’Twas the night before Fight Night, when all through the cage,
A fighter needs rest, after training their rage;
The six-weeks throughout camp wasn’t easy to bear,
But it all will be worth it when your hand’s raised in the air.
Before the cage locks so two can go head-to-head,
Preparations are made for several pounds left to shed.
With Coach in your corner, and you’re down to scrap,
You’re well on your way to chasing the strap.
Combinations and grappling, the plan is to batter,
Losses to records can cause dreams to shatter.
Sacrificing everything to chase piles of cash;
Brimming with confidence, some may even say brash.
After leaving the scale, you’re ready to go,
Only twenty-four more hours until the start of the show.
You warm up in the back and try to get ready,
But your nerves are shot and you need them steady;
Butterflies in your stomach and none of them tame,
Yet they fly in formation upon hearing your name:
“Now! Ladies and Gentlemen, for your viewing pleasure,
“Let’s welcome This Guy, a prizefighting treasure;
“Undefeated and young with head to toe muscle,
“He’s on his way out for a maniacal tussle!”
Your song blares on speakers, and you make the walk,
It’s time for action and no more talk;
You step up to the cutman who smears grease on your face,
Walking into the cage and finding your place.
The announcer’s voice bellows, introducing you’re here,
Awaiting the bell and shifting into high gear.
At the sound of the chime filling the air,
Fans inch with itrigue to the edge of their chair.
As you dance with your partner in the opening round,
Everyone’s waiting for the deafening sound:
A punch to the temple, a shin to the gut;
Of course, drunkards are hollering, “Kick his butt!”
A feeling out process causes tensions to rise;
Your offense can’t be hasty, it needs a disguise.
First you shuffle to the left, and then to the right;
The opponent makes gestures, as if they’re bringing a fight.
Five-minutes pass, things seem sort of slow;
The stakes are real high, but you need to put on a show.
Charging from the stool at the onset of round 2,
The cornermen shared what it is you must do:
Attack to the head and then target his legs,
“Punish this dude till he pleads and he begs.”
Then, you charge from your stool,
Use each limb as a tool,
And with elbows and knees and a well-timed attack;
The opponent is dropped onto the small of his back.
Without hesitation, you pounce on your victim,
And you’re told not to stop until his soul starts to dim.
Using precisely aimed ground-and-pound, flatten his nose,
Rain down tons of punishment until there’s a curl to his toes.
The ref’s seen enough and calls for an end,
Which is wise wise when you cannot intelligently defend.
In your perfect career, you’re still on your way
To become the greatest of all time someday.