The hardest hit

I can punch pretty hard. I also can take a lot of punches and not back down. I suppose it would be better if I could block and parry better and not get punched so much, but it doesn’t bother me. The hardest hit, though, is the one that takes your will away. The one that breaks you inside. It’s quite a blow to find out you’re not who you think you are, or that your not good at something you really thought you were good at or that you really enjoyed.

I sparred against this guy once. I think he was 18 years old, maybe only 17. But he was 2-3 inches taller than me and had a good 30 pounds on me. I could tell by the way he walked, talked, dressed, and acted that he fancied himself to be quite the badass. He was constantly hounding me to spar with him. One day, I agreed to get in the ring with him.

The first round, we traded blows. I let him throw punches at will, knowing he would tire out quickly (he was a smoker). By the second round, I began scoring punches on him liberally. Stiff jabs, crosses, hooks to the body. And then he started making noises when I’d hit him. It’s hard to describe the sound – kind of a whimper, kind of a moan, kind of a grunt. The expression on his face was changing from one of aggressiveness to one of hopelessness. And with every punch, I could feel myself stealing his will to be in the ring. I use the word “steal” because it felt like what I was doing was wrong. I was taking away from him his pride, his will, his love of the “sweet science” of boxing.

In the third round, he was having problems defending himself at all. I could pick and choose my shots. The coach yelled “Knock him out, Steve!” This kid’s head was completely unguarded. I could have put him to sleep with a shot to the head, but instead threw a right hook into his ribs. He collapsed. He was still sitting on the mat, right where I dropped him, in the corner of the ring with his arms draped over the ropes well after I had left the ring.

Later, I saw him sitting by the lockers with his face in his hands. I couldn’t tell if he had been crying, but I heard him say the coach, “I don’t want to box anymore”. I really felt bad for him. He thought he was a good fighter. He enjoyed fighting. And I took both of those things away from him.

Lately, that’s what video game playing has been like for me -- except I'm on the receiving end. I’m really coming to the realization that I’m not that good. I’m finding myself routinely getting my ass handed to me in online play and it’s starting to affect my enjoyment of gaming. That’s a hard hit to handle…