Big Eli said nothing.
He slowly reached down.
And began untying his work boots.
One boot came off.
Then the other.
He placed them neatly outside the ring.
Then he removed his thick wool socks.
His bare feet touched the mats.
They were large and heavily calloused.
Years of walking across uneven fields had hardened them.
Decades of hard living had done the rest.
Big Eli looked up.
"Just ring the bell, Trent."
Rusty walked to the edge of the mat holding a thick wad of bills.
He looked at Big Eli with genuine pity.
"All right. Three minutes."
He raised his voice so everyone could hear.
"You go limp, you tap, or you don't get up, it's over."
He paused.
"No eye gouging. No biting."
Trent raised his taped hands.
"Easy money."
He bounced from foot to foot.
His breathing hissed through his teeth.
Rusty chopped his hand downward.
The challenge had begun.
Trent closed the distance instantly.
He didn't respect Big Eli.
So he didn't bother with a feeler jab.
He threw a heavy looping overhand right, expecting to end the contest in seconds.
Big Eli didn't move like a boxer.
There was no graceful slip.
No flashy footwork.
He simply hunched his massive shoulders and tucked his chin.
A brutal, pragmatic movement.
Trent's fist struck Big Eli's forehead.
CRACK.
Trent immediately winced.
He stumbled backward and shook his hand.
He had aimed for the jaw.
Instead, he had hit solid bone.
Big Eli felt a flash of white behind his eyes.
A wave of nausea rolled through his stomach.
He was sixty-four years old.
His knees already ached.
His lower back was permanently tight.
And now his head was ringing.
He tasted blood where he had bitten the inside of his cheek.
Then something old awakened inside him.
A voice he hadn't heard in decades.
Stay small.
Let him work.
Watch his hips.
Big Eli breathed slowly.
Angered by his own mistake, Trent attacked again.
A sharp punch snapped Big Eli's head backward.
A heavy kick struck his thigh.
The sound echoed through the room.
The crowd gasped.
Big Eli stumbled.
His left leg buckled slightly.
"Come on, old man," Trent spat.
Then Trent launched a high kick toward Big Eli's head.
This time, Big Eli didn't retreat.
He stepped forward.
Straight into the attack.
The kick lost its momentum.
Trent's balance disappeared.
Big Eli leaned his heavy body forward.
Then he shoved.
It wasn't flashy.
It wasn't elegant.