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FIVE
Coaching Steve Urkel on his day off was not Carl's idea of a good time. Carl and Steve had a sort of love - hate relationship - Carl loved to hate Steve. But when Laura looked at Carl with those big brown eyes and begged him to help; how could he say no? He'd probably live to regret it, but he just couldn't let his older daughter down. Carl knew a little something about boxing. After all, he was a cop and a cop had to know how to handle himself in a fight. He had done some boxing in the army, too. "Carl the Crusher," they had called him. Those were the days! Carl believed anyone could defend himself if properly coached. Well, maybe almost anyone, he thought when he looked at Urkel. Today, Steve wore a pair of baggy sweatpants held up, practically to his chin, by red suspenders that matched his brand-new boxing gloves. The gym was noisy and crowded with guys grunting, sparring, pounding bags, and pumping iron. It smelled of sweat, gym shoes, and leather. And then there was Steve Urkel, who fit in about as well as a ballerina in a ballpark. "Gee, Carl," Steve shouted over the noise, "thanks for helping me hone my skills!" He began prancing about, boxing with an invisible opponent. Shadowboxing, the pros called it. "I'm so fast, I'm so pretty ... I'm a lean, mean Urkel machine." Steve was even trying to talk like a pro, cocky and ready to take on the world. With his arms folded across his chest, Carl watched Steve. "Are you sure you wanna go through with this?" he asked. Steve's pipe-cleaner legs and coat-hanger shoulders showed him to be one sorry excuse for a fighter. "I have to. Laura's honor has been impugned by that pugnacious pile of putrid pond puke." Carl sighed heavily. Half the time, he didn't even understand what the kid was talking about. Urkel used bigger words than the average certified genius. "If you boxed half as well as you shot your mouth off..." he began. But he knew it was no use. "All right. Climb into the ring. Let's see how much you have to learn." Steve started to climb over the ropes, but he got tangled and fell nose-first onto the mat. Oof! Splat! Unfazed, he picked himself up. "Ready," he said. Carl shook his head sadly. "Okay, show me your fighting stance. Steve spread his long legs wide apart and held up both gloves in front of his face as if he were hiding. "How's this?" he asked. His nasal voice was muffled by the gloves. "Great," Carl said, "if you're fighting the Easter Bunny. All right now, show me your fighting style." Steve sprang into action, waving his arms crazily about. "Steve," Carl said patiently. Steve kept at it, punching the air wildly. "Steve!" Carl said, a little less patiently. Steve kept flailing away. "STEVE!" Carl bellowed. Steve stopped. "Hmmmm?" he asked innocently. "That's not a fighting style," Carl informed him tartly. "That's a plea for help." "Teach me, Carl." "All right, I'll try. But Steve, I strongly suggest that you consider a different strategy. Instead of trying to hit your opponent, try running from him." Steve nodded cannily. "Ah ... sort of like an Urkel Shuffle?" "Exactly." "I'll work on my Shuffle, but could you show me a few punches?" "Okay," Carl said reluctantly. "Assume the fighting stance." They faced off in the ring, like opponents. Urkel was gloved; Carl was barefisted. "Now, Steve," Carl began. "A boxer's most important punch is the jab. The jab is a quick, straight blow to your opponent's face. Now, let's see your jab - " Steve's glove flicked out, catching Carl square in the nose. "How's that?" Steve asked innocently. Carl scowled and rubbed his nose. "Fine, fine. Just next time, wait till I'm ready." "Ooooh. Sorry, Big Guy," Steve said. "Now, another good punch is the left hook. The arm travels in a circular motion, connecting with your opponent's chin." Carl demonstrated, stopping short of hitting Steve's chin. Steve nodded. This was easy! "And it's a real good punch to have," Carl continued. "Especially if the other guy's just using his jab ..." At the word "jab," Steve jabbed. Again, Carl got it right in the nose. Carl grabbed his nose. It was beginning to feel sore. "Sorry," Steve apologized once more. "Just reflex." Reflex, your mama, Carl thought. But he just glared and continued the lesson. "Another good punch to have is the right cross. It's a power move-a knock-you-out punch. Now, when you see an opening, your right hand comes across your left hand with all your weight behind it. Like this...." Again, Carl demonstrated. Again, he stopped short of actually connecting with Steve's face. "Now, you don't want to overuse your right cross," Carl said. "You want to save that for the perfect moment. Most of the time, you'll be relying on your left hook and your jab - " Out came Steve's glove with a jab. Carl got it in the face. Rage welled up in Carl. He counted to ten before speaking. "That's enough for today, Steve," he said as sweetly as he could. Carl turned away to rub his poor nose. He didn't want Steve to know just how much it hurt. Then again, maybe this was a good sign. Maybe there's hope for Steve after all, he thought. If Willie Fuffner lets his guard down the way I have today.... Who knows? Maybe the Lean, Mean Urkel Machine really will come through in the pinch. Stranger things have happened.... Whoa there, Carl, stop kidding yourself. |
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