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Chad turned down the fight because he’s been working out of state on test flights for the Boeing 787 and hasn’t been able to train consistently.
I’ve been unable to gauge exactly how Chad feels about forfeiting his belt, but I’m sure he’s aware that saying, “I’d fight you, but I have to work,” is exactly what a total pussy would say.
It’s sad, seeing a nice person get beat up like this. And Jamie’s not really at fault for doing exactly what she was supposed to do, that is, winning.
What makes it worse is that there’s really no one to blame. The people who arrange the fights can’t really be blamed either, since they arrange the fights according to fighters’ records and don’t have anything to gain from mismatches.
Someone behind me is yelling: “crucifix, crucifix.” In , there are at least two ways to handle being on your back.
The first way is to wrap up your opponents’ arms and legs and hunt for ways to choke or harm him—this is called “guard,” and it makes for a more or less neutral position.
This doesn’t make him look any less like a serial killer.
For the rest of the night he lurks in the area behind our chairs, stretching and pacing.
It’s similar to the rules for duels in nineteenth-century Russian novels.
My older brother Chad, despite ten consecutive amateur mixed martial arts victories, has relinquished his AX Fighting 145-pound title belt.
A viable contender, Drew Brokenshire, challenged him to a fight, and Chad declined the challenge.
In the first round Meth Eyes gets his ass almost literally handed to him: at one point his opponent has him bent in such a way that his ass is just inches from his mouth. At the start of the second round he runs at his opponent and throws a huge no-one-hands-my-ass-to-me punch.
His opponent, in a move that’s both smart and awesome, simply ducks and tosses Meth Eyes to his back.
We arrive at Edmonds Community College right as the fights start.