"Coach, I wouldn't be boxing at all if I couldn't 'port. I figure I might be able to get to be a pro now."

That startled me. I had had no idea he was that serious about the sport. "Ernie, pro boxing isn't for you. It's a hard way to earn a living, and there are a lot of crooks to watch out for. Besides, with your brains and that wild talent of yours you shouldn't have any trouble making it in life."

" 'Wild talent,' huh?" Suddenly Ernie looked bitter. "Coach, what do you think I can do with my 'porting that'll make me any money?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean this is the most useless 'talent' that anybody's ever seen. There's just nothing I can do with it. Except fight."

"Aw, come on. There must be hundreds of things..." My voice trailed off as I tried to think of somewhere 'porting would come in handy. "Well, look, just because I can't think of something off the top of my head doesn't mean there isn't anything."

He shook his head. "I've been thinking about it for three years, Coach. It's really useless."

"Okay, suppose that's true. There's still no reason you should have to fight for a living. I know you're good in math and some of your business classes. Accounting, or something, would be a good job for a guy like you. Pays pretty good, too."

"No," Ernie sat up a little straighter in his chair. There was a glint in his eye. "I don't want to be some—some cog in a big company somewhere. I want to be somebody." He leaned across my desk, half defiant, half pleading, his usual polite reserve gone. "Coach, I've been nobody all my life. I've been pushed around and looked down on and treated like garbage, and I'm tired of it. I'm gonna make a name for myself. People are gonna call me 'sir,' not 'boy,' and they're gonna treat me with respect. I'm gonna be somebody!"

He was almost shouting, and must have suddenly realized it, because he quit