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God game the gift of the fight, some how in the process I was made a fighter.
The sticks clashed together, the sound cracking through the arena. The cold ice burnt upon my skin as did the throbbing throw m head. Pushing from the ice I again gain my feet as I search for the man responsible. He was only a few feet from me but there was no way that I was going to reach him,in full stride he sped down the ice in his crouching powefull thrusts.
I noticed the puck in the far corner as I began my unsteady strides for the play. A teammate had grabbed the puck and began his charge up ice, evrybody on the ice followed suit, also changing course and heading my direction. Noble had found me at the boards, moments earlier; the puck had been dumped into the corner and I had intercepted the puck in its path, as I look up to see Noble intercepting mine.
The ringing in my head continued as I soared through the air, Nobles arm getting a last swipe at me, I heard the referees whistle sound and i knew that he had seen the infraction, yet I flew through the air. The boards collided with me and I fully with them. The white light that froze before my eyes sent waves through my stomach, the heart pounding, yet ever so slow. The muteness of the crowd, as I watched them through the glass, the sounds muffled into a single voice as I recognize my mothers scream, it had been heard to many times for sure. The white light
As my mothers voice encompases me, I recongize the rest of the crowd as a man pushes me to the floor. I look to him, his white shirt illuminating his presence, I turn my head to see Larry Wright bouncing in his corner, the sweat glistening beneath his head gear. I throbbing rolls up my neck and to the center of my soul as the man in the shirt pushes me to the floor. A single hall light soared above me as I notice its flaking chrome. the burst of light blinds my pupil as I turn my head away from it, the canvas, I will sleep.
I watched Larry bouncing in his corner, his trainer inserting his mouth piece as the referee ordered us to ring center. I turn to Greg, as he rinses the mouth piece over a bucket and turns to insert the piece and squirts my chest with a stream of ice cold water. Against the sweat of soul it collides, bringing my to a new dimension, where a right angle will not always be 90 degrees. Stepping forward the referee directs his eyes to mine, he is in control. Swining my glove out I touch Larrys gloves as he bounces back to his corner. The bouncing began when he entered the ring, it started and it never stopped. Larry nods to his cornerman as his trainer takes a seat at the stool beside the staircase.
"This is it, this is what we worked for...." GREG squirts a a stream of water to in between my shoulder blades, turning to see he is seated on his stool raising his fist to me, his fist to me, "This is what we worked for, got get 'em...." I turn ring center to see the referee pointing to the bell, the adrenaline instanting pouring through my heart, my stomach, my soul. I know it is in there, it must come forward. DDDDIIIIINNNNNGGGG!.
Larry, began his quest for the center of the ring. His gloves held high to his face, his bulking shoulder showing me the power of his glove. I begin walking to my right along the ropes. Larry crossed the point of ring center, jolting his jab toward my head. Pawing with my right, i brush the shot aside and shoot forward with a touching jab of my own, the blow striking Larrys face as he gets low and swings a left hook my way. I step back, thinking of the power that his jab carried behind it.
Circling the ring Larry gets low again as he begins his stride for me. The right hand landed atop Larrys head as he ducks , pulling his left shoulder acroossed his chin. "He knows the hook is coming". Realizing this I quickly pull the shot, getting low as his right hand sails over my skull.
" You gotta use that jab boy, you gotta...." Kady yells in the crowd, his drive for me to do the right thing always deeply appreciatd. Sticking the jab, I step to my left gaining position. Larry puts his gloves to his head as I duck low, again stepping to my left. Waiting For larry to look from his gloves, I work my jab, forcing it through his gloves, reaching his face. Larry gets low as I snap the jab and reach for his jab as it strikes forward.
"Use yo movement, you gotta box this boy!!!!" Again picking up the movement I circle around the exchange as Larry continues pursuit. Feinting in the middle of the ring we look for the movements, the subtle gestures.........They all mean something......... his right hand!
In the dark room the man slept on his hamic, strapped to the poles that stood at each end. In the darkness, he grabs for the robe, that he knows hangs from the post. The robe on, he pushes out of the hut into the sand grounds. The palm trees flow in the wind as the sun casts their shadows acrossed his face.
Where to find the batteries, is all that this man could think about. The need for the power to work something, he is not sure. Wandering through the trees, the birds chime in pefect jungle harmony. Their calls rythmic as he again scurries through the sand. His breathe taken, as he exhales in a discomfortable search for oxygen.
The coldness finds me, the relief of liquid to a parched throat......... Greg kneels before me, setting the water bottle to the canvas as reaches forward, extracting my mouthpiece he patts my face with a towel. Retrieving his waterbottle he leans to the side and rinses the piece. The water flows through the piece, blood soaked. "You gotta use your legs ....You gotta........."
Looking to my left, I see a judge writing a score down. Unable to see his writing I turn my head forward, remembering that he was sitting there. "You dont want to stand and fight this guy....." Greg quietly began his instructions, in the same gentleman tone and demeanor that he carried himself in. Gregs calmness conflicted with the crowds instruction of violence. "Stick the jab and start moving to your left, when you......" Greg calmy talks to me, the voice muted to a degree by the volume of the crowd. His polo sweater, neatly worn above his slacks, knowing his confidence. "When you work that jab you have to keep in postion, if not he could hit you with his hook." Greg puts his right hand against his jaw in an open postion. "You have to look out for that hook. Remembering that we had touched gloves only a short time ago, I continue searching for the batteries...........Rockin'
The sticks clashed together, the sound cracking through the arena. The cold ice burnt upon my skin as did the throbbing throw m head. Pushing from the ice I again gain my feet as I search for the man responsible. He was only a few feet from me but there was no way that I was going to reach him,in full stride he sped down the ice in his crouching powefull thrusts.
