Now it's your turn to be Mr. Braddock and live the life he lived. When James first began fighting he won and won, lost very few times. Once Jimmy was fighting Mr. Art Laskey, the fight was going great. He was getting punches but so was Laskey. Braddock put on a good fight, although his manager let him in the ring with a broken wrist.
As the dual progressed my team wrestled with purpose, passion and power. Finally, it was my turn to step out on that mat and put to work all my physical and mental preparation. The fans were roaring with excitement, the gym was full of supporters, my mind was racing and my heart was pounding. A moment of self-doubt overtook me: one mistake and all my dedication and drive would not pay off and I would let my team and school down. As the match began my mind was blank for the entirety of the first period and I relied on my body to do what it was trained to do.
My team and I were going to play St. Rita, a battle we had persistently prepared for since the last game of our sophmore year. The sun was beating on my pads, radiating the heat to make practice seem even worse. I was exhausted and looking forward to the end of my last sweat, pouring practice for the week. Our team was repetitively executing plays to make sure they were like second nature to us on friday. The coach yelled, "Last Play!"
Ronald Gascoyne Sarah Adams-Nowlin English 101 April, 25, 2012 A Heavyweight Debate “Boxing has served as a metaphor for opposition, the struggle between two bodies before an audience, representing opposing qualities, ideas and values” (Boddy 7). A mixture of blood and sweat drip off the rope onto the worn canvas. A man in the crowd jumps up with excitement over one boxer’s success. While another still cheers for the boxer who is defeated. Victoriously, the other boxer bounces around the ring celebrating just as the beaten boxer picks himself up with his manager’s help.
That was the way I felt for a number of years during my teens, after I had lost my enjoyment of arm wrestling and before I had given up that same intense desire to beat my father. Ours had always been a physical relationship, I suppose, one determined by athleticism and strength. We never communicated as well in speech or in writing as in a strong hug, battling to make the other gasp for breath. I could never find him at one of my orchestra concerts. But as my lacrosse games, he would be there in the stands, with an angry look, ready to coach me after the game on how I could do better.
I remember the first quarter so well. I played horrible that quarter which I couldn’t understand coming off an outstanding performance from the season opener where I recorded a school record for the amount of tackles by a single player in one game. I couldn’t understand why I was having such a bad first quarter. Was it because of the mixed emotions and excitement for this big game? Was it because I was thinking too much because it was on live TV?
If I had only known what basic training was going to involve, I would have preferred to wash and scrub my way through college. Soon after reporting to my basic training location in Fort Benning, Georgia, reality set in and I realized that this particular job would end up ranking number one on my list of worst jobs. The verbal abuse from the drill sergeants at basic training made it the most horrific experience of my life. made it the most horrific experience of my life In fact, not a day went by without being verbally ridiculed and belittled with vulgarity. After, we finished the tedious in processing tasks; we all packed into a big metal cattle truck and headed "down-range" (Any forward-deployed area of operations) to our barracks.
I had assumed that most kids would be like me, first-time tennis players. However, I was quickly proven wrong as the top varsity player hit speeding balls that flew by me. After the end of that practice I felt horrible as I realized that I was probably the worst player on the team. Heading inside to return to the locker room, Coach Smith gave us his annual "first day of practice" speech. He told us that he was not going to make any cuts.
They did not have too many players, but at the time Doug looked like he was seven feet tall. When we finally played them we were pretty worried because Drew was our biggest player and was short compared to Doug. We started off the game pretty solid and scored the first couple points, but by halftime we were down at least 30 points. People in the stands were not into the game at all and kids who were waiting for the next game left the gym. Mr. Johnson took Doug out for the third quarter, and by some stroke of luck everyone on our team caught fire.
Sophie Lindenberg Turner AP English 12, Period 3 3 February 2015 Short Story Response Six: “Hunger Artist” by Franz Kafka Franz Kafka’s “A Hunger Artist”, focuses primarily on a Hunger Artist obsessed with fame. Earlier in his career, the Hunger Artist had thousands of people watch and admire his fasting profession. To the Hunger Artist’s disliking, his impresario, or manager, would not let him fast past forty days in fear of losing the audience’s attention. The audience always praised the Hunger Artist for his martyrdom in fasting. However, the Hunger Artist was not fasting for religious reasons, but instead the Hunger Artist fasted for the attention and glory he received from the audience.