We dance around the ring with aplomb, we shuffle our feet, feint a left jab, and throw a well-balanced right hook.  It’s a haymaker, if it connects then it’s all over, they will go down, the count will pass ten and victory will be ours.  But the hook it misses, their shoulder is dropped, bobs are weaved, and the bell is pinged and another fresh round declared.

Each submission I offer fails, everyone I agent, each one I select dodges and deflects, no points are landed. 

The three round fight now looks certain that it will go past ten, I just have to summon the stamina.

I’m knacked.

It was never going to be a sprint, a middle distance run possibly, but back-to-back ultra marathons never…

I’m knacked.

A towel is flapped in my face, water swilled round my mouth, garbled words of encouragement given – but I can’t hear them. 

I’m knacked.

All these rounds danced, so many shots fired and all have been misses.

I’m knacked.

The towel stops waving in front of my eyes, the bucket and stool are removed, the bell it dings to announce the start of yet another round and again I must enter the ring with the same elan as I did in round one, as I’ve done in every round.

I’m knacked.

The will to fight is still there, but it is a tyring and exhausting experience.

Dance left, dance right, dominate the centre of the ring, jab jab jab…

Maybe this round.

Maybe.

Stay safe, and whenever possible shout encouragement from the cheap seats, as this is going to be a long fight!