The Fix Is In




The Fix Is In

I watched a boxing match last night, and still I can't decide
just what it was I saw. The champ had many well known bouts,
and challenger, not so much, but claimed he would not be denied
the championship. Built like a hard muscled bull, I had no doubts,

the guy could give the champ a thumpin', if he got the chance.
The first few rounds, the champ showed off his jab and uppercut,
while treating all, to his impressive footwork dodge and dance,
(for which the table refs gave style points.) His rival was the butt

of snarky quips; the commentator saying that to duck
the punches didn't seem a move the bull could understand.
The champ was really throwing gloves, but bull came like a truck,
unbothered by the blows he took. The few the bull did land,

convinced the champ to quit the showy flair, and come to earth.
The champ had won each round on points, but in the seventh slowed
enough, the bull got in, and socked his ribs for all he's worth.
"That had to hurt," the commentator said. The end of the eighth showed

the champ being goaded by his crew. "just stay on your feet" they said,
"you'll win on points". The ninth began with both unloading their best,
but soon we saw the champ go down. A standing eight was read,
and after that the bull conducted his attack with zest.

A left hook, and a devastating body shot, put Champ
against the ropes, and a wound-up roundhouse right knocked him
out cold, just as the game bell rang. Champ's body broke the lamp
and rolled across the judges desk. The ref held up his deadweight limb,

as judges ruled the champ was still the champ, saved by the bell.
At this, I thought what further proof, would a friggin' knothead need
to say who won, by noting where the flaccd torso fell?
Disturbed, confused and sad, I soothed myself, and smoked some weed.