If real life resembled something from a Hollywood script, then Reno's Kelvin and Kelly Davis would be in the process of living happily ever after.
The script goes something like this: Two brothers grow up on the wrong side of the tracks. Living in a 24-hour town has its share of hazards for the pair, who brawl their way through every school and nearly every neighborhood where there's someone who claims he's tough.
A couple hundred streetfights later, the older brother sees his younger brother has a gift. Every time he hits someone, they go TILT, like a beat-up pinball machine. So, they pack up and leave for Las Vegas - home of world champions - in search for their version of the American Dream.
They defy the odds. The older brother rides along on a garbage truck by day as he pays the way for his little brother to concentrate on his new boxing career. After work, he learns all he can from the world's most famous trainers and takes over the career of his brother, who only had seven amateur fights. Nobody believes it when they say they're going to win a world championship. But sure enough, they defy the odds and the younger brother makes history by becoming the city's first-ever world champion under the tutelage of his brother.
The older brother hoists into the air his little brother, who's holding onto the championship belt. The movie ends as the pair returns to their hometown, where their fans are partying in the streets and lined up at the airport waiting for their returning heroes. The brothers ride off into the sunset after accomplishing the impossible.
But that's the movies for you ...
"I'm just waiting on a call (from Kelvin's promoter, Don King)," Kelly Davis said Monday from Koncrete Gym. "Life really hasn't changed. Just getting caught up on the bills. After three-and-a-half years of being in the pros, one fight doesn't throw us over the hump. If it was the heavyweight championship, maybe, but not in the cruiserweights."
"Koncrete" Kelvin Davis, the first Northern Nevadan to win a world title, is sitting behind the desk at the gym. He answers the phone and is playing video games a few feet from the wall where a new 9-foot tall mural of him - complete with his tattoos and IBF, USBA and IBA cruiserweight belts - lurks over a leather couch.
"Things really haven't changed like I
