Today the tour for RED DIRT ROAD by Annie Rose Welch stops by my little blog.
Here's is an interview with the boxer himself, Michael Roberts. He seems to be quite the charmer. ;)
Interview
with Michael “Nonpareil” Roberts
The
last time I did one of these interviews, it was requested that I
travel to Ireland. This time the setting is much different. The
subject, or shall I say the person, is much different. I was asked to
travel to a small gulf town in the south, Waveland, Mississippi. Not
far from New Orleans, Waveland is just a few blocks from the
coastline. As I drove the streets, I could smell the salty water,
feel the rumble and bass of a passing train, see the leftover
destruction from a devastating hurricane. I could imagine the
strength it took to rebuild. And I’m not only referring to the
city.
I
was asked to come here to do an interview with Michael Roberts. Yes,
the famous boxer who men admire because of his strength, his swift
uppercut, his lethal right hook. The same famous boxer who women have
dubbed “one of the most beautiful boxers in the world.” Both are
very serious titles, I can assure you. This was not the first time I
met the champ, but this was the first time that he and I were going
round for round in the question ring.
We
agreed to meet at the Smoked Hog, a family-owned bar that is only a
few blocks from the Gulf of Mexico. It’s a real comfy place, dim,
and smells of peanuts and beer. A jukebox plays softly in the
background. Keith Urban. Two of the bar’s most notorious patrons
are sitting on stools, nursing drinks and gossiping about the old
man’s nephew, who was jailed and is, they agree, one of the
stupidest criminals in history. From what I gather, he stole
someone’s ATM card, smiling at the camera as he withdrew the
woman’s money from her own bank. People are steadily coming in and
out. Some eye me with suspicion. Some just nod and then go on about
their business.
I
hear the rumble of the train as its whistle sounds, feel its massive
girth as it shakes the earth beneath the bar. Not long after, I hear
the growl of a fast car as it pulls closer to the entrance. Willie,
the bar’s owner, smiles and says, “Young gun is here. ’Bout
damn time.” The woman sitting next to the old man smiles, her
cheeks flushed, and I wonder what she’s thinking. The door to the
bar opens and a bright light cuts through the darkness for a brief
moment. I turn too quickly to see who it might be, and my pen and
paper go flying to the floor. I bend to retrieve them, picking the
paper up, but before I can get to the pen, I’m greeted by a warm
smile, the brightest and bluest of eyes, and a laugh you’d wish was
contagious.
I
stare for a moment. Seeing him is almost like experiencing the worst
déjÃ
vu. His
presence in a room is like a wrecking ball. The air whooshes and
people move out of his way; he owns every inch of space he steps
through. For another moment I just stare. He pushes the pen at me.
When I don’t take it, he laughs and then makes some quip about
laying off the booze this early in the day. For one of the most
celebrated boxers in the world, he sure does have a good sense of
humor. Seeing as I have no control over my brain to hand
coordination, he rests the pen on the table and takes the seat
directly across from me. He smells like the coming of fall, and I
catch myself sniffing the air in his direction. He has broad
shoulders, and when he crosses his arms across his chest, the tendons
in his arms flex. He is, for lack of a better word, dazzling.
Michael
Roberts: (grinning) How long have you been drinking?
ARW:
Excuse me?
(I
have to be honest here. That was probably one of the most pathetic
comebacks I’ve ever had.)
Michael
Roberts: (laughing so loudly, I’m startled back to reality) You
have to watch out for Willie. He’s like the chameleon of the bar.
You don’t even realize he’s refilled your glass so much until he
hits you with the tab. He fades and then comes back. Fades and then
comes back. (He pauses) Then, boom, here’s your tab. And you’re
too drunk by then to even care.
(Willie
says something gruff in the background and then throws a dish rag at
Michael’s head. He dodges and laughs.)
Michael
Roberts: So, you came here to ask me a few questions?
ARW: Yes, um… (I fiddle with the papers and prepare to write) I thought
you could answer a few questions for me. It won’t take long. I just
have a few things to ask you.
Michael
Roberts: I don’t mind. Take your time.
(As
I circle the pen around the paper, making sure it’s going to write,
he hums the tune playing in the background. I look up and our eyes
meet. We both smile and I relax a little. But Jesus, he’s nothing
but rugged beauty.)
ARW: By the way, happy belated birthday.
Michael
Roberts: Thanks. Another year older, another year wiser. Hopefully.
(He smirks)
ARW: Tell me Michael, what have you been doing since you retired from
boxing?
Michael
Roberts: I was working here at the bar for a while. But I’ve
started a new chapter of my life, a new journey, and I feel like I’m
headed where I should be.
ARW: Can you tell me where that is?
Michael
Roberts: (staring intensely for a moment, biting the side of his
cheek) You’re going to make this difficult, aren’t you? You know
if I tell you, I’m going to ruin the surprise. There are just some
things in life worth waiting for.
ARW: All right then. Let’s try something easier.
Michael
Roberts: I know you. You are a sneaky woman. You are going to try and
weasel it out of me.
