Southpaw

He was dirty from the game, but he liked it that way. Nothing felt better than being out there, in the center of all that energy and light and talent, and knowing that you could make or break the game.

It hadn't always been this way. The power, the fame, the name. He'd been somebody else once, still dirty, but in a different way. From a different game.

He didn't talk about it. Not because he was ashamed, but because it was over. That was how his mother had taught him: put away your things when you're done with them. And he was done with those things. He was here now, and this was the only thing that mattered.

"Strike three! Yer out!"

Another victory.