Moment of Truth
Moment of truth The crowd was deafening. A few drunken chants, a boo here and there was all I could make out over my asthma-like pants. I didn’t blame them though. For two rounds I’ve been dodging, shifting, and shoving myself around the ring. I didn’t stand still, I couldn’t stand still. I wasn’t going to win this one. He was too big, too bulky, too mean looking. “There’s no way he’s 76 kg, there must have been some sort of mistake” I kept telling myself. I was a half expecting the referee to stop us saying “Sorry gentlemen, there was a mistake in the matching, and I’m gonna call a ‘No Contest’”. But I knew that wasn’t the case, just a bit of wishful thinking to ease the pain.
He came at me again, this time more aggressively. It was probably the frustration, or maybe he wanted the knockout. Either way, I was losing and I knew it. For a second, I thought of taking the fall just to give the crowd something to talk about. He tried his best to trap me, but I kept backing up and prolonging this dance of ours. “Two minutes! Do something” I thought I heard my corner shout. I dashed back one more time, that’s when I saw the slight buckle in his knees. He was tired, exhausted, spent, almost expired. His mass advantage worked against him when it came to endurance. Now is my shot, it was either hit or miss. But I wasn’t going to waste it on an offensive strike. It had to be a counter, or he would expect it. I planted myself, and like a fish to the bait he came for the trap and swung. I flung out my jab to deflect his and countered with a right straight while my eyes were closed. I felt the contact, opened my eyes, he wasn’t there.
The referee pushed me to the opposite corner as he continued the count. Everytime he yelled a number, the crowd would repeat it more frantically. “Yal Wahsh!” I heard my roommate call from the corner. By the seven count, the referee realized all hope for the staggering beast were lost and declared me the winner. I was overwhelmed, I had one
He came at me again, this time more aggressively. It was probably the frustration, or maybe he wanted the knockout. Either way, I was losing and I knew it. For a second, I thought of taking the fall just to give the crowd something to talk about. He tried his best to trap me, but I kept backing up and prolonging this dance of ours. “Two minutes! Do something” I thought I heard my corner shout. I dashed back one more time, that’s when I saw the slight buckle in his knees. He was tired, exhausted, spent, almost expired. His mass advantage worked against him when it came to endurance. Now is my shot, it was either hit or miss. But I wasn’t going to waste it on an offensive strike. It had to be a counter, or he would expect it. I planted myself, and like a fish to the bait he came for the trap and swung. I flung out my jab to deflect his and countered with a right straight while my eyes were closed. I felt the contact, opened my eyes, he wasn’t there.
The referee pushed me to the opposite corner as he continued the count. Everytime he yelled a number, the crowd would repeat it more frantically. “Yal Wahsh!” I heard my roommate call from the corner. By the seven count, the referee realized all hope for the staggering beast were lost and declared me the winner. I was overwhelmed, I had one