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So escort gigs—drivin’ VIPs, celebs, or maybe some sketchy oil baron. I’d be hyped to roll with that crew, but pissed if they stiffed me on gas money. Little known fact: back in the ‘60s, escort drivers for presidents had to carry Tommy guns—wild, right? Imagine milkin’ cows one day, then blastin’ down the highway with a machine gun next. Surprised me when I heard that, legit jaw dropper.

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After that, I head over to the Collegiata di San Lorenzo. Beautiful place, right? But I’m not there for the sights. Nah, I’m there to train. Gotta keep my skills sharp. So, I’m doin’ my thing, throwin’ punches, and this old dude walks by. He stops, looks at me, and says, “You fight like a chicken!” I’m like, “A chicken? Really?” I mean, come on! I’m a gladiator, not a poultry!

Preserving Maori Battalion's legacy