Y1 Writes: A Collection of Student Essays, Vol. 2, 2011
JOSEPH CAVANAUGH
Joseph Cavanaugh graduated from Notre Dame College Prep
where he was a boxer. He enjoys sports, music, and spending time
with his friends. At NIU, he majors in pre-physical therapy and
plans to go on to graduate school and eventually to a career in
physical therapy. This essay is important to Joseph because it is his
first college essay and one that tells the story of a significant event
in his life.
Joseph wrote this essay in Kimberly Volmer's fall 2010 English 103 course.
The Moment of Truth
THE MOMENT OF TRUTH
ROBERT CAVANAUGH
It was my time. My legs were still shaking. At that point, I
couldn’t help but wonder why I had gotten myself into this. Moore
and I walked out together, friends about to become enemies. I
could not turn back now. It was time to man up.
It was the morning of April sixteenth. The day of the
Boxing Fight Night at my school had come. Usually, I woke up on
Friday mornings during the school year excited; I wanted to get
school over with and have the weekend to hang out with friends,
stay out later, and not have to wake up early for school. That
morning, however, I woke up with a queasy feeling in the pit of my
stomach, as if I had just spun around in a circle for thirty seconds
and then tried to walk straight. It seemed like yesterday that it was
winter, and there was still snow on the ground. I remember
attending the boxing informational meeting and listening to my
coach quote Muhammad Ali: “He who is not courageous enough
to take risks will accomplish nothing in life.” I remember thinking
about the quote for a few moments. How many risks have I really
taken in my life? How have I proved to myself that I am
courageous? That I am a man? I could picture myself sitting in the
large cafeteria listening to my coaches, so excited that I couldn’t
wait until workouts started the following Monday. What was I so
excited for? To have to fight one of my friends in front of over a
thousand yelling people, wanting to see someone drop to the
canvas unconscious? Every minute of jumping rope, every second
spent sparring, every drop of my sweat, drop of my blood that fell
soundlessly onto the dirty wrestling mats. All of this was going
through my head as I sat in my bed. I came back to reality and
realized I had been lying in bed for almost a half an hour. I needed
to get up and get ready to go to school.
The school day went by in the same fashion that it always
did. The only difference was that today I went through school not
paying attention to anything. I went from class to class with my
mind on only one thing—the night that was to come. I barely
talked to anyone. Most people in school talked excitedly about the
fights, but I refused to give my input on anything. I did not even
Y1 Writes: A Collection of Student Essays, Vol. 2, 2011
eat anything throughout the whole day. I felt that if I ate anything,
I would immediately throw it up.
After school, I went straight home to my empty house to
get ready. Both my parents worked full time and my sister was
away at school, so I thankfully had the house to myself to be at
peace for a couple hours. It wasn’t peace though. It was only 3:30
p.m., and I was already fighting. I was at battle with myself to keep
calm and to mentally prepare for my fight. I shadowboxed in my
mirror for about twenty minutes before I realized that it was
useless. I knew that I would go into the ring tonight and fight from
instinct. My mind wouldn’t be on a strategy I had put together
earlier.
When I was nervous, I always paced. Even when I was
little, getting ready to go to the doctor to get a shot, I would
nervously pace around my house, thinking about what was to
come, trying to walk the fear out of my body. I paced for about an
hour before it was time to leave. I thought about last Friday, when
I was sitting on a rolled up mat in the familiar wrestling room,
waiting to hear if I was going to be fighting that following week. I
was shocked to be told that I would be fighting a kid named James
Moore. I was unpleasantly surprised, not because he had about
twenty pounds on me and a great reach advantage, but because he
was a good friend of mine. Fight Night didn’t start until seven
o’clock, but we had to be there by 5:00 p.m. Around 4:30 p.m., I
dumped all of my books out of my backpack and replaced them
with my mouth guard, hand wraps, boxing gloves, a water bottle,
and shoes. Before I left, I called my mom and told her that I had to
attend an event at school tonight. My parents knew that I boxed,
but I couldn’t tell them when Fight Night was because I knew that
they would want to come, and that would make me even more
nervous. Although, right then, I didn’t know if it was possible to be
any more nervous than I was.
I left my house around 4:40 p.m. I picked up my friend
Sean, who was also fighting that night, and we headed to school.
