“Let’s skip the pleasantries shall we? You and I both know we’re not here for small talk.” He says, and I can’t help but shuffle nervously. The iron man; my first every heavyweight fight, I’ve only just moved up to this category; and for my first bout, it’s *that* referee. You know. Just the one where there’s seven years of mutual hate between us. No big deal.

And then of course, my thoughts zoom back to the iron man. He’s two inches taller, fights… well, 38 wins, 3 losses. Out of those wins? 17 were knock outs. I’ve only watched him fight once. After two illegal pokes to Greenpark’s eyes, he brought that knee up, right into Greenparks eye. He couldn’t open it after that, and the cut above his eye bled a load.

Not that I’m scared. There’s nothing to be scared of. Absolutely nothing.

I mean. I started off in bantamweight. I’ve worked hard to get my weight up. I *wanted* to be here, in this ring.

I *wanted* to fight the iron man.

I *will* fight the iron man.

I *will* win.