ManBeast - Book 1: A Kingdom of Predators

Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

Jules sat quietly outside of the sparring ring; only one more event to go. To him however, it didn't matter: each and every event thus far had been a fiasco. Jules looked down at his score card dejectedly, embarrassed by his performance thus far. Scribbled to the side of the card, where the numerical values produced by each draftee were written, his scorecard did not lend itself to any form of personal pride:

o CAGE PRESS: 3 Sets, 9 repetitions

o OIL DRUM TOSS: 5 ft

o 1200 M FRIDGE RUN: Disqualified; *toppled over at starting line and could not continue

o "MONSTER PRESS": 10 presses total

The scores of the individual draftees had been published to a wide screen within the stadium, further adding to the gravity of shame surrounding Jules. In comparison to the others, Jules was in dead last...by a long shot.

As the judges and officials were finishing up their transition to the sparring exhibition, other draftees were warming up, preparing for the matches to come. Several of the Pride Land guards were getting dressed nearby, donning sparring gear in preparation for the event. While the world around him continued to turn, it was impossible to fathom any successful outcome for Jules in sparring, given what his performance up to this point had been. Worse still, the added weight of knowing his mentor Frankie would be expelled from the Brotherhood if he didn't show something of worth soon only soured him further. "Pathetic" was too kind a word; "shitty" was slightly more inline.

Regardless of the outcome, those around continued to keep their positivity up, and Frankie was at the head of the crew: "Shake if off Julius. You've got one more event to go and, in my opinion, the best chance for you to shine. The others were a crap-shoot; we knew that. None of it will matter with a strong showing here, and I know better than anyone you've got something deep inside you to prove to the world. Let it out."

Doug joined in the attempt to make Jules feel better: "He's right, kid; that earlier shit was small potatoes. Your fundamental skills are solid, and I've seen you spar with Frankie. Remember when you landed that roundhouse? I dropped my doughnut! Couldn't believe it!" Jules appreciated the sentiments and nostalgic better times, but this was far heavier than he imagined. For starters, he had never been in any real fights before; school yard dust-ups didn't count, and Jules had a nose for avoiding trouble thus far. Secondly, his charisma had already taken a hit; how could he bring himself to spar against a guard while feeling so low?

As Doug, Frankie and Al helped Jules warm up and stretch, Jules turned his attention to the ring as the matches began. Most of the draftees were in excellent, some even exceptional. All of them scored consecutive hits against the guards or succeeded in some form of TKO. One draftee even managed to make a guard tap out via an unorthodox choke hold that included the guard's own arm! Following such performances would do little to support his case, and he knew it. He felt it. It was him; the brand of a loser. The call for him to step up only caused his heart to drop: "JULIUS P. JONES, PLEASE REPORT TO THE SPARRING MAT. YOU HAVE 5 MINUTES."

Doug followed Jules to the match, rubbing his shoulders. "Listen kid, you don't have to try and be a fuckin' hero right now. Solid fundamentals will see you through; the judges are looking for you to be competent in martial arts, not the second comin' of Bruce Lee. This guard is goin' to operate on that notion as well, so here's the strategy: keep your footwork steady and only counter-strike after the guard gives you legitimate openings. Don't try to create anythin', don't try to outdo him; just keep pace and score your points. And for the love of God, PLEASE, do NOT engage in ANY grapplin' just yet!"