“Man, your jab is rubbish,” Coach barked from the corner.
Eight rounds into a ten round sparring session, each of Joey’s sixteen-ounce gloves felt like they’d been dipped in lead, and he struggled keeping his hands close to his chin for defense let alone gain an advantage with any sort of offense.
Between rounds, Coach advised, “Measure your distance with a few stiff jabs, plant your feet, and then bring that right to his chin from the outfield.”
All Joey could muster was the biggest punch he could pull from the energy reserves, which, in reality, couldn’t have popped a grape at this point.
Joey’s sparring partner took advantage of the opening, peppering him with punches until he dropped to the canvas, and Coach was right there to remind him, “Jabs before haymakers, kid.”
Prompted from the Six-Sentence Story at: https://girlieontheedge1.wordpress.com/2020/02/09/sundays-six-sentence-story-word-prompt-94/.
Prompted from the Three Things Challenge at: https://pensitivity101.wordpress.com/2020/02/11/three-things-challenge-142/.
