Leo stands, the adrenaline finally hitting his bloodstream like a shot of liquid fire. He doesn't need the analysts to believe in him. He doesn't need the odds-makers to favor him. As he moves toward the tunnel, the muffled roar of the crowd starts to bleed through the walls.
Leo watches the screen, wrapping his hands with surgical precision. Every loop of the white gauze is a memory: the three-hour bus rides to the gym, the smell of cheap linoleum, and the nights he spent sleeping on the mats because he couldn't afford gas. UFC Fight Night Pre-Show
Suddenly, the production assistant sticks her head in the door. "Vance, you’re up. Two minutes." Leo stands, the adrenaline finally hitting his bloodstream
Across the hall, the pre-show cameras are rolling. is leaning into a microphone, his voice booming through the monitors in the back. "Vance is a dog, but he’s walking into a buzzsaw tonight," Bisping says, pointing to the stats of Vance’s opponent, a Russian phenom who hasn't lost since he was twelve. As he moves toward the tunnel, the muffled
His coach, a man with skin like old leather, leans in. "You hear them, Leo? They’ve already written the obituary. You’re just the guy meant to look good on someone else’s highlight reel."
FLASH SALE - Order by 12/15 for Christmas - Click for the Sale! Dismiss