It’s football season.
I don’t really like football. At least I never did before. But here I am with a grilled fish quesadilla watching my Fantasy players pick up yardage. Who knew? Give me a competition and I will learn something new. Make it a contest and I will figure out how to win it. It’s sad, I know. But I could have worse faults I suppose. More damaging excess of personality.
I like to win. I admit it.
But I also know when to let it go.
I’m winning right now. I’m winning and thinking about boxing.
I’ve been thinking about boxing for years. I’m strong and I have a reach. My arms are like miles. I’m quick and I have stamina. I’m a distance runner but I dominate defensively in basketball. I can react. I’m quick.
I’m not afraid of contact. I like to rough-house. I rather like bruises. I like to bleed. I get off on adrenalin. I like the one on one. I like the psychology of getting inside someone’s head. Of seeing that opening and taking it.
Call me brutal.
Whatever you want.
This is who I am. I’m aggressive and competitive. I thrive on sport.
I’m also sweet as sugar and I will hold you when you cry and make you mixed cd’s and listen to you until the sun comes up if you are hurting. I’m not lacking sensitivities but I know how to flip my switch.
And lately I’ve been thinking about flipping my switch to boxing.
I live around the corner from a boxing gym. The only true boxing gym in San Francisco, to be honest. Two rings. 14 heavy bags. Full weights. Opened by two bulldogs from Dublin in 2003.
It’s a money issue right now but I’m working on it. Calculating about what else I can cut out to make the monthly sparring rent.
I’m thinking about boxing and San Diego is making mince meat of the Steeler defense. I’m thinking about boxing and my fantasy team is winning.
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