"Ten Count"

Vibrating from the increasing power of the rising decibels,
He stands motionless and alone in the darkness of the tunnel.
Unable to see past the blinding flood lights of the arena his music hits,
And the underdog makes the long walk by himself pounding his fists.
Dipping and dogging venomous boos, words, and
Insults from faceless opponents with no name,
Not bothered by the attempts of the crowd to slander or defame.
Between the taut and strained ropes he goes,
Shaking the nerves and doubt from his brain by bouncing on his toes.
As sweat pours down his brow and adrenaline fills his veins,
Across the mat his eyes meet with the favorite who surely would be crowned king.

The underdog and the favorite meet at the center of the ring,
Standing close enough for the favorite to feel the underdog's hearts uncontrollable palpitating.
Though the ref does his best to strenuously bark into his ear one final thing,
The deafening rumble from the anticipating crowd is all the underdog can ascertain.
The underdog raising his arms to touch gloves proves to be quite the strain,
What was once light and free, now feels locked up by the weight of heavy chains.

Round One beings and the underdog walks with gloves high into the fray,
Bobbing and weaving the best he can around hooks and jabs much to the favorites dismay.
Holding his own the underdog's confidence begins to grow like a flower nurtured by the rain,
Until a fatal move leaves himself open to a punch that drops him in a sharp pain.
As the ref begins to count the underdog looks around at the hollering and cheering crowd,
Remembering all the times throughout his life when doubt was cast like mist in a hot spring.

The underdog rises to his feet to beat the rapid count of ten,
With a look on his face of determination that proves he is ready to go again.
Red gloves turning his face black and blue the outlook continued to look grim,
But the underdog walked through it all and continued to never give up or in.
The underdog takes the punishment with a wry smile and a grin,
Beginning to land punches of his own offers a glimmer of hope that he may win.

Round after round the battle rages on,
As the rabid fans egg the two warriors on.
Neither the underdog nor the favorite would retreat,
In defiance that they would succumb or be beat.
Dripping with blood and sweat in their corners,
Sipping water the two stammer to their feet,
Spitting back into the buckets their inhibition and fears,
Hell bent on sending each other to their ultimate defeat.

A stinging jab and a vicious hook shake the underdog to his core,
Once again his system fails and he is sent falling and crumbling to the floor.
Sensing he has won the favorite is filled with a joyous dose of relief,
Until his cut and swollen eyes witness something that leaves him in utter disbelief.

Once again standing up and answering the call,
The favorite looks on in wonder of what has happened to go wrong,
With every punch and blow he lands his opponents will grows strong.
The favorite stands with his arms at his side,
trying to rationalize how much more he can go on.
The underdog puts his hands up one last time,
Signaling to his opponent he will fight all day long.