Getting the Horns

The roar of the crowd became deafening as I entered the stadium. The fans cheered from my left and right as I walked down the aisle towards the boxing ring dominating the center of the massive arena. They were all here to see the fight of the year. They’d been promised a lollapalooza, and they were hungry for it. I was the challenger, taking on the reigning champion, and looking at leaving the ring with his belt in my hands. I’d been nervous in the waiting room, anxious and restless, but now my mind was in the zone. I’d trained myself past my limits, and again beyond the new ones I’d formed, so I felt as prepared as I could be for this match. I climbed up to the ring, slipped between the ropes, and came face-to-face with the champ.

Despite knowing he was practically the same weight as I from yesterday’s weigh in, his extra couple of inches on me gave his frame a longer, leaner-muscled look, though it was still currently hidden beneath his boxing robe. My slightly shorter frame made my muscle tone look bulky and heavy, but I knew not to underestimate the champ’s capabilities. He had quite the reputation, as his boxing name “The Bull” indicated. The announcer stepped into center ring and announced the fight’s commencement, but I kept my eyes locked on those of the man in the opposite corner of me, and he stared right back with confidence, neither of our gazes wavering.

“In the blue corner, weighing one-hundred-sixty-five and a half pounds, the challenger, Michael Hammond!” He cried, and the arena’s cheers erupted anew. I pounded my gloves together and waited still.

“In the red corner, weighing one-hundred-sixty-six and a quarter pounds, your super middleweight champion, Brandon Noble!” the announcers cry rang out again, to even greater cheering than my own, and the champ finally threw off his robe. I was now staring at the massive bull head tattooed across the majority of his torso, and as he pumped his arms in response to the crowd, it made his arms look like they were that bull’s horns.

We were soon called to the center, the ref having us touch gloves and go over the usual pre-fight spiel. I kept my countenance determined and calm, while the champ was beaming and grinning; he had more than a few defense fights for his title under his belt, and this was just going to be like all the others to him. I was the challenger though, and I was determined to give him a fight worth remembering, win or lose.

The sound of the bell practically silenced the crowd, and launched both of us into action. I couldn’t help but watch the bull tattoo’s eyes barrel towards me, it’s ‘horns’ flashing out to strike. I bobbed and weaved, working my arms to parry as I dodged the champs flurry of lefts sniping for my face. I could hear my corner man shouting at me even through the cheering crowd to lash out, and not let him control the pace of the fight. I knew that, and wanted to, but we both knew he had reach on me, and I’d take a pounding before my gloves got close to connecting with him. The barrage kept up, and it was starting to overwhelm my defenses. A stronger jab knocked one of my arms out of position, and the quick follow up slipped inside, crashing into my shoulder and twisting my body. That opening made the champ’s right spring to life. A straight right careened into my exposed face and staggered me backwards a step as I desperately tried to get my guard back up before another blow connected.

It didn’t come from the angle I predicted though, and an uppercut found its way up through my relaxed guard, forcing me back again. I’d gotten one glove partially in the way, but not enough to prevent all the damage. I was starting to teeter, my torso dropping, and all I could see was an ever-growing red blur coming up to meet my exposed head. It felt like inches… then like centimeters… then like it was inevitably close. I got my feet back under me though, regained control of my center of gravity again, and threw myself to the outside as swiftly as I could. All on instinct, on the drive to not let my falling form add to the collision with the champ’s incoming strike.

It whiffed.

It’d been so close it had felt like the wind off a car speeding past my head, but now I was crouched down, fists locked and loaded, and I found my target in the champ’s exposed right side. I could see the fear in his eyes as I began to rise up, my left fist faster than he could react, and slammed it into his rib cage. The blow made him crumple to the left, as my right glove dove in. He pulled up his guard as I stopped the punch short, a perfectly executed faint that he’d fallen for hook, line, and sinker. I stepped in, left fist rising once more in a powerful upward punch that scored clean beneath his guard. It was his turn to stagger backwards now, arms thrown wide, fully exposed to my next attack. I straightened up now, it my turn to press the advance. My right hooked into the side of his head, then my left. He was reeling from the blows, and the crowd’s cheers were just white noise in my ears. I could hear his corner man now yelling at him, but I wouldn’t give him time to recover. I was moving in for the finishing blow when I saw it though; his eyes. There was still light in them, still fight in them, and he wasn’t as close to defeat as I’d imagined.

His fist fired in, even from the wide angle it’d come from, it had power behind it. It would have creamed me had I not backed off him. I couldn’t help but find myself a touch thrilled; this was the kind of fight we boxers lived for. The champ was unwilling to relinquish his crown, and I was unwilling to accept him keeping it. The champ’s smash barely missed, as I dropped my knees and dipped out and back in, weaving up closer to fire off jabs with my left. I scored once, twice, thrice before he got his guard back up. The champ’s eyes were fierce now, those of an angered beast, focused entirely on the one who’d awakened that wrath. I didn’t let it affect me, I couldn’t be intimidated by it, it’d make me hesitate and then I’d be done for. I fired my right fist in, under his arms, and straight into his solar plexus. I heard it blast the air from his lungs, and I crumpled his guard with a left cross.

He fought through the worst of the hit, and I realized he’d let me sweep his guard aside to open myself to attack. The blow came out of nowhere, as did the one-two combo that came after it. I lashed out before the next one could hit, landing a powerful uppercut as a counter punch that spun his head. I stepped in close and drove my left into the champ’s ribs again, where I’d connected earlier. Another to the solar plexus robbed the champ of his will to fight back this time, and my left hook almost sent him to the floor. His knees were buckling, and as I loomed over him to attack, another punch came. He threw a desperate left, straight up towards my defenseless face. I grimaced and twisted my head. I felt it catch a piece of my cheek, begin to dig in, and then slip past. The champ’s eyes grew wide, his last desperate play having been for naught, and now it was my turn. I took another step in, hips twisting into the punch, and my right glove came down with my whole body weight behind it. It crushed into his exposed face and drove him into the mat with a thunderous boom.

“Down!” The ref called out, and ordered me to one of the neutral corners as he began the count. The crowd was howling, and the commentators were beside themselves in awe. Was this going to be the upset of the age? The first round still had a good ten seconds left. I leaned against the corner post, heaving, using the time to recover as much as I could. I watched my opponent lying on the mat, likely barely conscious. Even the imposing bull upon his torso seemed less intimidating now, a shell of its former self. The count reached the danger zone, with only three seconds left before the champ attempted to sit up. I begged him not to rise in the back of my mind, his blows catching up to me now that my adrenaline was coming down, making my arms and legs feel like they were full of cement.

“TEN!” the ref cried out as the champion collapsed back to the mat, and the bell clanged throughout the arena to signal the end of the fight, barely audible from the din of the crowd. I managed to stand from the post, throw my head back, and with renewed vigor, I pumped my arms into the air as they handed me the new belt. The title was mine! That thought alone filled my limbs with power anew. I’d messed with the bull, I’d gotten the horns, and I’d survived.