I noticed the puck in the far corner as I began my unsteady strides for the play. A teammate had grabbed the puck and began his charge up ice, evrybody on the ice followed suit, also changing course and heading my direction. Noble had found me at the boards, moments earlier; the puck had been dumped into the corner and I had intercepted the puck in its path, as I look up to see Noble intercepting mine.
The ringing in my head continued as I soared through the air, Nobles arm getting a last swipe at me, I heard the referees whistle sound and i knew that he had seen the infraction, yet I flew through the air. The boards collided with me and I fully with them. The white light that froze before my eyes sent waves through my stomach, the heart pounding, yet ever so slow. The muteness of the crowd, as I watched them through the glass, the sounds muffled into a single voice as I recognize my mothers scream, it had been heard to many times for sure. The white light
As my mothers voice encompases me, I recongize the rest of the crowd as a man pushes me to the floor. I look to him, his white shirt illuminating his presence, I turn my head to see Larry Wright bouncing in his corner, the sweat glistening beneath his head gear. I throbbing rolls up my neck and to the center of my soul as the man in the shirt pushes me to the floor. A single hall light soared above me as I notice its flaking chrome. the burst of light blinds my pupil as I turn my head away from it, the canvas, I will sleep.
I watched Larry bouncing in his corner, his trainer inserting his mouth piece as the referee ordered us to ring center. I turn to Greg, as he rinses the mouth piece over a bucket and turns to insert the piece and squirts my chest with a stream of ice cold water. Against the sweat of soul it collides, bringing my to a new dimension, where a right angle will not always be 90 degrees. Stepping forward the referee directs his eyes to mine, he is in control. Swining my glove out I touch Larrys gloves as he bounces back to his corner. The bouncing began when he entered the ring, it started and it never stopped. Larry nods to his cornerman as his trainer takes a seat at the stool beside the staircase.
"This is it, this is what we worked for...." GREG squirts a a stream of water to in between my shoulder blades, turning to see he is seated on his stool raising his fist to me, his fist to me, "This is what we worked for, got get 'em...." I turn ring center to see the referee pointing to the bell, the adrenaline instanting pouring through my heart, my stomach, my soul. I know it is in there, it must come forward. DDDDIIIIINNNNNGGGG!.
Larry, began his quest for the center of the ring. His gloves held high to his face, his bulking shoulder showing me the power of his glove. I begin walking to my right along the ropes. Larry crossed the point of ring center, jolting his jab toward my head. Pawing with my right, i brush the shot aside and shoot forward with a touching jab of my own, the blow striking Larrys face as he gets low and swings a left hook my way. I step back, thinking of the power that his jab carried behind it.
Circling the ring Larry gets low again as he begins his stride for me. The right hand landed atop Larrys head as he ducks , pulling his left shoulder acroossed his chin. "He knows the hook is coming". Realizing this I quickly pull the shot, getting low as his right hand sails over my skull.
" You gotta use that jab boy, you gotta...." Kady yells in the crowd, his drive for me to do the right thing always deeply appreciatd. Sticking the jab, I step to my left gaining position. Larry puts his gloves to his head as I duck low, again stepping to my left. Waiting For larry to look from his gloves, I work my jab, forcing it through his gloves, reaching his face. Larry gets low as I snap the jab and reach for his jab as it strikes forward.
"Use yo movement, you gotta box this boy!!!!" Again picking up the movement I circle around the exchange as Larry continues pursuit. Feinting in the middle of the ring we look for the movements, the subtle gestures.........They all mean something......... his right hand!
In the dark room the man slept on his hamic, strapped to the poles that stood at each end. In the darkness, he grabs for the robe, that he knows hangs from the post. The robe on, he pushes out of the hut into the sand grounds. The palm trees flow in the wind as the sun casts their shadows acrossed his face.
Where to find the batteries, is all that this man could think about. The need for the power to work something, he is not sure. Wandering through the trees, the birds chime in pefect jungle harmony. Their calls rythmic as he again scurries through the sand. His breathe taken, as he exhales in a discomfortable search for oxygen.
The coldness finds me, the relief of liquid to a parched throat......... Greg kneels before me, setting the water bottle to the canvas as reaches forward, extracting my mouthpiece he patts my face with a towel. Retrieving his waterbottle he leans to the side and rinses the piece. The water flows through the piece, blood soaked. "You gotta use your legs ....You gotta........."
Looking to my left, I see a judge writing a score down. Unable to see his writing I turn my head forward, remembering that he was sitting there. "You dont want to stand and fight this guy....." Greg quietly began his instructions, in the same gentleman tone and demeanor that he carried himself in. Gregs calmness conflicted with the crowds instruction of violence. "Stick the jab and start moving to your left, when you......" Greg calmy talks to me, the voice muted to a degree by the volume of the crowd. His polo sweater, neatly worn above his slacks, knowing his confidence. "When you work that jab you have to keep in postion, if not he could hit you with his hook." Greg puts his right hand against his jaw in an open postion. "You have to look out for that hook. Remembering that we had touched gloves only a short time ago, I continue searching for the batteries...........Rockin'
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