2020-10-23
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Thomas Bolleke Vs Paddy Mcgillicutty

Fighter profile of Thomas Bolleke by Alika Webb

Thomas Bolleke Vs Paddy Mcgillicutty

A sparring match

By Alika Webb

 

 

“Put on your headgear.”

 

“I don’t need it,” Paddy says, shaking his head.

 

“You sure you want to do this, Paddy?”

 

“I was born to do this!”

 

“Your funeral.”

 

“You think you’re better than me?”

 

“I know I am.” Bolleke chuckles.

 

“You won’t be laughing much longer.”

 

“I can beat you with one arm tied behind my back.”

 

“I’ll make you eat those words.”

 

“Tell you what, if you can make me use my right hand, you win.”

 

“Deal!”

 

Paddy rushes to the center of the cage, crouching down with his hands up. Bolleke casually meets him with his hands down.

 

“Let’s do this!”

 

“Bring it,” Bolleke says, finally putting up his dukes.

 

Paddy swings for the fences, Bolleke slips away just in time. Bricks of fists slice through the air, itching to strike flesh and bones.

 

“Come on, you coward. Stop running away fr…”

 

Paddy shakes his head, clearing the cobwebs and putting his mouth guard back in its place.

 

“What the hell was that?”

 

“That’s called a jab,” Bolleke says, wearing a big smile. “Less talking, more fighting.”

 

“Wish granted!” Paddy says, taking aim.

 

An overhand right gets launched. Bolleke counters with a perfectly timed jab.

 

A left hook gets stopped in its tracks with another jab from Bolleke.

 

A missile of a right uppercut fails to find its target, stopped by another jab.

 

“You can’t just throw bombs without setting them up. That’s lesson number one,” Bolleke says with a smirk.

 

“Stop with those … pathetic little jabs,” Paddy says.

 

“Pathetic? That’s not what your legs are telling me.”

 

Paddy slaps his trembling legs, commanding them to get back into gear.

 

“Still haven’t used my right.”

 

“You forgot one thing.”

 

“What?”

 

“This ain’t a boxing match!”

 

Paddy leaps like tiger, heading straight for Bolleke’s legs.

 

“Gotcha!”

 

“Too slow,” Bolleke says, pressing Paddy’s head into the mat with his left hand and stepping out of his takedown attempt.

 

“I’ll show you who’s slow!” Paddy shouts, drawing his hand back for a big overhand right.

 

Bolleke snipes him down with a perfectly timed jab. “Still haven’t learned your lesson?”

 

Paddy stumbles around on spaghetti legs, the counter hitting him harder than he expected. He quickly finds the cage, grabbing it to keep him on his feet.

 

Bolleke stalks him like a lion on the savannah, hands prepared to defend but ready to throw bombs.

 

“Lesson number two,” Bolleke says, eyeing his prey.

 

“F…” Paddy starts.

 

Bolleke doesn’t let him finish, throwing out a big jab.

 

Paddy covers up his face like his life depends on it.

 

“Use feints!” Bolleke says, quickly drawing back his jab before it even lands and throwing out a big left hook to Paddy’s exposed body.

 

Paddy crumples under the impact, clutching his stomach.

 

“Lesson number three,” Bolleke says, eyes shining like blood-red diamonds. “Defend yourself at all times!”

 

A thunderous jab blasts Paddy backwards, slamming him hard into the fence.

 

A fast jab thrown with desperation misses Bolleke by a hair’s breadth.

 

Paddy spits out some blood, getting his hands back up. “Almost got you there.”

 

“Lesson …” Bolleke starts, shaking his head.

 

“Fuck your lessons,” Paddy says, drawing his right hand back.

 

“Here we go again,” Bolleke says, covering up his head.

 

The big overhand right does not come.

 

Bolleke peeks down at his legs.

 

“Crap,” Bolleke says, switching position just in time to stuff the takedown.

 

“Lesson number two,” Paddy says with a grin plastered on his face, grappling for dear life. “Use feints!”

 

“Glad to see … you’re paying attention, Paddy,” Bolleke says, forcing a smile while scrambling in the clinch.

 

“Gotcha now!” Paddy says, tying up Bolleke’s left arm and body in the clinch.

 

Paddy peppers Bolleke’s body and face with short right blows. His left hand tied behind his back, Bolleke struggles to defend himself with only one arm.

 

“Get off me!” Bolleke’s shoulder waffles Paddy’s chin.

 

“No way I’m letting go that easily,” Paddy says, sticking to him like glue.

 

“Piss off, Paddy!” Bolleke shoves Paddy off with pure strength.

 

Paddy gets shoved back, creating a little space in between them. But Paddy holds on with his left hand and ricochets right back. He’s a human rubber band getting stretched before coming back to smack Bolleke in the face.

 

Big right hook, right on the button. Bolleke tries to shake it off, clearly feeling the impact.

 

Paddy swarms Bolleke with some stinging right hooks. Bolleke tries to cover up with his right arm but many punches find their target.

 

“I’m weeening!” Paddy annoyingly screeches in Bolleke’s ear.

 

“Fuck it!” Bolleke says, drawing his right hand back.

 

Paddy launches another right hook.

 

Bolleke counters with a devastating right uppercut, stopping Paddy right in his tracks.

 

Paddy crashes onto the mat, his eyes like a kid staring at Santa Claus climbing down the chimney.

 

“You …” Paddy says, blood streaming from his mouth like a waterfall as he’s trying to get his thoughts together. “You used your right hand!”

 

“I did!” Bolleke says, drawing his right hand back and taking aim.

 

“I win!”

 

“Congrats!”

 

A pulverizing right hand smashes Paddy’s head into the mat.

 

 

Winner: Paddy?

 

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