Although I’m disappointed, I know that he won fair and square. Even I can admit that. After the fight, I stayed hidden in my suite at the Bellagio Hotel and Casino in Las Vegas, Nevada. I was waiting for the swelling and bruising to go down on my face before being seen in public. I looked bad. In fact, I looked as bad as I felt. I was never one for public humiliation. I was the fighting champion, and then suddenly I wasn’t. It hurt. It hurt almost as bad as the injuries. I talked to Momma and Pops every day. Pops said he saw the fight on television, and he knew the condition I was in. He said Momma busied herself in the kitchen, makin’ fried chicken and peach cobbler so she had an excuse not to watch the fight. I invited them to all of my fights, but they didn’t attend any of them. Pops is busy on the farm and Momma, well, she doesn’t want to see anyone hittin’ her baby. “Baby” is her word, not mine. I’m 31 years old, so I’m hardly a baby. But I’ll always be her baby, no matter how old I am.
