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In the locker room, I strip out of my shirt and pull on my shorts that are form-fitting to my body. They are almost like what you call biker shorts, but these are a little shorter and have a company logo on them.
“You decent?” Cutter calls in.
“Yep.”
“Okay, let’s get your hands wrapped.”
“Hey. Hey. Hey. Ready for a fight?” Griffin enters the room.
“Most definitely.”
Griffin works on wrapping my other hand. And then I pull on my open-fingered gloves, I already have my groin protection on. I have a few minutes to warm up my body before heading out.
“How’s it going in here,” I hear a familiar voice but can’t place it right away. When he comes into view, I see the president of the MMA Pro League approach me.
“My name is Dana.” He holds his hand out for me to shake.
“I know who you are.” Shaking his hand, I’m dumbfounded and star-struck at the same time. Why is the president of MMA here?
“I’ve heard some good things about you. Thought I would come see what you are all about.”
“Thanks for coming.”
“Nice meeting you. Good luck out there,” he slaps me on the back before leaving.
Music vibrates through the arena, and right when I get to the entrance my walkout song, Sweet Child of Mine by Guns N’ Roses begins to play.
My opponent James “The Marshall” Jones, is already bouncing up and down inside the octagon cage. Since Dana appeared, this is probably one of my biggest fights. If it goes well, he could ask me to sign with them and go pro. However, that would mean traveling, and I don’t think I could leave my club brothers and bounce back and forth. Club life doesn’t work that way. So as much as I would love the opportunity, I’m not sure I would take it.
The referee checks my body and my mouth to make sure I’m not hiding any deadly objects I could try to use. After clearing me, I put my mouthguard in and enter the cage.
We each get announced as we enter and remain in our respective corners until the ref allows up to come to the center.
With a gloved hand, the ref motions to come to the center and looks at me. “Are you ready?”
Bouncing up and down in my spot, I nod.
He looks to my opponent asking the same question.
He responds with a nod as well. Meanwhile, we stare at each other, trying to intimidate the other. But here in the cage, that never works on me.
“Fight!” the referee announces.
At first, most fights start like a game of cat and mouse while we try to feel each other out. Once I get into a groove, I begin my attack.
Dominating the first round, the bell rings, and I walk to my corner, where Griffin pulls in a stool for me to sit on. Cutter leans down to give me a pep talk. “I think you can end this in the next round.”
While Griffin holds the jug, I take small sips of water.
Our little break is over, and I get right back into dominating my opponent. It’s the first time he actually gets a few good punches in, along with leg kicks, and those hurt like a bitch.
Agitated, I gauge my stance and do a spinning back kick, knocking the guy out as he falls onto the mat. The ref counts, “One. Two. Three.” Waving his hand, he calls the fight.
It takes a minute for James to come around, and once he is back on his feet, I walk over to offer my hand to shake. Most of the time, if they show good sportsmanship, they will shake your hand in return.
“I knew you would win,” Cutter praises while ruffling my hair.
CHAPTER FIVE
