My opponent for ‘Born to Fight’ was an older, well-established fighter, who was riding a three-fight losing streak in the past year. This fight was important for him as well; probably his last chance to make a comeback and stay in professional waters.
When I look back at it now, I had completely underestimated his motivation. Older fighters know once they fall they only get one chance to hit back. Spending all those years in fighting, there’s little else left for them. A person who has nothing to lose is a dangerous fighter.
Three days before the fight I attended the press conference with all the other fighters. I never met my opponent in person before. We were seated on opposite sides of the hall, as promoters divided home and guest fighters into two groups. When the moment of my presentation came I stood up and slowly, carelessly walked toward the announcer to meet my opponent in a staredown. I looked into his eyes, while the announcer was speaking. A game played between him and me – never avert the eyes first. He wouldn’t give up either, so the announcer stepped in and separated us. After all the fighters were announced it was time for questions.
“I believe my opponent should retire while he can still stand on his feet,” I said. “This old guy here has no chance against me.”
“He doesn’t belong in the ring anymore, this is no game for pensioners,” I continued to insult him. The journalists loved my taunting behaviour and sharp mouth.
My opponent remained quiet in his seat and looked extremely focused. When one of the journalists asked him about his opinion on me he said: “He surely has a big mouth now, but we all know how it is with dogs that bark aloud.”
The audience laughed. The whole matter made me angry and I was even more determined to win.
A day before the fight, as I was about to leave the gym, Peter came to me. “This event is bigger than anything you’ve experienced so far. Don’t let it affect you. You have the home crowd on your side. Just show your best and they’ll love you.”
“I’m gonna win, Peter. I’ll demolish him.”
“Sure you will, my boy. That’s what we trained for!” Peter’s eyes were smiling, but nevertheless bore concern.
This fight was important for him as well. Peter brought up some good fighters in the past, but eventually they all left, and he hadn’t had a fighter qualify for FFA in years. I was his new and only candidate.
Despite many expectations from all sides, I didn’t feel the pressure, just pure excitement. I couldn’t wait to step into the ring and show my skills to the crowd.
We were in a locker room, me, Peter and Najib, a young fighter of Moroccan descent, who started coming to Peter’s gym a year ago. Unlike my opponent, I had no entourage to accompany me to the ring, so Peter took Najib with us, just so we wouldn’t be alone. He was taping my hand and giving me some pep talk, but I could barely hear him. My thoughts were consumed by adrenaline. I got that fluttery feeling in the stomach, but in a good way, like I was going to a party…the best party ever.
I was ready.
The music, Peter by my side, Najib behind. The blinding lights at the beginning of my walkout. I couldn't see the audience, but I heard them cheering. Gloves checking….I continued, Peter went up first and spread the ring ropes. I made my way into the ring and looked around. So many people, the hall was huge. The announcer called my name. I raised my right hand, and the hall exploded. I had never felt like this, it was overwhelming.
My opponent was already in his corner, nodding to his trainer’s last instructions. I didn’t really hear Peter’s words to me, my eyes locked onto my opponent and everything else faded into the background.
The judge called us to the middle and explained the rules. We touched gloves and the fight began. I moved to a comfortable distance and started with some feints, to check the reactions of my opponent. I noticed right away my body did not move as usual. My legs felt as if I had weights attached to the ankles. I barely avoided some punches to the head and received several into my abdomen. In no time I was pushed up against the ropes and took series of blows.
My brain went into panic mode. What’s happening… I’m not afraid of him, I can see his attacks coming. Why can’t I react in time? Side step and strike! Now! But my body would not obey me. I could only dodge and protect my chin, struggling to keep on my feet as his heavy blows landed on my body. Shit, here comes the takedown!
We smashed on the floor and I thought I was done, but somehow I freed myself and stood up. I had the strength, but my agility, speed, and techniques, I practised specifically for this opponent, vanished.
Yet, the fool I was, instead of waiting for this nightmare to pass, I struck back. My punches were slow and broad, and my kicks didn’t come close to him. I persisted, stubbornly, and closed the distance.
“Put your hands up! Defend!” I heard Peter yelling at the top of his voice.
Too late. My opponent’s attack played out like a scene in slow motion in front of my eyes and all I could do was to await the terrible result without having the slightest ability to alter it. He spun around and his heel connected with my face. Then there was nothingness.
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