own heart.
After an embarrassing moment of silence, Sam responded. “You’ll have to excuse me, Martha, I’ve got a fight to win.” He pushed past and hurried to the locker room, thinking, Ravenous woman! You’ll just have to wait until the show is over before I give you an answer.
The locker room door closed, shutting out the noise and providing a welcomed quiet. As Sam changed, one of his trainers readied the tape for his hands. He looked up. “Jerome, give me a minute, will you? Can you believe the audacity of that woman?”
Jerome gave an understanding nod, the light glinting off the gold ring in his ear. “You okay, man?”
“I wish John was here. I need him.”
“You don’t need John. You know he’s got to take care of the fam first. Besides, I got your back. We’ve got this under control!” Jerome patted Sam on the shoulder.
“Okay, okay. Just give me a minute.”
“Sure thing, bro, but you need to warm up, so think fast, alright?”
Sam watched as Jerome left the room. Martha Haige’s question continued to weigh on his mind. Why don’t I know this? Why can’t I answer her questions? Dang it, John, I need you.
Despite Sam’s agitation, he knew John’s daughter needed her father more than he did. Little Fannie was in stable but serious condition after a hit-and-run while she crossed the school crosswalk with her bike. Sam would not have come to the fight, but John had insisted. During his flight, he said another prayer for Fannie’s well-being. She was simply too young to end up paralyzed for life.
Sam’s opponent was tough, a man from Brazil who held a Mixed Martial Arts record of 18 wins, 3 losses, with 17 wins coming by way of knock out. This Muay Thai specialist was a nightmare to face for his first professional fight, and everyone was betting on the Brazilian to hand Sam his first trip to the mat, knocked out cold. A member of the press had joked, “The good doctor will be able to stitch himself up to save on medical bills.”
After warming up, the time came to enter the cage, but Sam’s stomach had other ideas. He stepped into the hallway outside the locker room, grabbed the nearest trash can and vomited.
Disgusted by his weakness, Sam used the wall to push himself up. He wiped off his mouth and then leaned against Jerome’s shoulder.
The trainer pushed back. “Man up, yo! You got this, dawg. Use that genius head of yours, and get it out of the clouds. Focus! What the hell’s wrong with you?”
Sam knew Jerome was right. It was time to own the situation and think things through. He needed to take charge of his body and control his emotions.
As they made their way to the cage, Sam was sure his puddle of puke would become the cover story for the sports writers, no matter if he won or lost. Gaining further composure, he continued to walk down the corridor into the arena, enjoying the idea of the press twisting his loss of control into a global laugh.
When the cage door closed, Sam stared at his Brazilian opponent and nodded. He felt nothing, neither fear nor excitement. He stood still, evaluating the weak points on the man’s body, systematically calculating how he was going to take advantage of each area to attain victory. It was as if a switch had turned on inside his mind. He knew his body was prepared from his perfect 12–0 amateur record. With confidence in this fact, the rest of the sport was mental—the easiest and yet the hardest part of the sport for Sam. The good doctor was ready to go to war.
The referee stood at the center of the cage and pumped his fist. “Let’s get it on!” he shouted.
The two men met at the center of the octagon. They touched gloves and circled one another to size each other up. The Brazilian threw a few jabs that Sam brushed off with no real damage before countering with a powerful, slapping kick to the Brazilian’s right, inner thigh. The loud smack energized the crowd.
Again the Brazilian attacked, this time lunging forward with his knee, only to pull back and strike with a well-placed, right fist. Sam arched his back in an effort to soften the impact to his face, but his reaction was too slow. He stumbled backward and fell against the chain links of the cage.
The Brazilian followed, aggressively attacking and searching for the next opening.