The Last Five Standing (Summer Battle of 2014)

The Main Event

Some would call it ‘The Fight of the Millennia.’

            More than sixteen thousand spectators gathered at the MGM Grand Garden Arena to witness a historical event that took            four years in the making. It was the most anticipated bout of 2012 and the whole world waited for it.

            Now the wait is finally over.

            Inside the second largest hotel-casino in the world, the only person who is unexcited about the whole business is the king himself – The People’s Champ – who shadowboxed absentmindedly inside one of the luxurious yet scantily furnished quarters behind the arena. Overhead is a large LCD screen that displayed the fight of two of the undercard players. The soft droning sound of the commentator’s voices was easily drowned by the inner voices inside the boxer’s head.

            He rarely got nervous before a fight, but now, he is not only nervous – he is also scared.

            Freddie, whose surname ridiculously rhymes with his title, entered the nearly empty room.

            “Manny,” he said. “That’s ‘nuff warming up for now. Take a breather and just resume that minutes before your fight, ‘kay?” To the untrained ear, Freddie’s heavily accented drawl is barely comprehensible, but all the years he had spent with the boxer didn’t go off unrewarded.

            “I’m not tired yet, coach,” Manny replied without panting, as he dodged and geve phantom blows with the air-conditioned atmosphere.

            “You okay, Manny?” Freddie slurred.

            Manny gave him a weak smile.

            “You sure?” 

            “Yes.”

            Freddie turned to leave and give Manny the privacy and the solitude that he obviously wanted when the boxer called out.

            “Hey, coach.”

            “Yes, Manny?”

            “Send one of our guys to talk to the other team,” he ordered. “I want to talk to Marquez in private.”

            “Hold on: I dun think thassa good idea…”

            “We will just talk. That’s all,” Manny said, cutting his coach.

            “Buenas noches, Manny. Como estas?”

            “Buenos noches. What’s up?”

            “Same, same.” Marquez wiped the sweat on his forehead using his the back ofh is hand. He was warming up when he was called. “Que… why are we here? In this corridor?”

            “We need to talk,” Manny said sternly.

            “Ah. Why are we alone? You going to tell me secretos, eh?” Marquez joked, trying to negate the seriousness in Manny’s voice.

            “Si, amigo. Si.”

            The grin on Marquez’s face faded after seeing the intensity on the eyes of his arch-opponent. “What do you want, compadre?”