(no subject)
First off, if you share any of the same friends as me, then you already know I've won my fight. I was in my gloves for about an hour and a half Wednesday night, as they had some fat fucks get pie on them for about an hour and fifteen minutes, then they expected me to go fight a kickboxing match (three ninety-second rounds) in slippery barely-cleaned pie goo. Whatev, on to the synopsis.
Round 1: Jennis (guy/opponent guy) is a spaz. I realize this after he had already swung on my head about five times. I do the "oh damn, I'm gonna get my shit messed UP!" cover up, and pray that he just tires himself out. In the next five seconds, he does not tire out. I decide to take the matter into my own hands, and begin punching him in the body, and then throwing hooks up to the head. All hooks that I mention landed to the head by the way. I was like a hook machine throwing hooks all the time. The ref (opponent guy's coach) tries to coach guy along by telling 'us' that this is kickboxing, and kicks should be thrown. I back up and throw a front thrust kick. He backs up and after taking my kick, tries to throw a REALLY low roundhouse. It makes it to my cup. My cup moves and my junk gets hit with the "ricochet dangle-bang" as I like to call it. More punching and kicking continue until end of round.
1st break: I am told things by my corner men. I do not remember what. They spoke fast. While I am trying to replace my cup to its proper area, the ref looks at me and tells me to sit down. My awesome cornerman Keith steps up and says, "He was kicked in the GROIN!" I sit.
Round 2: More spazzing, more punching, more kicking. Then the inevitable happens. He front thrust kicks me right in the package. Straight heel police-door kicking style into my shetland's stableyard. I cringe in pain, throw one hand up to stop any attacks, and move one gingerly to my wounded soldiers. I back towards my corner staggeringly. Keith, again being awesome, screams at the ref and opponent guy, "THAT'S THE SECOND TIME! SECOND TIME!" Vito, my personal instructor, who also was in my corner, told me to try to squat, and asked if I could keep going. I said I wanted to finish, and after a second of deep breaths and squatting exercises, moved back to the fight. Apparently, I looked very pissed after this. I went in like he would, except a little cleaner. Front thrust kicks, jabs, and hooks led him towards my corner, where I got him staggering. He had good recovery, and I wasn't able to tell why he wasn't continuing to try to punch me, then I realized he was almost down. That would have made the story more interesting. But alas, I fucked my chance at getting a knockout right in the eye, and just punched some more til the bell rang.
2nd break: More talking, more breathing heavy, more praying to any and all gods that I can walk away the winner, and hopefully undisputedly (I don't care if that's not a word, and I just meant by knockout). I prepare myself for final round. I don't think I prepared enough.
Round 3: Tired. "Gassed," as those who know fighting lingo would call it. I am throwing sluggishly, and it's become more of a "who can push harder" contest. Front thrust kick knocks the wind out of him. I thought I hit him in the package. The ref steps between, but when we both realize that he's just hurt, not ball-hurt, I go back in to punch. Problem: I am having difficulty hitting nearly as hard as I did not three minutes ago. Oh well, guess I should just punch more, or something. More punching, more kicking, more wishing my corner didn't lie and say I only had twenty seconds left when I still had forty-five.
Post-fight: I am standing in my corner, trying to remove weird-ass headgear and bonkity-ass gloves. The ref asks the audience who should win. Red corner (opponent guy) gets some frail cheers and a couple boos. Blue corner (champ/me) gets damn near a standing ovation. And from the people standing by watching me, I did get a standing ovation, so that actually happened. The judges gave a unanimous decision in my favor. I walk out to the center of the ring, one hand in glove, one hand out, and obtain the glorious statue that awaits the winner. I hug Jennis, for he fought valiantly, and we part to our corners. On the way out, a woman stops me and hands me money, saying, "Thank you for fighting tonight." With a smile, I say, "Alright." Heading back to the fighter's room, someone asks me (I think it was Dale), "So, how do you feel." I reply, "He hits hard." Vito laughs and says, "We all do."
A few more facts for those interested. This was strictly kickboxing, not Muay Thai in any way. I was not allowed my sweet leg kicks, or my clinch, or my knees, or my elbows. Oh well, I still rock. Jennis trained under the ref, who was also the guy who put the whole thing together. Also, Jennis has a problem with throwing running front thrust kicks that just kind of bounce off of you. This looked cool, but made me feel cooler. Jennis was 26 (I'm 19, for those not in the know), was almost ten pounds heavier than I, and had two fights under his belt prior to this one. I am now undefeated, and think I will only fight if money is involved, cuz those motherfuckers hit damn hard. My head hurt afterwards, and I was tired as all tiredness, but was pumped enough to think I could fight again. I shadowboxed a little and realized that was WAY out of the question.
That is my first fight story. Dale plans on buying the tape/DVD (I don't know what the hell format it's gonna be on) so I will have a recording of my first fight. The weird part is, one of the things I'm most looking forward to is seeing the look on my face when I caught that front-thrust kick to the short-and-sweets. Good fight, good night.
