dressed in blue silk dancing with swords pretending they were stabbing each other. I bet those children are encouraged to run with knives, she had thought. Later the children had laid down their swords and were pretending to kick box each other. The crowd had cheered when one of them had messed up and fallen without being kicked. Cheers of encouragement? She didn’t know.
Finally some official looking people crawled in between the ropes and begin to make speeches. She had seen this sign before. She knew she would be fighting within the next hour. The first official looking man’s mic didn’t work. But he acted like he didn’t notice and droned on anyway. This “speech” was then supplied to the audience, in English, by a shy-acting, skinny, young, Chinese man. He switched the microphone on before he began. Haltingly spoken English had washed over the building. She had gone back to her dressing room then.
The blaring sound of Nelly was her cue to enter the ring. As she made her way to into the ring, she decided that she hated Nelly and the entire town of St. Louis. She hoped that something bad would happen to St. Louis because of Nelly. But then she supposed something bad happening to St. Louis would be redundant.
The crowd had clapped politely for her. That is what this was. A Chinese/American kick boxing friendly. The only kicker was that international kick boxing ruled would not be observed. This was China, and they would be fighting under Chinese kick fighting rules. In Chinese kick fighting grabbing another fighters legs is completely legal. Actually, rather than just being legal it is the main way to score points. Other kick boxers not accustomed to these rules don’t fare so well. Imagine if biting ears would get you ahead on the scorecard under international boxing rules. Mike Tyson would have enough money to act really insane—Howard Hugh’s insane. In this system boxers without the appetite for soft cartilage would be penalized. So foreign kick boxers came to China, refused to fight the Chinese style, then went home having forfeited their belts.
She didn’t really know about any of these kickboxing rules first hand. She had heard the other American fighters complaining about it in the hallway. She really didn’t know anything about kickboxing. She was actually just an ESL teacher. Two days ago she had told the foreign liaison at her middle school that she would help out at an “important cultural exchange celebration”. Today she was being thrown on the mat repeatedly in this nationally televised event.
Next time, she thought, I won’t sign my teaching contract until I see the English translation.
