Thanks to everyone who stopped by and visited my Y is for yelling post yesterday.
For the final day and letter Z, I have Zingers (thanks to Nikki Tetreault for the idea). A scene where Kian is trading pre-fight zingers/ insults with his opponent. Enjoy ...
After fight-night, weigh-ins were my
favourite part of MMA. A week before a scheduled match-up, the
two competitors would meet face-to-face one final time before their
fight, to make sure they'd made match weight.
Originally it
was just a way to ensure both fighters were falling within their category,
but somewhere along the line, it turned into something more. Fans started
turning up, and with pre-fight adrenaline high, but competitors not
allowed to lay hands on each other yet, the only way to best the other and show
dominance was verbally.
I pulled into
the car park of Ferrum, my pulse racing and my mouth dry. Not much had changed
in the few weeks since I'd been here last, apart from maybe my head space. I
knew after the fight with Matthews I was moving onto bigger and better things,
and I wanted to go out in a blaze of glory.
At our fight,
I was going to end him, and leave no question in anyone's mind who was the true Welterweight
Champion, but before then I was going to tear him down with my tongue. If there
was one thing I could do well, aside from fighting, it was dish out
the insults.
I headed to
the locker room, and changed into my fight gear. The logo of my main sponsor,
Frenzy Energy Drinks, in bright orange was a stark contrast to my black trunks.
After taping
up my wrists and putting on my gloves, I was ready to go. I slipped on a pain
of flip-flops and headed to the fight arena, where the media and fans were
gathered.
As I walked
down to the stage where the scales were set up, a chorus of boos and jeers rang
out. My awful interview with Elliot Johnson had aired, and my
already nefarious reputation has only gotten darker.
Fuck 'em, I thought,
flipping off a reporter who was yelling abuse. Cameras snapped, and I knew that
little outburst would make the tabloid rags tomorrow.
Matthews was
already on stage, standing to the right of the scales, a smug smile on his
lips. I could tell by his posture, in his head he already had the fight won.
He'd beaten me once, and reckoned doing it again would be child's play.
I've got new
for you, pal. After I'm done with you today, you won't be wearing that gormless
grin.
Taylor made
the introductions, then me, him and Matthews posed for photos, mine and Matthews'
fists raises.
When Matthews
stepped aside, I climbed up onto the scales. The digital counter shot up,
displaying 170 lb. Perfect weight.
I stepped back
as Matthew sauntered onto the scales, that inane smile still on his face, like
the lights were on, but no one was home.
170 lb.
With us both
making weight, nothing but time was stopping us from fighting.
Six days,
three hours, forty-three minutes to go ...
Fans and
media gathered around for the official announcement.
“Fighting
from the blue corner, weighing 170 pounds, and hailing from Newcastle upon Tyne,
Benjamin Matthews.”
The crowd
cheered as Matthews stepped forwards, and raised his hands; clapping his gloves
together.
“And
fighting from the red corner, weighing 170 pounds, and hailing from County
Wicklow, Ireland, Kian Murphy.”
I stepped
forward to a chorus of boos, and stopped myself from flipping everyone off.
Instead, I strode towards Matthews, standing just centimetres from him. He was
a few inches taller than me, and peered down at me.
“You see this?” I said, tapping the title belt around my waist. “You
want it? You’re going to have to pry it off my cold, dead body.”
“Oh, I intend to. You think me dislocating your shoulder last time
was bad? This time, I’m gonna tear both your arms out their sockets?”
“Yeah? Well, you heard what I did to Bagley in training. I had
that kimura locked in so tight I broke his arm. But you won’t have to worry
about me doing that. I’ve got something much more specific in mind for you.
When I’m done, you won’t even have teeth so they can use your dental records to
identify you from.
I’m gonna beat you so badly, blood will be flowing out of that
cage like a river. You’re gonna pay for dislocating my shoulder, and thinking
you could ever have my title.”
“You talk the talk, Murphy, but we all know you’re got a hot head,
and not the finesse to beat me. You broke Bagley’s arm ‘cos he called you a
pussy, that’s how easily taunted you are. He’s right, you are a pussy. And an
idiot if you think you can keep me from that belt. You’re nothing but a yellow
coward.”
My ears started ringing. Who the fuck was he to call me a coward.
I clenched my fists to my sides and counted to ten.
“Coward, idiot, pussy. Call me what you want. They’ll only be
calling you one thing when I’m through with it; dead.”
Thanks again to everyone who visited by blog throughout the A-Z Challenge; especially those who left comments. If you're interested in reading All It Takes, it can be found at www.claredugmore.com.
And for anyone interested in an A-Z Challenge based on the literary world, with writing, marketing and publishing tips etc. head on over to Curiosity Quills Press. Today CQ Marketing Director Nikki Tetreault is blogging about what’s in the mind of a writer during writer's block and how to overcome it!
Additional thanks to the awesome A to Z Challenge Team who work so hard every year organizing this event for us. You guys rock!
Until next time,
