THE AWAY FIGHTER
BRIAN ROSE entered a grey changing room in the bullring at Valdemoro in preparation to exchange violence with Sergio Martínez in a boxing match. It was the place where, after a bullfight, dead cattle are dragged in and hung from a pulley on the ceiling. It was not hard to imagine the clean floor slicked with blood.
But there was no claret on the floor, just old strips of tape and gauze that had been pulled and ripped from the hands of those on the undercard.
Rose sat on a cheap plastic chair, his hands on the back of another in front of him, a small towel taped to its slats. His trainer Bobby Rimmer was wrapping one of his hands. They had their own corner by themselves, their equipment piled on a table next to them.
Rose was nervous. His leg shuddered and tapped against the speckled, tiled floor.
“This is going to be your night,” said Rimmer. “I really believe in you. Martínez has seen you. He’s seen that you’re in great shape. Everything we’ve done.
