Thanks again to Khalid for the inspiration and input. Again, English translations are given for Arabic terms.
Salib looked at his smirking opponent who’s boxing stance was stupidly relaxed. He isn’t taking me seriously. I have to use this to my advantage. He is a better boxer. If this match drags on he will surely defeat me. My only hope is to move in fast and not let him have time to think or box. Take him out in the first round or it’s over for me.
The overconfident Harry got his first surprise when Salib ducked under Harry’s first wild swing.
Before Harry could back off, Salib quickly rose to deliver a fast one-two combination to Harry’s head. “Fuck,” Harry grunted as he felt a taste of blood in his mouth.
Salib grinned at the surprised look on Harry’s face. Before the unprepared Harry knew what was happening, the swiftly moving Arab got in close enough to deliver a fast tight inside punch to Harry’s head followed by a series of rapid jabs to Harry’s torso. Having done the damage, Salib moved back out of Harry’s reach. By now Salib’s friends were cheering while Harry’s were stunned into silence.
As the match progressed, Harry started regretting not taking this bout seriously. He had consumed a few beers at a local bar with his friends before they arrived and that was having an effect on him. Salib looked cool and composed while Harry, thanks to the alcohol in his drinks, was sweating in the room’s heat. He moved towards the Arab at various times to try to use his strength to score a winning punch. Yet, every time Salib managed to move back far enough so that the hits on his torso had less power in them. “Stay and box,” an increasing irritated Harry muttered as he repeatedly tried to corner his opponent.
Salib however, kept his distance. More troubling for Harry was that, whenever he swung and missed, Salib managed to get in close enough to deliver hard inside hits to Harry’s upper body. Whenever he did, Salib made sure to keep his arms tight to his sides and pivoted from his waist to add power to his blows.
After twenty minutes, Salib’s tactics had Harry both hurting and winded. Hearing the mocking calls of the Arabs watching also got Harry angry enough that he forgot technique and simply struck out with his fists. After each failure to connect, he began to get even more sloppy thus, leaving himself dangerously open to more hits from Salib.
Throughout their match, the Arab policeman had patiently waited for his big chance. It came when Harry attempted a hit that left him both off-balance and fully exposed. Rotating his hips to add more power to his strike, Salib swung two overhand inside punches to Harry’s head followed by two equally hard right hooks.
“Fuckkkk,” Harry wheezed as the room spun. He tried to focus on the now smiling Salib. As he did, his hands unconsciously dropped to his sides. “Fuckkk,’ he muttered as he tried to clear his head.
Got you, Salib thought as observed an unsteady Harry standing there before him. Wasting no time, Salib moved in close. “Say goodnight Marine,” he teased. “You’re my sharmout now!”
“Your sharmout ,” mumbled a still dazed Harry.
Using all his strength, Salib gave Harry an uppercut that literally that snapped the Marine’s head upward.
“Aw fucccc,” Harry moaned. His eyes rolled up in their sockets as the lights went out for him. His swaying body stood before a now grinning Salib. The Arab laughed as he reached out and gave the Marine’s torso a light push.
As the crowd watched, Harry fell backward and hit the matt. The Arabs in the crowd cheered while Harry’s fellow Marines looked on in shock. There in the center of the chalked ring, lay a splayed out unconscious Harry. Standing over the American’s prone torso was a triumphant Salib. He had cold-conked out their boxing champ! More shocking, the Arab police had won their bets. The drunk Marines realized their All-American, virginal, rumps had been bet. It was a wager that the Arabs now intended to collect.
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