[ WP ] Begin with the sentence , `` I am alone , but I am happy '' .

I am alone, but I am happy. 
 How could I not be? The first lightweight champion of the junior's division to ever win an exhibition against a veteran for a prefight padding match. Soon I will be able to transition to the real circuit and I will also be the first eighteen year old to do so on his birthday. It's all thanks to Milo, a veteran himself the old wardog had seen his fair share of men's paws and kissed plenty of ounces in his hay day. 
 
 I was a hoodrat when he invited me into the gym, slanging twenties on the mound with no pitcher cause my man and them knew I could hold it down like that. Never would I have thought that I would be where I am now, back then, I humored the old man who talked slightly slurred from prolonged pugilistic damage. He did not care that I was a twelve year old with a springfield armory 1911 in his waist band and enough drugs to kill a horse, alot of the slingers respected the man so I thought why not. 
 
 He gave me a locker to put my stuff in, and asked me to show him what I got. It was nothing, but at the time I think back realizing how stupid I must have looked. A barely passable jab and cross, Milo knew this but did not laugh or even criticize, just gave me pointers. Pivot your foot, lock your forearm and swing wide, do n't drop your shoulder. It was a great day, most of the business owners that saw me run on the corner despised me. Not Milo though. 
 
 I came back the next day trying to play it cool and waiting for him to ask me into the gym again. It did not take long for me to go to him, I was addicted, little words were exchanged and we kind of both knew what was up. This time he had some gear for me, and taught me how to wrap my knucks with tape, you want it tight, but not so tight as to choke your fingers. It was back to the bag, inside combinations probe jab, find the catch face, face, stomach, face. Outside combinations, hook, hook, uppercut. I became a fighter that day. 
 
 The third day my supplier sent one of his goons to see why I had not checked in, I was kind of worried when Milo stepped in to ask the goon for his cellphone. Milo must have called my supplier, I still do n't know what was said, but Milo told me I was too good for that shit and would n't need it anymore. I was expecting some sort of retaliation but there never was any. 
 
 Milo set me up in the gym and I spent my whole summer there training and learning as much as I could from the other boxers and Milo. I was lean as fuck and looked it too, a six pack with tight biceps, I felt great. We started discussing taking my training outside the gym and I became pumped. I really started to love this old man like a father, my moms died and my auntie never gave two shits and my real father was just as homeless as I was before I started slanging. 
 
 My first match was a no contest my hands were far too quick for the kid but lacked power. So we set up another match and worked on muscle gain he'd pack me full of pastas, I hate spaghetti and pretty much all Italian food now thanks to that regimen. It paid off though, ten minutes into the fight I laid out some kid from Jamaica, that let me fight him because both of our opponents were no shows. he had a twenty pound advantage and a longer reach, we both expected me to go down in the second, lol. 
 
 Two years passed of exhausting fights learning, honing the skills necessary to become a champion. Milo was just as proud of me as I was of him, it was probably the best time of my life. He had no family just like me and it was pretty obvious when he started calling me son and I returned the gratitude by calling him pops. 
 
 I only lost three fights during the five years leading up to my title fight, I loved it so much I would often take on the fly exhibitions for children's charities. The best advice I ever got from Milo was that a fighter was only as good as the information his corner supplied him with. This was fact, a fighter in the ring sees only a fraction of the battle so depending on what your corner sees is far more important than any other element to the fighter. 
 
 It had all led up to this match, my opponent, a golden gloves lightweight from San Diego flying all the way to the Bronx in New York for a chance at the Vegas Nationals. The man had paved his way with a win streak as good as mine, Milo and I had seen his tapes, a brutal heavy southpaw with almost unnatural speed for a man in his late twenties. 
 
 The adrenaline gripped me as I walked out, fueling my focus, holy shit the guy was big for a lightweight. I loosened up as my corner prepared. 
 
 `` Remember what I said kid,'' Milo told me `` this guy is gon na pound you so the name of the game is endurance and outlast. Burn his tank and then take your prize, it's routine. Stick to the plan and I'll walk you through this.'' 
 
 I nodded and let Craig, my patch man lube my face with vaso constrictor. Introductions were made, the bell rang, and the predator took over. Stay tight. He tested his reach and probed, an easy dodge followed his first commitment and he stepped in the pocket with no hesitation. I curled up trying to telegraph his combo blocking the two hits to my stomach but I was not quick enough for the hook, a numbing sensation I instantly shook off. Knowing I could only take a few of those I switched feet and matched his southpaw an open 1,2,1 a clean hit with each. 
 
 The man stumbled for a moment, with surprised expectancy of a quick return. Shuffle, weave, shuffle, weave take the hits, stretching an eternity to five minutes the first bell rang. I was exhausted, certainly we could not keep this up. 
 
 `` Okay, your doing good, kid, he's losing momentum when he's in your pocket.'' 
 
 I took my mouthpiece out. `` Doing good? He's landed more punches than I've th..thrown.'' 
 
 Craig paused looking at me strangely as he cleaned my cuts and reapplied vaso, kneading my eye wells. 
 
 `` That's what we want kid, the buzzards do n't get in close until they think their meal is dead. This round I want you to retaliate in waves, lure him in with small evasions and strike hard as he does, but not every time. You got me?'' 
 
 `` Gotcha pops.'' Another strange look from Craig as I took a sip of water and replaced my mouth piece. 
 
 Milo was right he was slowing down trying to bait me, it became a battle of wills probing and evading, he took the lure twice and I returned hard. The second time his knees noticeably buckled in the slightest. Cat and mouse we were both exhausted by the second bell. 
 
 `` Alright, son, your in the clear, the rest is up to you there is little else I can say to help. I'm sure you noticed the shoulder drop when he shuffles. That's your cue, it's in his muscle memory he's going to do it every time because he's trained that way. When he throws and drops step in with that left hook right hook and you'll have your win.'' 
 
 I shook my head taking deep slow breathes and sipping more water as Craig patched me up again. 
 
 `` You alright, kid?'' Craig asked worried. 
 
 `` Yeah, just a few bumps...'' I put my mouthguard back in and waited getting as much oxygen in my blood as I could. 
 
 Third round. 
 
 Milo was right, every small movement my opponent made screamed more time, I'm almost done. I moved in the pocket pivoting to allow his left jab, the shoulder dropped, left hook looped... dead hit. Followed by the right like an angel of mercy his face absorbed it like a sponge with water. It was certain but I sure as hell did not take my eyes off of him as he fell landing in a fencing response searching for purchase above the canvas. 
 
 The ref counted and I was eager to look at Craig and Milo the satisfaction on their faces met with mine as the ref reached ten. I turned and saw Craig cheering, Milo had left, I could not see him. The thunderous roar of the crowd made it hard to ask clearly. 
 
 `` Craig, where did Milo go? `` I asked him. 
 
 `` Champ, oh, I'm so sorry Champ. We told you in the locker room but you must have blocked it out, I am so sorry Champ. Milo had a stroke last night, a major cardiac event, nothing could be done. Look celebrate and we'll talk after, your the fucking Winner! Vegas Nationals!'' 
 
 It did not even hit me full force then either, everything seemed distant like a dream. Someone pulled me to the side and led me to the center of the ring and positioned me to hold up the belt. Something was said but I was lost in surreal emotion. More things were said but this time by a woman, it was only when everything was silent that I came back. 
 
 `` Sorry, Champ. How does it feel to know you will be in the Preliminary for Vegas Nationals?'' 
 
 I could only think of one thing to say that expressed the truth I felt with 2,000 plus onlookers hanging on my words. 
 
 `` I am alone... but I am happy.''
