Auditorium --------------------------------------------- A Life Lesson by Ned Sane

In a smoke-filled auditorium, the crowd waited eagerly for the evening's entertainment. The announcer stepped into the ring. Fanatics screamed with delight, knowing that the match would soon be under way. Through the deafening barrage of verbal shouts and cro-magna grunting came the introduction:

"Ladies and gentlemen! Ladies and gentlemen, your attention please!"

The din lowered slightly to an excited, fidgeting buzz. The announcer continued to introduce the combatants. Then a dramatic conclusion to the introduction brought the crowd to its feet:

"In this corner, wearing white, from the city with big biceps. The reigning champion. In an eight-round exhibition. For your entertainment. Listen for the bell. Then prepare yourself, for the main event!"

Oblivious to the announcer's bellowing, the challenger sat in the contender's corner with a cold hard glare of determination. She felt confident, strong. This was her day.

She slowly rose to her feet. At four feet and eight inches, she was unmistakably one hundred percent, rock-hard, little girl. In her pink dress and regulation boxing boots, she looked like young tigress ready for the hunt. A small pink ribbon bound her shining, golden locks. Her hungry eyes told the story of the long, difficult road that had brought her here.

On this night.

To her destiny.

Her small pink boxing gloves shimmered under the auditorium lights. Each little fist was packed with the lethal dose, which many past enemies would not soon forget.

She examined her opponent thoughtfully. He stood close to six feet tall. Weighing in at over 200 pounds, he had the physique of Hercules. Yet something was missing. The man did not have that killer instinct - the attitude that whispered, "kill or be killed" with every sideways look. Instead, the man had the sympathetic eyes of a gentle giant; a handicap that could possibly be used against him, she figured.

Instead of holding his head upward and proud like the royal prince of his sport, the beast pinned his own chin to his chest like a peasant robbed by despair. Hesitation interrupted the flow of his body. His face was turned to the bloodthirsty crowd. Almost in a daze, so it seemed. He was a man with his dreams dead in his heart.

There was a lot of talk going around that the champ was on his way down. They say that being on top for so long can take its toll. The beatings, the money, the lure of luxury. There comes a time in every athlete's life when they must reckon with the inevitable and back down before all is lost. They say that the champ had passed his peak. That his last few bouts were handpicked bums from local gyms, just so he could stay on top.

She had heard all the stories. But a multitude of song and dance could not be allowed to distract her into a sense of overconfidence. She knew the champ was still good. Just maybe a little soft.
As the referee motioned both warriors to the center of the ring, she looked the champ straight in the eyes. He did not have the will to gaze back. Instead, he looked back at the manager, apparently for some reassurance. She sensed weakness in his actions as he move forth with signs of anxiety. His motions resembled those of a weary old man as he dragged his powerful carcass to the center of the ring. It was obvious that this was not the champ of old.

She would not show any remorse. If she did, it might just be her undoing.

The referee explained the rules to both assailants. The little girl in pink had thoughts elsewhere. She remembered her very first physical conflict:

Skinny Eddie had been the terror of the entire kindergarten playground. He was as mean as a cornered rattlesnake and twice as ugly. Nobody had really known why he was called "Skinny" Eddie, since he was the porkiest kid on the playground. But then again, nobody had the guts to ask. One afternoon at recess, Eddie approached the girl and her friends, as they were playing foursquare. For no apparent reason besides an obsession with tormenting the weaker people, Eddie had stolen the ball. The little girl in pink had first felt incredible fear. Then, incredibly, the urge to punish the pork ball overcame her. Although the fear had still been washing through her midsection, and a desire to run into her mother's arms tugged at her logical side, the girl had somehow psyched her way into deciding that Skinny Eddie's days of persecuting the weak were over.

It had been a knockdown drag-out brawl. But when it ended, Eddie was bawling his eyes out and there was a new heroine on that kindergarten playground. She had really beaten the tar out of that scum doggy. And thus her career began on a positive note.
The little girl in pink had come a long way since those kindergarten days. Her style had become polished, more professional. With concise handwork, and footwork hinting at feline grace, her swing had become considered a deadly missile among her peers. Yet with all the improvements she had made to her fighting style, the one stable force was a fierce determination to be the victor in every battle.

After the referee finished the instructions, she gave the champ one last stare down. He could not bear to look. The fighters were sent back to their corner to await the bell. The little girl in pink looked deep into the crowd. She noticed another little girl sitting near the twentieth row. At the rail. The expression of adoration on that little girl's face made the challenger's focus even more clear. It was as if the words of encouragement were written on the little fan's forehead. The little fan idolized the challenger. She wanted nothing more in the world than to see her heroine win that match. The challenger soaked up courage from the little fan's support. She did not want to let the little fan down.

In a few seconds the bell would sound and the little girl in pink could prove herself to the entire world. All the unbelievers would eat their words. She felt power pump through her body - a surge of adrenaline unlike any she had ever felt. The tiny blond hairs on the back of her neck stood straight up. Her arms and legs tingled as if they were about to explode with power. She felt vibrant, alive, and invincible. There was quickness in her step that slowed the world around her. Her mind raced wildly with thoughts of quickness and pounding on the champ. She imagined herself standing victorious, both arms raised, champion lying exhausted on the canvas.

She was ready.

The bell rang. In less than one minute the match was over. Knocked senseless and lying sprawled on the canvas ring flooring was the pathetic form of a battered little girl in a pink dress. Her shiny pink gloves flopped down at her sides.

Needless to say, the fans went wild...

... all except one.

Moral: Sometimes it's better to have a big weapon instead of a big heart.