"The Toughest Man I Ever Fought"

       Ron Lyle gingerly jumps up and down in quick succession, his eight-ounce boxer’s gloves dangling from his muscled arms like a pair of lead weights. Never since his first match at Colorado State Prison had he fought a more important match. George Foreman, the reigning heavyweight champion, could he win against a foe so formidable?

 DING! DING! DING! No time to think about that now. In a flash, Lyle is lunging toward his larger opponent. They meet, their gloves gently tapping, testing, looking for an opening to make the first move and take the offensive—all the time he is bounding around Foreman like some kind of hulking kangaroo. Lyle notes something; Foreman’s left side appears a tad weak. An opening? A chink in the impenetrable armor?

 In an instant, Lyle throws all he’s got into a right hook aiming for the mouth-guarded face of his assailant—a costly mistake for within moments Foreman’s own gloves briefly connect with Lyle’s jaw sending his mind into a brief reel, alerting him to his faux pas, promptly reminding him to keep his guard and his fists up. The two boxers still continue their dangerous dance around the ring, locked together for fear of each exposing an opening to his enemy—their sweat mixing and filling nostrils with the pungent odor of perspiration.

        They separate; straightaway both fighters are employing every ounce of their skill to beat the other to a pulp. With fists flying, the view in front Lyle is instantly bombarded with the mighty swings and jabs of his larger opponent—punctuated ever so briefly with split-second glimpses into the eyes of his attacker. He dodges and ducks; deftly maneuvering and feinting every which way to avoid the onslaught of punches, parrying, biding his time, waiting for the opportune moment.

NOW! A quick left jab hits home on Foreman’s face; he immediately follows his success with a powerful left swing to the side of his erstwhile attacker’s head. He’s got George on the run now—he presses the attack, unleashing a barrage of quick but painful punches to Foreman’s body and face. He’s got him scared now, his cocky arrogance that was so apparent at the beginning of the match is now gone, the mighty George Foreman is starting to feel something he hasn’t felt before. Slowly a feeling of fear and doubt creeps down his spine.