Emanuel “Drunk Master” Ogastes Knocked Out Playfully
First time I saw him, I thought, “Is this fella high on something Or just had too many glasses of country liquor?” He moved like a snake on hot coals, twisting, turning, shoulders shimmying, then a jab from nowhere, then BAM! Lights out. Nobody knows what he’s doing, not even himself maybe. That’s Augustus man. Pure chaos. Feels like watching those crazy street fights in Old Delhi at 2 am where a guy’s suddenly dancing then BAM! Lights out. The guy, Augustus, he was the real deal.
╰┈➤ Yeh Kya Chal Raha Hai?
Born somewhere in the same hood as the Mayweathers poor bastard. Abandoned, ended up in jail when he was just a kid, 12 years old then 17. Imagine that. Most of us are playing gully cricket at 12. He’s already seeing the inside of a lock-up. That hard life it burned something in him. Made him unpredictable unshakeable. He didn’t care for managers, for big promoters, for all that politics that ruins this sport. He just wanted to fight. Took fights on two days’ notice, against anyone. Main goal was to put food on the table, you know Like those mechanics in Karol Bagh who fix your car in an hour but charge you double. They just do it. Augustus did it. No punching power like a truck, no. But the volume, the angles, the way he’d just absorb punches like he was made of rubber then come back with ten more. It was like he had a hidden battery pack. My old man always used to say, “The true fighter, he fights with his kaleja not just his fist.” Augustus, his kaleja was bigger than the whole ring I swear.
╰┈➤ Junglee Saand in the Ring
Remember that fight with Pretty Boy Floyd Mayweather 2000, man. Floyd was undefeated, fancy all that. But Augustus He treated Floyd like a newbie. Like some local thug trying to act tough in front of the don. Floyd, he was known for that shoulder roll defense, right Augustus just walked through it. Threw punches from angles you wouldn’t believe. It was like he was playing a video game on easy mode, but he was actually playing against one of the best ever! Broke Floyd’s nose can you believe it Broke his nose! After that fight, Floyd, the man who never gives anyone credit, said Augustus was the hardest fight of his career. That’s the mark of a legend, when even your biggest rival tips his hat. Forget the record man. Records are for journalists and statisticians. Real fans, we remember the fights. We remember the heart.
Then Mickey Ward. Mickey F Ward! The “Irish Micky.” The guy who later got a movie made about him. That fight Boss. Fight of the Year, Fight of the Decade nominee. It was like a street brawl in a professional ring. Both guys just trading bombs gut punches hooks to the head. Augustus was dancing, spinning, taunting, then suddenly a flurry. Ward was a bulldozer, all power, all forward. But Augustus, he was like a phantom. You punch where he was, he’s already somewhere else, landing two more on your chin. Chai stalls across the country were buzzing for weeks after that one. People arguing, “How did Augustus lose?” Yeah, he lost on paper. The judges, those conniving bastards, they gave it to Ward. Always against him, right Always. Like that time I bet 500 INR on India in a T20, and the umpire gave a clear wide ball as a run-out. Rigged man. Always rigged for the guys with the money.
╰┈➤ Zindagi Ki Maar
Later on, the judges kept robbing him blind. The Courtney Burton fight Saala, that referee was practically on Burton’s payroll. Augustus knocked him down, clear as day, ref says “No knockdown!” Then Burton hits Augustus low, three times on the back of the head, ref just claps. What nonsense is this This isn’t boxing this is a fixed wrestling match. Augustus, he fought till the end, never give up, even with a crooked ref. He eventually got some minor title I think IBF. But it was too late the world had moved on. He needed the big money fights, the ones where even the judges can’t deny. But they kept him down.
And then, 2014. Walking home from the gym. Just walking home. And some idiot shoots him in the head. A stray bullet. Think about that. A man who faced fists of fury from the best in the world, survived that, only to get hit by a random bullet on the street. Blinded him, messed up his hearing. The guy who shot him Still free, walking around. That’s life, right Sometimes, the biggest fights aren’t in the ring, they’re outside. The police couldn’t find him, but reporters could What a joke.
Last I heard, he’s 49 now. Still goes to the gym, despite everything. Gives lessons. The spirit of the Drunken Master, it still lives. He won’t be in any Hall of Fame no shiny belts all over his wall. But for anyone who saw him fight really saw him they know. He was a legend. A true artist of the square ring. He might not have had a perfect record but he had perfect heart. And in a world full of polished, corporate athletes, Augustus was that raw, unadulterated spice. The kind that burns your tongue but leaves you wanting more. He was a fighter. Nothing more nothing less. And that’s enough.
