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After all these years, we now know that “Love Story” got it wrong. It’s boxing that means you never have to say you’re sorry.
It could have been a night to forgive the sins, to embrace boxing once again. Instead, when the decision was announced, you realized why you threw this dumb sport out of your house in the first place.
There was a time, back in college, when I laced up boxing gloves and tried to prove myself in a ring. I was not very talented; I did more ducking than hitting. But one night, while sparring with my coach, I tagged him, unsuspecting, and he straightened up and blinked. At that moment, I felt a surge of naked power, almost primitive, as if my blood had thickened and I was bloated with muscle. It was a manly thing I had done. I felt manly. And then he pounded the hell out of me.