ARW: Not I. I’d never do such a thing. What is the most surprising thing
that has happened to you this year?
Michael
Roberts: There you go again. (He wags a finger at me) I’m not
biting. But I will say that I have uncovered a lot of secrets. I have
met people I never thought I would.
ARW: You’re dangling bait in front of a fish, you know. You know I’m
going to bite. What secrets have you uncovered?
Michael
Roberts: Secrets of the past that will forever change our future. If
it wasn’t for Layla, I would have never known.
ARW: What sort of people have you met?
Michael
Roberts: People who belong.
ARW: Of the famous sort?
Michael
Roberts: (shrugging and then growling a little) Do you want to tell
them?
ARW: (thinking for a moment) Maybe not.
Michael
Roberts: I didn’t think so.
ARW: Let’s do a top-ten speed round. You ready?
Michael
Roberts: Speed away.
ARW: Favorite song?
Michael
Roberts: “If I Should Fall Behind.” That song has special meaning
to me.
ARW: Favorite place in Ireland?
Michael
Roberts: Apart from my home in Donegal, Dunluce Castle.
ARW: Chicken or Beef?
Michael
Roberts: (He laughs) Pork.
ARW: Favorite thing to do in your off time?
Michael
Roberts: Woodworking.
ARW: What is your favorite meal?
Michael
Roberts: Pizza.
ARW: The fight of your career—the one opponent you’ll never forget.
Michael
Roberts: Layla.
ARW: (throwing a piece of paper at him) Be serious!
Michael
Roberts: (dodging) I am. She’s brutal when she gets mad.
ARW: Your idea of the perfect date.
Michael
Roberts: My idea of the perfect date would be pizza, moonlight, an
old red dirt road, and my favorite girl beside me.
ARW: Sounds familiar and nice. Who inspires you?
Michael
Roberts: Layla. She’s my biggest challenge and my biggest reward.
ARW: Most overused saying.
Michael
Roberts: Bible.
ARW: Where do you see yourself in ten years?
Michael
Roberts: (becoming silent, his face softer in thought) A house full
of kids and laughter. Layla singing in one of the rooms, humming some
beautiful song. I see myself older, hopefully wiser, and a bit
stronger. I see a man who is perfectly content with who he has and
what he has achieved. All I’ve ever wanted was to put down roots,
find my best friend, and live our eternity together. I have that.
It’s all I’ll ever want. Now, I have a question for you. Where
have you
been?
ARW: And I’m the weasel? You know what you’re doing. I’ve been
around.
Michael
Roberts: I do, and that’s why I’m asking. Have you
made any new friends
lately?
ARW: I’ve been in Nashville, mostly. And yes, yes, I have. I take it
you’ve met?
Michael
Roberts: Of course. We had to find out why you haven’t been around
for a while.
I
smile and he laughs. I prepare to pack up my things and head out of
the sleepy gulf town when he stops me. He asks if I’d like to join
them for dinner. I agree and we ride together in Layla’s Mustang. I
spend an evening talking, laughing, and reminiscing. And when I
leave, I remember why I came in the first place, and I know without a
doubt that part of my heart will always remain with them.
About the Book
The Saving Angels Series continues…
A new cast is introduced, while journeys already taken start to merge with the present, leading you down the old Red Dirt Road.
Death has always seemed just one step behind Layla Hill, taking almost everyone she’s ever loved. After she loses the love of her life, Layla vows to never love again—how could she, when she’s a death magnet?
Trying to outrun fate traveling with her uncle Willie and his band, Layla meets Michael Roberts, a beautiful Irish boxer as gentle on the piano as he is brutal in the ring. He proves as relentless in life, fighting for a place in her world even as she pushes him away, trying to protect him from her killer tendencies.
But neither foresees the sinister presence waiting for Layla at the end of the Red Dirt Road.
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About Annie
Born and raised in New Orleans, Annie has a habit of shortening her words and telling long stories. She speaks with a southern flair and cooks with it too. At the tender age of twenty- one, she hitched up her wagons (took her first plane ride) and moved out west to the big shake (California). Her writing career began one sleepless night when she imagined a gorgeous woman and a man with maniacal hair floating above her like lightening bugs falling from the sky. Curious about them, their story, and why they were floating around in her head, she sat down and penned (typed) her first novel, Marigny Street. A dream come true for her, she hasn’t stopped writing since. She loves a damn good love story, always has, no matter what the genre. She is particularly moved by imperfect love that in its own unique way is perfect, the notion of love at first sight, soul mates, and things that are generally out of the norm.
When she’s not writing she enjoys dabbling in photography and finding new, inspirational music to add to her collection. She currently (still) resides in the big shake (although her southern roots are calling her home) with her husband, daughter, and their two peculiar dogs, Boudreaux and Tabasco (who, call her crazy, bark with an accent).
For lagniappe (a little extra), a virtual cup of café au lait and beignets, please visit Annie’s website. She can also be found on Facebook & Twitter.
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