Thrilla

[Certain]

This fucking pugnacious pugilist. Stalking the ring like
he owns the damn place, walking with swinging grace
and moving with fluid nuance. Shaking up the world,
one combo at a time, one dishonorable decline.
Evasive — duck and curl. Tuck and hurl punches
like they’re nothing. Striking something deeper in the fabric
of our emaciated nation. We needed his madness.
We needed his graceful degradations, steeped in a tragic
figure of an unforgettable age. Shaking with rage, to
shaking with the creeping lens of sadness.
The pagan, he waits. Sold his visions to false prophets.
Sold his image to cold profits. Sold his limits to our audience.
Kept us engaged. What more can we ask for?
Our Louisville Slugger, The Greatest, one vainglorious bastard.