Also, I forgot how to do lj cuts, sorry.
Round 1: Jennis (guy/opponent guy) is a spaz. I realize this after he had already swung on my head about five times. I do the "oh damn, I'm gonna get my shit messed UP!" cover up, and pray that he just tires himself out. In the next five seconds, he does not tire out. I decide to take the matter into my own hands, and begin punching him in the body, and then throwing hooks up to the head. All hooks that I mention landed to the head by the way. I was like a hook machine throwing hooks all the time. The ref (opponent guy's coach) tries to coach guy along by telling 'us' that this is kickboxing, and kicks should be thrown. I back up and throw a front thrust kick. He backs up and after taking my kick, tries to throw a REALLY low roundhouse. It makes it to my cup. My cup moves and my junk gets hit with the "ricochet dangle-bang" as I like to call it. More punching and kicking continue until end of round.
1st break: I am told things by my corner men. I do not remember what. They spoke fast. While I am trying to replace my cup to its proper area, the ref looks at me and tells me to sit down. My awesome cornerman Keith steps up and says, "He was kicked in the GROIN!" I sit.
Round 2: More spazzing, more punching, more kicking. Then the inevitable happens. He front thrust kicks me right in the package. Straight heel police-door kicking style into my shetland's stableyard. I cringe in pain, throw one hand up to stop any attacks, and move one gingerly to my wounded soldiers. I back towards my corner staggeringly. Keith, again being awesome, screams at the ref and opponent guy, "THAT'S THE SECOND TIME! SECOND TIME!" Vito, my personal instructor, who also was in my corner, told me to try to squat, and asked if I could keep going. I said I wanted to finish, and after a second of deep breaths and squatting exercises, moved back to the fight. Apparently, I looked very pissed after this. I went in like he would, except a little cleaner. Front thrust kicks, jabs, and hooks led him towards my corner, where I got him staggering. He had good recovery, and I wasn't able to tell why he wasn't continuing to try to punch me, then I realized he was almost down. That would have made the story more interesting. But alas, I fucked my chance at getting a knockout right in the eye, and just punched some more til the bell rang.
2nd break: More talking, more breathing heavy, more praying to any and all gods that I can walk away the winner, and hopefully undisputedly (I don't care if that's not a word, and I just meant by knockout). I prepare myself for final round. I don't think I prepared enough.
Round 3: Tired. "Gassed," as those who know fighting lingo would call it. I am throwing sluggishly, and it's become more of a "who can push harder" contest. Front thrust kick knocks the wind out of him. I thought I hit him in the package. The ref steps between, but when we both realize that he's just hurt, not ball-hurt, I go back in to punch. Problem: I am having difficulty hitting nearly as hard as I did not three minutes ago. Oh well, guess I should just punch more, or something. More punching, more kicking, more wishing my corner didn't lie and say I only had twenty seconds left when I still had forty-five.
Post-fight: I am standing in my corner, trying to remove weird-ass headgear and bonkity-ass gloves. The ref asks the audience who should win. Red corner (opponent guy) gets some frail cheers and a couple boos. Blue corner (champ/me) gets damn near a standing ovation. And from the people standing by watching me, I did get a standing ovation, so that actually happened. The judges gave a unanimous decision in my favor. I walk out to the center of the ring, one hand in glove, one hand out, and obtain the glorious statue that awaits the winner. I hug Jennis, for he fought valiantly, and we part to our corners. On the way out, a woman stops me and hands me money, saying, "Thank you for fighting tonight." With a smile, I say, "Alright." Heading back to the fighter's room, someone asks me (I think it was Dale), "So, how do you feel." I reply, "He hits hard." Vito laughs and says, "We all do."
A few more facts for those interested. This was strictly kickboxing, not Muay Thai in any way. I was not allowed my sweet leg kicks, or my clinch, or my knees, or my elbows. Oh well, I still rock. Jennis trained under the ref, who was also the guy who put the whole thing together. Also, Jennis has a problem with throwing running front thrust kicks that just kind of bounce off of you. This looked cool, but made me feel cooler. Jennis was 26 (I'm 19, for those not in the know), was almost ten pounds heavier than I, and had two fights under his belt prior to this one. I am now undefeated, and think I will only fight if money is involved, cuz those motherfuckers hit damn hard. My head hurt afterwards, and I was tired as all tiredness, but was pumped enough to think I could fight again. I shadowboxed a little and realized that was WAY out of the question.
That is my first fight story. Dale plans on buying the tape/DVD (I don't know what the hell format it's gonna be on) so I will have a recording of my first fight. The weird part is, one of the things I'm most looking forward to is seeing the look on my face when I caught that front-thrust kick to the short-and-sweets. Good fight, good night.
Also, I forgot how to do lj cuts, sorry.