The Champ

the champ

there was no rest for days.  no couch or cushions .  it was straight up nonsense.
it began with eating.  lots of mini meals to bulk up for size.  to get into fighting form.
then there was the week before the fight.  usually there's lots of rest and mental focus and preparation.
not this time .

it began with chocolate and a new tattoo.  during the three hour ink session it got tense and bizarre.
i walked out of there and smoked a butt, a no no but my mind said oh yes yes.
giving in is like going down.  going down is no fun for anybody, ask the last champ.  he caught a jackhammer of a hook
that dropped him cold.

now i get to test the guy that laid him out.  why not?  i'm as good as the next guy...well, maybe not the next guy, he's an animal.
but you get the point.  back to the bulking up...at that point i decide, man i'm not getting any bigger,
or i'll pop a vessel and burst something.

so i get involved with this banjo playin band...figures.  all they want to play is blue grass fighting music.
which is ok...but i got a think for good old fashioned grunge or at least something that makes me shake my big swingin' butt.
so i get kicked outta the banjo band, and as i'm leaving i holler, alright, good!!great!! i'm outta here!!
back to boxing...i got two days before the title shot and all i can think of is am i good enough?

sure ya are...my buddies say .  we'll see, says my corner guys..who knows, i'm thinkin.
i could care less about the title and all that happy junk, i just know i could use the cash.
plus, i really don't like the guy.  i mean it , he's a pompus pickle headed yo yo.

so i get into the ring and i stare him down.  i look em dead in the eye and notice he's ten times uglier and meaner up close.
my shoulders square i duck and roll with his jabs.

after all that, he lines me up and keeps hittin my guts with the new tattoo.  which is fine, except i can feel my kidneys mushing around
from his relentless body blows.  he hits me with that damn hook over and again.  i'm wondering if only i can slow down enough to
get inside and go to town on him, so i keep headed into the champs fists and get clobbered.

ok i tell him through the mouth guard... here it comes...as my right up grazes his eyebrows he runs at me fast and i'm going down.
not sure what's worse, going down or lookin' up towards his shorts bouncing around...refs counting as i holler at the champ-
here we go ace!!

there is nothing out there that compares to knockin a guy like that out .  in fact the money is nowhere near as satisfying.
from now on , no more chocolate, no tattoos and no more messing with sons a guns like that.
in fact, i really think i'll just devote my time to less intense endevours .

then again,
i am the champ.