They killed that man… and I watched.
No bullets or knives. That would’ve been too easy.
Instead, it was as though it happened in slow motion. A nick and a scratch. A body blow. Some bobbing and weaving, feinting and head fakes. Punches wide, wild and undisciplined. Attacks hidden behind masks and investigations.
The Champ’s defense? A little dancing… at first. Some rope-a-dope. A stumble or two. A rally. Test scores up. ACT scores up. Suspensions down. Resources reallocated to the least among them. Winning!
He thought he’d outlast ‘em. The cause was right. The mission was just.
But Their legs had more in ‘em than he thought. Just when They’d backed off and he’d caught his breath, They came back out for the next round – and kept swinging. A roundhouse. A jump-kick or three. Oh, you didn’t know? This is new school – MMA.
Then the crowd turned against the Champ. From the front row to the cheap seats, the boos were deafening.
Worse than that, the corner team was perplexed. The cuts were deep, and the blood was beginning to flow. But they were talking amongst themselves. The Champ said he was OK, after all. Ice, bandages and Vaseline were slow to come.
Some said, “throw in the towel.” Others, “keep fighting!”
In the end, They seemed to draw strength from the crowd. What looked to be a haphazard fight plan, turned out to be Their strategy after all. The bobbing and wild punches were all part of the plan.
The Champ didn’t even see the last flurry coming.
He went down. Hurt. Bloody, but… what?! Unbowed.
No, They didn’t “hang him high and stretch him wide.” Don’t want to create a deity.
Still, They killed that man…
How can this be. He’s the Champ!
…and I was in his corner. What have I done? What should I have done?
Scary. Dizzying. Frustrating. Sad. Frightening.
Who will They go after next? Can They be stopped? “There, but for the grace of God, go I?”
Thankfully, the ref stopped it all before it got worse – “Blew the whistle.”
This way, he can rise again. He can live to fight another day.
“I ain’t mad a’ cha.”