3:13

11:19

Slowly into slumber,
Racing for cold sleep,
Come fast, the time I covet
With dreams I'd like to keep.

I'm desperate for my peace,
So eager for relief,
Thoughts that always wander
Repeat my daily grief.

I tire of truth and wisdom;
I yearn for long knives and loss.
My moments spent like this
Pull focus from the Cross.

How much of me is Simon?
How much is still Barrabbas?
The thieves next to my savior
Seem closer with each pass

Of breath between my lips,
On words that slip my tongue.
The bittter moments' names
Are songs that stay unsung.

But none of this is rest.
I count a thousand sheep.
Give mercy for exhaustion.
Cut down what's left to reap.

2:32

I See Something

Those were Max Schmeling's immortal words before his fight with all-time ring legend Joe Louis. The Brown Bomber dropped his right hand when he jabbed. Schemling took advantage and knocked out the undefeated American heavyweight, usually considered as one of the top two heavyweights to ever grace the ring.

I see something in the disclosed details of Oscar De La Hoya's match with Floyd Mayweather, Jr. They are both required to wear Reyes gloves: the last brand of glove still padded with horse hair. Floyd has brittle hands; he's broken them in six different places. For the past few years, he's worn Winner gloves from Asia, known for their extensive foam padding. I still think Floyd will win the fight, but remember those gloves if he winds up with a broken hand or two.

Mike Anchondo

How far has he fallen? Mike Anchondo, formerly nicknamed "Mighty," goes face-down in the mat in the third round to a little-known fighter named Darling Jiminez. The weak chin Anchodo displayed in his last meaningful fight recurred tonight in D.C. One left hook struck flush on Anchondo's exposed chin; Anchondo fell, unconscious, with his eyes still open. It was a brutal knockout. However, it was apparent that the D.C. boxing commission wanted Anchondo to win. The bell for the end of the second round came a full minute early! Jiminez knocked down Anchondo earlier in that round, and had the betting-favorite Anchondo in deep trouble. Like a guardian angel, the grossly incompetent or totally corrupt timekeeper rang the bell early to rescue Anchondo from a sure knockout. All the help from the timekeeper didn't change the outcome, though. "Mousy" Mike Anchondo finished the fight flat on his face against the canvas.

Chagaev!

The Russian giant Nicolay Valuev lost a competitive majority decision against the little-known Uzbeki-German fighter, Ruslan Chagaev! Guts and determination beat the yardstick and scale; I love it. Not even a 90 lb and eleven inch disadvantage turned back the will of Ruslan Chagaev. Furthermore, Rocky Marciano's heavyweight record of 49-0-0 is safe from any numerical challengers at the moment.

Two bits of good news

My best friend in Tulsa dragged his feet for a long time on telling people, but I can finally post that he and his fiancee are having a baby, and it's a boy! He's going to be a proud poppa! I've known for a while, but haven't been able to post about it because larger players than the general public needed to know first. Congratulations, Jason!

In other news, I was re-baptised Easter Sunday. It was very cool; one of the parishoners brought back water from the river Jordan and put some in the baptismal pool for the service. Taking the plunge again was good, but my pastor didn't hold my weight well; he didn't believe that I'm 220 lbs.

Shameful

Ok, I doubt I have any Welsh readers; if I do, take this post to heart. I don't care what side of the political fence you choose, when you boo a country's anthem, you are not booing the current political leadership, you are booing the nation as a whole. I can understand booing George Bush if he showed up to sing the anthem, but decrying the "Star Spangled Banner" as a Welsh tenor sings the song is outright shameful. This American will always love his country, and will look upon those thirty-five thousand Welsh fight fans in Cardiff tonight as representatives of their nation until Wales proves me wrong.

Binkowski

Down thrice in the first round, heavyweight Art Binkowski picked himself off the canvas with a grim determination. His opponent, Raphael Butler was in control of the fight, and way ahead on the scorecards until thirty seven seconds left in the eighth and final round. The referee stopped the fight after a flurry of punches from Binkowski set Butler to the mat. While rising from the canvas, Butler spit his mouthpiece twice, and did not respond to the referee's instructions, giving the referee no choice but to stop the fight in favor of Binkowski. Toughness still means something, even in the heavyweight division where you can bring as much weight for your punches as you want.

Every Day Ends

Pills mark the exit. Today ends like the others: television I don't need to watch, unpleasant urges to write and the words that go with them, silence in the air that won't reach my ears, and the exit. Recommend submission all you want; it won't happen. I lived under boots and smiled too damn long. Compromise always came too easily to my youth; I'm capable of anything. I'm torn between the exit and something more permanent. Hope or mercy, help me choose. I'm a fighter with broken knuckles, and a lover with a lie for a heart. Give me an inch; I love to take miles. When I was in eighth grade, I helped my teammates make weight for club league junior high football. I ran slowly, but eventually I caught them all. One by one, they fell to the side. I don't know how many laps I ran, but no one on my team ran more. Training injuries stopped all that, though. My psychosis came on their heels. Now, I don't feel the burn in my knees. I have my knuckles (broken), my urges (pointless), my tormentors support me (I need them), and a handful of pills to make the rest of you feel like something can be done. That's my exit.