When we entered the gym, I had to take a deep breath to take
everything in. There was a huge professional boxing ring in the
middle of the basketball court and about three rows of ground level
seating around the ring. On the stage of the weight room, there was
a band playing music for entertainment before the fights started.
We walked down to the floor, showing the security guards our
The Moment of Truth
passes, and went into the locker room. The locker room was
cleaner than I had ever seen it. Waiting for us on hangers were
sleeveless, blue and red shirts with small, white text that said
“Notre Dame Boxer,” and red and blue boxing shorts. I found my
name and took my red shorts and shirt off the hanger. All of this
was more than I could handle. In a way, I wished that they didn’t
make such a big deal out of Fight Night. I couldn’t imagine how I
would be if I lost that night. Even though I was facing my good
friend, I did not want to lose. That’s just how I am.
At seven o’clock, the fights were set to begin. A number of
marines were there to present arms before the National Anthem.
When we walked out and lined up, I saw the stands packed with
people. There had to be over a thousand people there. After the
National Anthem, we went back to the locker room and the fights
began. I was more nervous than I had ever been in my life. Fight
after fight went by and I got more and more anxious. I started to
envy people that had to give speeches in front of thousands of
people. I wished I could be in their position instead of stepping
into a boxing ring in front of a thousand screaming and yelling
people, wanting to see blood spill, or to see someone get hit hard
and drop to the canvas with a deafening thud. This first thud came
in the third fight. My friend, Pat, knocked out his opponent in the
first round with a left uppercut. The crowd yelled and cheered. At
the end of my fight, I did not want to be the one lying on the floor
of the boxing ring, mind blank, waiting to come back to
consciousness.
It was the sixth fight. I felt like I was going to throw up. It
was time to warm up. I put on my hand wraps and gloves and
started warming up with one of the volunteer coaches. On my first
combo, I threw a left hook, followed by a right punch. My right
punch knocked his hand pad right out of his hand. He looked at
me, half-astonished and half-amused, and said, “You’re going to be
all right, kid.”
It was the seventh fight. Moore and I were instructed to go
over to Father Smyth, the president of our school, for a pre-fight
prayer. I was so scared I couldn’t even think. My whole body was
shaking. A million different things were going through my mind.
Then, before I knew it, the seventh fight was over. It was our turn.
I took a deep breath and walked out, with Moore by my side, to a
roaring crowd. We went to our separate sides, walked up the short
Y1 Writes: A Collection of Student Essays, Vol. 2, 2011
flight of stairs and climbed over the red, white, and blue ropes into
the ring. Coach Romano was in my corner along with another
volunteer coach whom I did not know. I bounced around in my
corner, getting warm for the fight that was moments away. The
announcer in the middle of the ring proclaimed our names to the
cheering crowd. She exited the ring, and the referee called us into
the middle. At that point, every ounce of fear left my body. The
yelling crowd was gone; all of the troubles in the world were gone
from the face of the earth. It was just my opponent and I, standing
in the middle of a ring, looking at each other with blank stares. We
touched gloves, the first bell rang, and we began.
Three grueling rounds later, I was standing in my corner,
out of breath, and terrified to hear the results. At the same time, I
relieved that it was over. We were called to the middle of the ring.
The referee told us both that we did a great job. I barely heard him;
my head was already pounding. He stood in the middle of us,
holding each one of our hands, waiting to raise one of them. The
announcer came into the ring with her microphone. My heart was
beating so fast, I thought it would burst out of my chest and land
on the floor of the ring. The next thing I knew my arm was being
raised. I had won. Moore and I embraced in a hug. I pulled his
head close to mine and told him, “You fought hard. We both won
this fight.”
I left the ring a man. I conquered the fear that had been
building up in my body for days. I took a risk, and whether I won
or lost, that is all that matters. The medical assistant ran over to me
to escort me out of the ring and help me down the stairs because I
had injured my right leg somehow and could barely walk. I walked
down the stairs and looked up to see my dad and his best friend,
my godfather, smiling at me. They both told me I did a good job
and shook my hand. No injury mattered at that point. While
walking back to the locker room, I had a really hard time fighting
back a smile. It was, by far, one of the happiest and proudest
moments of my life.