I know what he’s thinking.
I know that he’s pissed about what I’ve done.
I’m not sure it was the greatest of ideas, but it’s too late now. What’s done is done. What makes it both good and bad at the same time is the fact that no one can expose the truth to the media without being hurt in the process. If X told the media the truth, that I never killed anyone, that it was a slanderous lie, he would reap the negative effects too.
This is why he wants to level me, send me down to the canvas early in the fight.
But not this round.
We return to our corners.
Spencer says something that I can’t hear because I’m way too focused. I can’t even look away from X. My gaze trained to him in his corner, never once looking away.
ROUND TWO
I remain in my shell, occasional jabs.
He gets his work rate up with a few jabs and some decent hooks to the body that I fail to block. I hear it in my breath, the pain, wheezing from impact.
He quickly notices that if he continues landing a few hooks, I am unable to do anything. I cannot even throw out the jab. With every hook, I become more and more tired, gassed.
I don’t want to do what I know to do.
It is the reason for fights to turn ugly and dull; however, it is the exploitable tactic of the tired fighter in denial.
I clinch, grabbing him, pulling him in, landing a few punches to the kidneys whenever I can get away with it.
X mutters, “You fuck!”
As I land a nice sharp one to his left kidney.
The referee breaks the clinch.
“Fight!”
Shouts in my face, a warning not to keep clinching. We’re all seeing the fight a number of moves ahead. That’s exactly what I’m going to do.
He tries for a combination but I grab his arm, pulling him in for another clinch. Three more like this and it’s the end of round two and you can hear the audience:
AUDIENCE BOOING
Spencer splashes water in my face, “The hell you doing?! Ease off the clinch. Vary it up with combinations! Save your energy!”
Sound advice but I’m still not listening.
Still staring at X, I mouth the words “I…will…kill…you.”
Psychological mind games.
Whether or not it’ll actually work, it’s worth it. It works for me. I feel like I have some control over the fight and as I clinch my way through rounds three and four, much to the audience’s dislike (everyone disgusted with such an anticlimactic fight) I begin to fall into a groove, one that vouches for doing whatever it takes to win.
To remain where I am.
It doesn’t start now. It’s already begun. I will do whatever it takes.
Don’t you get it?
By round five, X is really frustrated.
ROUND FIVE
This is where I get the warning from the referee, “If you clinch again, I will end the fight!”
AUDIENCE APPLAUSE
X with a sly grin. That damn mouth guard that says “DIE” on it.
Taunt me all you want.
In this moment, I am confident.
I break through my shell with the jab.
X blocks, using fanciful footwork to stand just out of reach of my strikes. He turns to the audience, flexing and shouting.
They are all on his side.
For all they care, I’m a “nobody.”
He is Willem Floures.
I’m some article from a different era.
I land a shocking hook to his face. It surprises him.
He switches to the defensive as I continue jabbing, thrilled to have caught him with the sort of punch I no longer knew I had.
Not a signature. Not anymore.
I’m just throwing punches, running on fumes.
ROUND SIX
I am gassed but the experience of so many fights carries me on through the onslaught of this round and the next.
X unloads on me, combination after combination.
AUDIENCE LAUGHTER
That cuts and stuns me harder than any of his strikes when he lands a straight shot to the body that sends me to the ropes, bouncing back, flying right into another shot.
He hasn’t landed the uppercut yet.
He’s waiting.
I know him.
Not a whole lot of patience unless it’s recognized that everything is on the line. I think of what I might do to psychologically toy with him and give me another nudge in the right direction, the direction of a centered mind.
ROUND SEVEN
There is an idea brewing in this brain of mine.
I go back into my shell.
I think about when it might be the right time.
Not now, next round.
X unloads throughout round seven and at one point I start tasting copper, blood now oozing from my mouth.
Unpleasant but not unexpected.
Shell, condensed, losing on the cards.
For now…
ROUND EIGHT
I settle on the idea and take a knee.
The referee jumps between us, holding X back.
I expect the whole world to be in shock, wondering what did it. What stunned Sugar?
I have the one knee down, gaze to the canvas, waiting until I reach the six count to stand back up. The referee grabs me by the gloves, holds them, looks into my eyes, “You okay?” is what he’s saying but not really meaning. This is just another day at the office. For him, he’d rather I stay down.
Why waste any more time?
I wait until the end of round eight to fake a low blow.
I do my best to act like I’ve been hooked to the groin. X shrugs his shoulders, shaking his head, shouting, “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”
This is so unlike me.
Well, how about that—
I can change too.
I do what needs to be done. I have my values but winning is everything. If I don’t win this I won’t be myself anymore.
Distantly I recognize that I have already let that one go:
Being true to oneself.
I would never fight dirty.
ROUND NINE
It’s not over yet. I start with the jab again. X is irritated and annoyed which helps me win on the cards during this round.
This works:
JAB
JAB
JAB
STRAIGHT TO THE FACE
My shots might not be as quick or as punishing as his but X has lost his strategy. I’ve successfully derailed his linear path towards knockout.
Forty seconds left in the round I fake another low blow.
I keel over, mocking him even more as he turns to the audience, shouting “WHAT FUCKING BULLSHIT!”
But I’m not so sure the audience is on his side anymore.
AUDIENCE SUSPICION
WHERE IS IT AIMED?
AT ME?
AT HIM?
I’m okay and the referee makes sure that I’m okay before letting the clock run out on the round.
Spencer in the corner asking me curiously, “You know what you’re doing right?”
He’s calm, an indication that he sees that something working.
The fight isn’t a pretty one.
BUT IT’LL DO
Water splashed over my face as the bell sounds.
ROUND TEN
The fight can stand to look a little dirtier. When I clinch I make it look like X is doing all the clinching.
X goes silent, slows down, pressure placed on the act of fighting rather than the true expression of the fight, renders him confused.
He has never fought like this before. He has never experienced a fight where it isn’t just the cards but rather the weight of each intended block that might turn the fight.
The fight is more or less directionless and yet there will be a winner.
There will be a winner.
I clinch throughout the round, throwing some punches right before to make it look like X is doing the grabbing.
The referee pulls him aside.
A WARNING
Think about what the commentators must be discussing.