Everybody seemed pretty enthusiastic about the idea. Everybody, that is, except Ernie. He was sort of nervous, and kept looking at the camera while the others were sparring. And once in the ring, he got clobbered, the first time I'd seen that happen. His timing was shot to pieces, that whiplash jerk gone completely. I had to stop the fight after two rounds. Ernie wouldn't say anything about it except that the camera must have made him nervous.
The camera went back after four days and Ernie became dynamite in the ring again. But it bugged the heck out of me. Ernie was good, sure, but he still had flaws and I just knew it would help him to be able to watch himself in action on film. In real action, I mean; not the bum show he had given before for the camera.
It finally bugged me to the point where I did something about it. The videotape camera was back at the bank, but I had an old movie camera of my own. Taking it to the Club, I set it up where it wouldn't be seen or heard from the ring. I figured that what Ernie didn't know about couldn't make him nervous.
Sure enough, the next day Ernie did his usual good job in the ring. After everyone had left I took the film out of the camera and hurried home with it. Wolfing down my dinner—Diane complained about that—I went down to the basement and set to work developing the film.
It came out beautifully. The camera had been close enough to the ring that the fighters sometimes stepped out of its range, but there were some really clear shots, too. Ernie's whiplash punch was there in all its glory; so were a couple of his fast ducks and side-steps. My projector was an expensive model, a gift from the in-laws, and it had three speeds and even a single-frame viewer. So after I watched Ernie go through his paces a couple of times, I backed the film