The Champ swallows hard, pushes it all back. This isn’t a time for sad memories of dead daughters, dead wives. He launches a vicious jab at the other guy’s face. This is a time for vicious jabs. He didn’t come all this way to lose.

He lands a solid body blow, feels something break under the weight of his punch. He can only hope it’s a rib. Two to the jaw, a second fierce shot to the stomach. He stumbles back, but the other man oversteps and the Champ sees it. He steps in, sinks the uppercut underneath the man’s jaw and lifts him off the ground.

The ref starts counting.
Ten
Each bead of sweat feels like a tear he won’t cry.
Nine
For his daughter.
Eight
He should’ve slowed down.
Seven
He only meant to have one beer.
Six
For his wife.
Five
He should’ve payed attention.
Four
He was so sorry.
Three
He should’ve seen the signs.
Two
He closes his eyes. This is all he has left.
One
The man remains on the mat. No one stands. He’s The Champ again…