What a day. . .a guy who's a member of my church made the grievious mistake of royally pissing me off today. I don't want to give him much press, or rehash the details of the offense, but in short, he called me a lie. When I was a kid, to call someone that was akin to calling them a bad curse word. I called someone that when I was in second grade. My teacher, Miss Clincy, took me to the janitor's work closet, got a bar of heavy duty soap, and washed my mouth out. I never forgot it. I responded to the guy by informing him that I do believe in pushing back, and I dropped him from my list of friends on Facebook.
Afterwards, I remembered hearing a story of an aunt of mine who pitched her husband head first down a flight of stairs for saying something out of turn to her. Then I pictured the stairs at church, wondering about the distance to the bottom. Luckily, I was able to go to the boxing gym and take out my frustrations there.
Outside of Alan, J and I were the only two who showed up to the gym. J was willing to spar, so we went for three rounds. "Don't hit me in my head," she half-joked, and I tried not to do so. I directed the punches mostly at her sides and stomach.
Poor Alan was limping because he had taken a fall the day before. His ankle was swollen, and his right leg was hurting. "Did you go to the doctor?" I asked, assuming that he didn't because he's a man. Men are notorious for not seeing doctors when they should. Alan confirmed that no, he hadn't had a doctor look at it, but if it gets worse, he would.
I did see the Margarito-Pacquiao match. Before the fight, I saw a news report that showed Margarito mocking the fact that Pacquiao's trainer -- Freddie Roach -- has Parkinson's. It was so wrong. I was glad that Pacquiao beat Margarito on that alone. He was nicer to Margarito during the last two rounds than I would have been. It was obvious Pac-Man was pulling punches to allow his opponent to finish out the fight. He could have easily finished him.
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