Hit Em High Hit Em Low…

"Hey Little Mac" Doc said to me, "you okay?" I put down the phone, the last few days have been hell for me I must admit, drowning my sorrows in whiskey and all that sappy bullshit. It makes me sick that I, the goddamn champ, have been reduced to this. "Mac!" pleaded doc on the other end of the line "Mac, answer me."

"Damnit Doc! I told you yesterday I'm alright! Get off my ass" The last few word came out of my mouth weakly.
"The hell you are Mac! I was there when you became the champ, your decade long comeback" Doc then cut me straight to the heart with his words "it isn't murder Mac! You may have been angry and you might have—"
"You don't know shit!" I screamed drunkenly into the receiving end "I have been disgraced! The Times are calling it murder; they say I'm a butcher. A fucking murderer…"

It was two days ago that the trouble began, Las Vegas at the Belagio. It wasn't even a title fight, it was the former world champ vs. the other former world champ, Kid Dynamite. It was golden, both of us were retiring sooner or later, the former dogged by constant controversy. As for myself I had just lost the title to some upstart, some queer who hadn't fought half as hard as me but we all know fights like that happen, some damn punk gets lucky and you are no longer the world's best fighter… It hadn't been even a week after my title was taken from me when I decided to announce my retirement, as misfortune would have it a certain other boxer decided to throw in the towel a mere day before my press conference. We all know who this man was, a beast in the ring I remember fighting him after I became the champ, it was an exhibition but all the same the fight was hell (in fact the fight was so notorious that it was immortalized in a ground breaking video game… ah memories).
In all honesty, I hated that man. His antics outside of the ring disgraced the sport of boxing; it turned into some stupid spectacle. With his hateful shit talk and disgraceful behavior towards women it had filled my heart with anger, I soon became a relic, the last great white hope. He brought me towards a bitter depression and took the edge off of me, it took ten years to get the title back and it took about six months for some fucking punk to strip it away from me again… I've had it with boxing I decided, it's gone to hell.
I digress, my announcement to retire had seemingly been overshadowed by the news of HIS retirement and once again I became a forgotten relic…. Or so I thought. Seemed just as I was getting ready to hang up the gloves a boxing promoter approached Doc about one final boxing match, he framed it as a final match between two titans of boxing. Doc (as much as I love him) being the sentimental fool he's always been thought it would be a fitting way to go out, the first bout between me and the champ had been quite a match (I barely won after much blood and sweat). If it wasn't for the promotional possibilities and the payout I would have said "hell no", I was then told how much this final "friendly" bout would bring in, 5 million fucking dollars on my end. I'm no fool, I had been doing well but this would make me set for life, I could retire and live off that money for the rest of my days I'd never have to strap on a pair of gloves or promote some hokey bullshit supplement ever again. "Hell no" become "hell yes."

The match become a media sensation, it was to be unprecedented in terms of viewership and attendance, there was no stopping it and the press were predicting the fight as "one for the record books" oh what little did they know! That other boxer went through the motions in his usual fashion, with shit talk and disgraceful behavior. It seemed the all too usual, until the evening before the match I got a phone call, it was him, the greatest boxer of the 20th century.

"Little Mac" he breathed into his phone "Little Mac, you there bitch?" My throat tightened, I knew where this was leading but being a fool I didn't back down I didn't want him to perceive me as weak willed or intimidated and after a short pause (I could hear him breathing on the other end) I spoke up:
"What the fuck do you want? Save your bullshit banter for the press, I'm not buying it man." I told him
"Little Bitch says what?" he sneered on the other end "I just called to tell you that I have your bitch sucking my dick right now, awwww I'm about to bust a nut down her throat, what you think about that you little faggot?"
"Shut up" I said (my lover was sacred to me, her body was a holy land. In my eyes calling her a whore is like calling God a whore) "don't you ever fucking talk about Michelle like that! I'll fucking murder you tomorrow."
"She likes it when I fuck her up the ass—"
"I'll fucking kill you" I then shut my phone off and threw it across the room smashing it into pieces, I dropped to my knees and shaking to my very foundation I wept angry tears. I felt like a child, an angry powerless child. My lover, how dare any man speak about her like that? How dare they! She is sacred, she is God she is my salvation! How many times have I climbed her holy mountains? How many times have we made love and became one intertwined within each others' very being… Our very souls rising to the heavens in sacred ecstasy… ? My heart erupted into murderous hatred, I'd make this man bleed, I'd make him pay in blood for every word, every syllable that spewed from his hateful ignorant mouth. I would make him bleed for all of womanhood, for the sacredness that is woman, for Michelle, my lover…
I couldn't sleep, it seemed like a dream, I was sitting on the bench in the locker room Doc was rubbing my shoulders giving me pep talk. I was so angry, I even didn't notice Doc's semi-flaccid dick pressing against me in his all too usual inappropriateness before a fight. It was nothing new, Doc was no faggot he just was an animal like all of us in this profession, the thought of blood, the thought of two men beating each other into bloody piles gave Doc an almost erotic giddiness, of course he always wore those damn sweat pants that gave away his blood lust… He was an animal, deep down we are all animals we hunger for blood, to feel life drain from another as your fists collide with his body… You can't even describe it…
The time had come; I climbed into the ring for the last time awaiting my rivals arrival. I saw his face and anger flooded into my heart as he climbed into the ring. Nobody but I noticed that hypocrite quickly genuflect eastward and whisper words to his God… I hated that man, I wanted to kill him. The bell rang, I remember swinging a few punches and then everything went grey, I became a beast and instinct blinded all rational thought. When I came to, I was being held back by somebody my body thrashing against his I couldn't see, blood and sweat in my eyes. There was cacophony all around me, I could smell blood, I smelled iron, my stomach dropped and I collapsed, I killed a man. I killed a legend.
The photos, the news stories, the footage… It all seemed completely foreign to me. Nobody knew how to call it, some praised me for ridding the world of another hateful bigot other made me into a demon and wanted me to forever rot in prison, I probably would.

Instead of retiring my license got stripped from me, I left the profession in disgrace. They'll probably lock me up forever, I'll probably end up killing myself anyways…

"Doc" I finally said into the receiver, "I am so scared Doc… I can't… I don't want to live Doc"
The pause on the other end was long and torturous "I'll be right over Mac, don't do anything! Promise me!"
"Of course I'll wait for you Doc, please hurry… Hurry for God's sake."

Doc entered into the private hell that I was hiding in, surprisingly the press had not gotten wind of where I was. Doc was serious as sin, he looked me gravely in the eyes and then spoke:

"Don't say anything Mac, don't say anything til' I finish" Doc fished out a piece of paper "this is my final statement, perhaps our final statement, to the world." Doc then cleared his throat and began reading "Boxing is dead now, it has reached it's climax and it's end was washed in blood. There is no disgrace in this, they likened us to animals it was only natural for it to end the way it did… " He paused "fuck it Mac, I'm no poet… I am ruined, we are both ruined."

Doc laid a revolver on the table "I know you don't believe in suicide Mac, but I do. I will spare you further sin, goodbye my sweet prince." Before I could protest Doc pointed the gun and pulled the trigger, this was right, it couldn't end any other way.