Tora! Tora! Tora!

This blog is about fight number three.
Training went ok for this one but I came in a bit too hard at the start and kind of tapered off about ten days out and even needed a day and a half off a few days before it. That shot the confidence a bit so I was nervous as unholy fuck on the day. With the added pressure of two of my training compadres from home. And if that wasn't enough one of those friends was making a video he hoped to turn into a documentary or as Charlie Brooker might say a 'shock-u-mentally'.
Anyway, I was just about sorted in the head department when someone told me that he'd knocked out a big guy from Lanna gym and that he was a tough little bastard. Thanks cunt. So got into the ring and did me wee spirit dance and what not, and we were off to the first round. The usual feeling out stuff really, he went for an early clinch which I just couldn't dominate successfully. This wasn't good cause that was kind of the game plan and I wasn't thinking sharp enough to try and switch it up. It's not that he was that good at clinch but he was fantastic at stuffing mine. And he was the dirtiest bastard to ever set foot in a ring. Poking the eyes, fish hooking, nose bars, the fucking lot. With a face that wouldn't melt butter.
Anyway, at the end of round one I felt quite worn out, which wasn't good at all. I decided I better hold a little back in case it went the distance. So I held off for a while and didn't try anything fancy, just kept it going with the basics. Just went for good point scoring shots and tried to finish in the clinch. I was very tired by the fourth and conceded about six points at the very end of the round in the clinch. He was going for fast, ineffective knees. Not going to do me damage anywhere except the score sheet. I was that tired by the middle of the fourth that I actually considered just lying down after the next hard hit, but when it landed I saw red and gave it back harder than I got it, so well done to whichever part of me takes care of that stuff, cause I wanted out.
So, standing up for the fifth I felt as though there were a frenchman living in my head. A frenchman who hadn't worked out how to flush the toilet properly either. I had decided to play the last round safe as I was so tired and didn't want to get so far and get knocked out due to stupidity. Then Jovan shouts up, 3 minutes, that's all you have left. I can still go 180 seconds, I reckoned and when the bell went I came out all guns blazing. I had decided to go for the knock out or at least a couple of knock downs, because I reckoned I was too far behind on points at that stage. I chased that scummy little hobo all around the ring, mostly with punches, and sent him reeling a few times. About two minutes in I hit him with a sweet left hook and his eyes rolled, but as I stepped in to deliver some 'pricks justice' the bastard of a ref stepped in and told him not to hold the ropes. Then told him again just to be sure. That was all he needed though and he was back in the game. Anyway, he came looking for the clinch and he got one. A nice little knee followed by a throw that sent him tumbling like my grades, the same year I started tripping. Make that plummeting, plummeting like a.. a... a fat fucking, eye poking cheater. Big in plummeting circles, trust me. Anyway, it turns out that throw was enough and I won on points. Well one point, apparently but who cares. I was shocked though, I didn't think I had done enough in terms of point scoring technique to beat him but I guess I had. And I really must have if 3 Thai refs thought so.
And just to prove I am as gracious in victory as defeat, I would like to thank my gracious opponent for a good fight. Enjoy your twenty mile drive home in the back of a pick up truck, you fat cheating bastard.