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And I was still a neophyte in the boxing ring...
I managed twelve rounds of the onslaught- OH it was ruthless. Brutal. Two-jobs brutal. Learning-to-drive brutal. Looking-up-roommates-on-craigslist brutal.
Here's how it went down:
The first four rounds went okay. I was dodging awkward blows. I took it in stride.
I thought I was doing pretty great in round five, with graduation and all- The fans roared- I was landing punches.
Then, his uppercut caught me under the chin in round six.
As I struggled to get up, the referee handed me a ticket. Something about it being a public roadway and I had left a dent.
That was hard to recover from.
Suddenly, I wasn't a favorable bet.
So I took on an additional sponsor. One that was better than my first corporate sponsor. They gave me money in exchange for fighting so I could eat and stuff.
I had so many obligations and training sessions I nearly dropped from exhaustion most evenings.
The prizefighter found sneaky ways to sucker-punch money out of me too.
But when I accused the prize fighter of taking all my money, he just delivered another fistful of bills.
In round seven, I had to move to a new boxing ring with all my stuff.
(I moved again in rounds nine and eleven.)
My personal trainers couldn't be there, but they watched the fight on pay-per-view. Every few rounds, I took a break to visit
I was nearly KOed in rounds seven and nine for one reason or another.
I finally left the awful corporate sponsor; which was like shedding a heavy rugsack.
The tenth round found me on the ground, dazed and clueless about my boxing career.
How I was going to afford more boxing gloves? And dear God, WHERE was I going to find another boxing ring to move to?
But you know, I hated being on the ground.
And then there was the Fight Announcer-
He was biasedly on my side too-
He told me to take it one round at a time. The prizefighter wasn't that daunting. I could take him. All I needed to do was ask for help.
"What?" I asked. "I thought this was a 1:1 fight."
But apparently the whole boxing league was owned by the announcer. The rules were his to make.
So the next time I was down for the count, I called out for help-
The announcer gave the signal.
Suddenly, all sorts of people leapt into the ring with me.
Some folks came with water- Some with sports tape. Some straight-up attacked the prize fighter with a chair until I could stand again.
And finally, the end of the boxing match was in sight.
The twelfth round made the prizefighter look weaker. Smaller.
The fans were spirited in their encouragement.
And as the prizefighter and I traded punches in the final round, I realized two things I should have known from the beginning.
1: This prizefighter only had a career for these twelve rounds.
2: He was only prep-work for the next 12-round boxing match.
But I, like you, fellow fighters,
Would have many more matches.
We would find ourselves equal to the challenge.
I would soon walk out of this ring, possibly never to see some of these people again.
But oh what a celebration.
What a send off
And this year would be history.
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