The boxer was battered and bruised and clinging with hooked elbows over the rope. His face was burning, his jaw aching. His eyes scanned the expectant pleasure in the crowd. Look at them, relishing the sight of his blood on the mat. Look at them, baying for his knockout. Look at them.
Twenty-seven knockouts. Twenty-seven wins.
The referee counted "six, seven, eight, nine..." and waived The Boxer back into play,
His opponent's eyes flared as he charged, the crowd roaring for his victory.
Twenty-seven knockout blows in The Boxer's fist, and another; one duck and a jab to the chin and the opponent was down; the fire quelled: the crowd silenced.