Benjamin McGregor weighs two hundred and forty seven pounds. Most of which catches me on the left side of my jaw. I’m dazed for a second then push my glove up to my cheek before he’s able to come at me again. He’s six foot seven, he has five inches on me, though I have five pounds on him. Five pounds and a bum shoulder that seems to tear open every time my jab fails to make contact with his head. 

I move my foot to duck out of another hook, but I’m too slow and his reach cuts over my shoulder forcing me to tilt my head. It hits my neck as the bell rings. End of the sixth round. 

I go to my corner. Frank throws up the stool and I take a seat while he talks into my ear. He wants me to keep my left hand up and go for the body with my right hook, right under the arm. I look across the ring. 

McGregor is standing. He shifts his weight back and forth from one leg to another rolling his shoulders back trying to show off. Trying to intimidate me. He’s the biggest I’ve ever fought, not the heaviest, but the  strongest, and that reach, man he can reach. I swear under my breath, spit again into the bucket that Frank holds under  my mouth while Bruce shoves a Q-Tip into the gash under my eye.

McGregor Breathes through his nose. I’m panting form my corner trying to slow my heart rate This is going to be the seventh round and I’m a brawler. He should have been knocked out by the third. I’m not made for this. I’m fast hard blows, I’m the inside. I’m not supposed to last this long. 

Frank slaps the right side of my face a second before the bell. I stand up.

“Get that hook un there, under the arm. That’s your chance.”