IKF World Classic, part 3

Sunday morning George and Andre got to the venue first, and called us later to let us know about fight postings so we could sleep later. That was much appreciated. We got to sleep in, and we had the hotel's continental breakfast. I had stayed in Kevin's room, since he had a double occupancy room and we all agreed it would be easier if I stayed with the group. It was a lot like sharing a room with your kid brother. His energy and constant excitability were a good distraction that kept me from thinking too much about the coming match and overanalyzing too much. I couldn't have asked for a better group to spend time with on the trip. Everyone was positive, there was no squabbling or ego problems, no one whined or fussed. It was like being on vacation with a group of friends; a vacation where you also get to punch people.

A lot of the Saturday bouts had to be moved to Sunday. The organizers had underestimated the amount of time the matches would take, and how many of them there were. Saturday night bouts went on until 11 pm, and then they decided to move the rest to Sunday. This was probably disadvantageous for some competitors, who would end up having two bouts pretty close together. My second match, the championship bout, would be against the winner of a match between Chantelle Cameron, a Brit with an undefeated record, and Jamie Bradley, last year's champion. I got to watch the match. It was soon very, very obvious that Jamie Bradley had gotten quite lucky last year (when she only had one competitor) and that she was way outclassed by Chantelle Cameron. Jamie Bradley is one of the worst women fighters I have ever seen. Her fight strategy seemed to be comprised of running toward her opponent windmilling punches wildly and throwing in the occasional spastic leg kick. I'm relieved that I didn't have to fight her. I would just as soon have let someone try to run me over with a wheelbarrow in the ring. I hate dealing with people like that and I simply can't understand why they try to participate in a beautiful, skillful sport and totally shirk technique. It's ugly. Anyway, I could see that Chantelle was skilled technically, and I was already excited by getting in the ring with her.

In the future, I'm going to avoid reading anything about my opponents. It's too much of a head trip. I knew that she was a 19-year-old British prodigy, undefeated, and that when she and I stepped into the ring, her record was 7-0. My corner later said that I gave her too much credit; too much respect. I was torn between my assessment of what I had read, and what she looked like. Chantelle Cameron looks like anyone's baby sister. She isn't all that muscular. She just looks like a regular sweet girl. I watched her warming up for our bout. She didn't look scary at all. She looked like she might be getting ready to go to the shopping mall for a smoothie or something. She had a sweet, friendly face. Shadowboxing and doing padwork, she seemed easy and relaxed. I am probably not the first person to underestimate her based on her looks.

The first thing I remember about the fight is getting dropped in the first round. Her punches hit me like a Mack truck. I still can't believe that she hit so hard. As I blacked out from the first punches in her combination, I felt punches land on the back of my head, right at the top of the neck. That's bad. That's how you get brain damage. When I got back up for the 8-count, I told the ref. I couldn't believe I was having to do this asshole's job for him. It's not my opponent's job to look out for my welfare. There's a reason that punching on the back of the head is illegal. It's not like I'm complaining about sportsmanship, or trying to get extra time. I couldn't believe what this jerk said to me. "Well, stop running away," he said snidely. I hope this jackass gets punched on the back of the head and can't remember who his children are. The nerve of him being rude to one of the competitors when he's supposed to be officiating. Being incompetent is bad enough. Don't salt it with asinine comments.
I can remember two things working out well for me in this fight; the inside leg kick/straight right, and the clinch. If I'd been smarter I'd have kept her in the clinch. I could see that my knees were doing some damage, and that it was getting easier to pull her head down. But I was getting weak on the outside from being punched in the head. I was woozy and the room seemed to spin gently. Whenever I tried to work in, she delivered crushing pushkicks to my sternum. I felt like my chest was caving in. In my corner at the end of the round, George swabbed my nose with a towel. Seriously? My nose is bleeding? My left eye felt like hamburger. I couldn't believe that a girl was hitting me so hard. There's no way I was giving up. This was the best fight ever! I wanted it to last and last. I didn't care about winning or losing anymore. For the first time, I could sense the crowd around us, yelling and cheering. For brief moments I had crystal clarity. I could see the pushkick coming. I parried. Damn. Too low. I'd missed and it was another crushing blow to the breastbone. We clinched, and it was a battle of wills. I pulled her head down and threw knees to the stomach. I felt her weaken. She came back with the left knee to my ribs. Time compressed and stretched in unpredictable patterns.
After some period of time, the end of the third round came. I went to my corner. George said, "You wanted the best? That was the best. And now you leave it all in the ring. It's done." "How does my hair look?" I joked as he pulled my gear off. "Not good," George smiled.

Going back to the middle of the ring, I bowed to and hugged my opponent, and then bowed to her corner. I want to mention that Chantelle's trainer is a woman also. Her trainer seemed polite, clever and personable. As they announced Chantelle as the winner and gave her the belt, I didn't feel sad or disappointed. I felt like I'd stood up for 3 rounds with the IKF World Lightweight Champion. Would I do some things differently? Probably. Did I make mistakes? Sure. But I went the distance, and I got to test myself against a highly skilled opponent that I have a lot of regard for. How can I feel bad about that?