Driving home Saturday, I took stock: split lip, bloody nose, reddened face, sore jaw and, boy, did my midsection ache. Yes, the aftermath of another boxing match with Sybil.
This was the sixth or so time we’d fought, and it ended after 50-some minutes in a TKO. A fast punch to my nose started it bleeding, so Sybil, justifiably, declared herself the winner — of that round and of the day.
Then, to rub it in, she beat me in arm-wrestling. Twice.
This time went better for me than the previous match, though. I’d submitted, lying flat out on the mat and confessing I really didn’t think I needed any more pounding today, thank you. But Sybil insisted we finish the hour.
In that final round, she pummeled my jaw until I couldn’t stand. I fell face down to the mat. She didn’t knock me out, but it sure was close. One more punch probably would have done it.
This last time, Sybil — fast, skilled and tougher than ever — knocked me down about a half-dozen times. A few times after incredibly powerful rights to my jaw or mouth, but more of them just killer punches to my belly. (As I said, it still hurts.)
After the first knockdown, she planted her foot on my back in triumph.
I outweigh her by 60 pounds and am about six inches taller. But there’s no way I can overcome her skill and superior speed. And did I mention she’s really strong?
Though Sybil has dominated every fight, I did land a few passable punches this time — to her smiling face and to her gut. But they hardly seemed to slow her down.
The thing we both know, and for which I’m grateful: Sybil ensures our matches last the full hour, as it’s pretty clear she could finish me off whenever she chooses. Probably. Maybe.
— M, an enthusiastic fan
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