Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 79870 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79870 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
I moved in a sort of adrenaline haze through the entire walk out, my blood pumping in time to the nasty buzz beat of Kanye’s I Am a God. I truly felt like a god as I approached the Octagon. I barely registered the security guards and cut men, people rubbing Vaseline around my eyes and checking to make sure I was wearing my cup.
The whole experience was surreal. Later, I would watch in wonder at my entrance, the way I ran around the perimeter of the Octagon, shadow boxing and playing to the cheering crowd, but at the time I was only vaguely aware of doing it.
Then it was happening.
Grady Larson was aggressive, I’ll give him that. The bastard came out trying to take me down. His double leg attempt nearly got me, but only because I wasn’t expecting such aggression from him after viewing his fight videos.
Mental note: do not underestimate the hunger of this guy.
He didn’t get me down, though. I widened my stance and hopped back in a tentative sprawl, ready to cover him if I had too, but he skittered away, and we faced off again. I made a hand motion inviting him to come at me again. The best way to deal with aggression like he was showing was to invite it with open arms. Show him it didn’t intimidate me.
The light in his eyes dimmed just a hair, but not enough.
While he was still reacting from my invitation, I lunged in for a jab. This time, he was the one caught off guard. He rallied and came at me with a sloppy flurry of punches, which I easily blocked. I smiled at him, trying to dim that fire in his eyes just a little bit more, and while I was smiling, I landed a stinging inside leg kick. The smack rang out, and the crowd let out a collective “Oooh.”
Music to my ears. I could definitely get used to that kind of attention. I changed my stance with a little hop and landed an impressive switch kick just to show off. The crowd sounded again.
Larson tried to come back at me with a kick to the body, but I caught his heel and shoved him back. The fire was nearly gone now, and I could see frustration taking hold of the guy. It was a good sign. Once frustration took over, the fight was nearly over.
I heard Marco’s voice, “Stop playing with him!” Santori’s voice followed. “Take him down!”
Larson came at me with a combo of punches, landing two of them, one on my cheek and one on my lip. I returned fire and caught him with a hard right as he was finishing up his combo. It was enough to rock him and make him stumble backward a couple of steps. I saw the opportunity and went for the takedown, using the momentum of his backward stumble to my advantage. We soared through the air for one prolonged second before coming down hard on the mat. He scrambled pretty well and was able to wiggle halfway out from under me, but before he could get clear, I had spun around like a monkey on his back and slipped an arm around his throat in an easy rear naked choke. “All over but the crying, baby,” I growled in his ear as I rolled onto my back and took him with me.
“He’s got it,” Marco yelled. And my uncle’s voice again, “Choke him out! Hold it! Finish him!”
Then the strangest thing happened. One minute I was squeezing Larson’s throat, threatening to cut off the blood flow to his brain if he didn’t tap out, and the next I was standing in the center of the ring with the ref holding my hand in the air. I blinked and looked around for my team, breathing a sigh of relief when I saw them smiling inside the ring, waiting to congratulate me after the customary post-fight interview.
I had dreamed of this moment.
The announcer approached me with a microphone. “Wow! You’ve won your first UFC fight in just under a minute. How does that feel?” He put the microphone in front of me.
I took a breath, looked around, and wished I’d worked up some semblance of a speech. “It feels amazing,” I said. “But I’ve got a lot more to show the fans, a lot more to show the UFC. No offense to Grady Larson, because he’s a good fighter, but if you really want to see some action, some longer fights, you’re gonna have to give me some higher-ranked opponents.”
The announcer took the microphone back. “The referee had to come in and pry you away after Larson had already tapped out three times. What happened there?”
“Yeah? He was tapping?” I glanced around, confused, wishing I had an adviser to tell me what to say. Hell, I wasn’t even sure if what he was saying was true. “Um, I didn’t feel it I guess. Maybe the excitement of my first fight, all of that adrenaline pumping. I honestly didn’t feel it.”