Chief Tappenahomma: Olympic Destiny?

Fighter profile of Chief Tappenahomma by G Wad

Chief never dreamt big. Where he comes from dreams mean hope and hope is a dangerous thing. Hope can crush. Hope can destroy one’s soul. No, that was never an option for Chief.

As a man of few words, I have to say I was surprised when I got the call to interview this champion.

They say fame and fortune corrupt the soul. I say possibly and if anything this interview was to put that theory to the test. My mind raced as the Ford Taurus kicked dust in the air in the rode up the driveway to meet the man.

I was accustomed to the opulence of New York penthouses and mansions of Beverly Hills, this no-name corner of the Choctaw reservation in Oklahoma was a change – a not altogether welcome one.

The biggest names in the game run in style, they live life fast. That is something I know and understand. This – this was a new experience and I wasn’t sure what to expect.

The driver took me into the living room of the house and left immediately to go find Chief. When Chief appeared in less than a minute, in full headdress, and walked through the door, my heart skipped a beat. There he stood, emotionless and stone faced.

Silently, he glided across the room and seated himself opposite me in a large wooden rocking chair and said, “let’s get this over with.”

There were many questions on my mind. Why would a millionaire live in this godforsaken part of earth? Why would the baddest man on the planet refuse himself the luxuries he has so rightly earned?

But as a stared into his eyes, something told me to resist, seek not that which you would not understand. I quickly fell back on my prepared questions, and asked him for his prediction on the next round of Olympic welterweight fights.

“I will do my best, as I always do,” was the reply I got.

“Could you be more specific?” I pressed.

Chief reclined and started gently rocking back and forth. “The only things I can say have been said a million times a million different ways.”

It was clear this line of questioning was getting nowhere. “Are you looking forward to London?” I asked.

“No. This is the only place where I feel at home,” he replied.

And so the conversation, much to my chagrin, returned to the present locale. I tried another angle. I asked him how he got into the fight game, after all, I saw no gyms in the ride through town. In fact, I saw nothing at all except one general store, one gun store, and one liquor store.

“Mother would get beat up,” he started, before pausing and, for the first time, turning his gaze to the window. “One time the man she was with broke both her wrists. When I cried for him to stop he nearly put my eye out. I was 9.”

This was the first I had ever heard Chief open up. I stayed silent, hoping he would continue.

“I wish I could say I was some sort of hero,” he went on. “I wish I could say I protected her. The truth is I took it out on everyone. I would get into fights over nothing and everyone was scared of me – my classmates, my teachers, even my mom.

By the time I actually learned how to fight, that son of a bitch who abused my mother was long gone. It wasn’t until I was 18, still in 9th grade, that I realized I had turned into that son of a bitch. I only wish it was before they diagnosed my mother. I know there’s no science to it but I can’t help but feel like I caused that too.”

I looked up at chief, still rocking back and forth in his chair, wearing the same stone-faced expression.

It was without any joy that Chief admitted to me his experience had made him the man he is today. I didn’t ask but I believe he would give everything up, the titles, the glory, and definitely the money, to have chance at a new life, one we would call normal. But that is not his decision to make. Maybe, I thought, this is what destiny is.

Article views: 152
» Donate to this author