The bell sounds with a clang, the start of the first match, and I come out swinging. I trained hard, and I'm ready for it. A few quick jabs, maybe the occasional combo, but I'm prepared. It's nothing I haven't seen before. A little fancy footwork, and I'm dancing around my opponent. The crowd goes wild, and I love it. It feels good to be a winner.
You can only bask in the afterglow for so long, though, so I schedule another match. This time around, I work hard to get ready, and when I step in the ring, its with the knowledge that I will win. I can do it again. I'm sure of it. Impact of a hard right jolts me out of my daydream, and I realize this isn't a sure thing anymore. Victory isn't guaranteed. Funny thing is, I get so worked up at the idea of a loss that I push my way into winning.They start chanting my name, and I smile, cuz they don't know how close the fight really was. Regardless, I won; I'm the champ.
Time makes me a fool, and I miss the glory days, so I resolve to step in the ring again. There are younger, stronger opponents that are likely better than me, but I've got wins under my belt now, and a title to defend. It isn't until I feel my face collide with the mat that I realize what I've done. I'm not a champion; I'm an amateur, and I don't know what I'm doing. All those other wins, what do they matter when my opponent can drop me with one hit? I look at the blood beneath me, and I'm scared. I should stay down. IT isn't worth my life, right. I drag myself off the floor at the count of 9, rubbing my sore jaw, ready to take more of a beating. This fight is just beginning.
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