“You are fuckin’ something, man!”
His arms draped across the fighter’s shoulders, looking reverently at, and beyond, the disfigured face, referee Steve Smoger offered this raw encomium. He did not address it to the victor, however—who was milling around the ring, lost in celebratory whoops and embraces—but to the loser. Nestled amongst his supporters, Zab Judah listened to Smoger with the pained smile of a man accepting consolation, the smile of a man who recognizes that, however flattering the words, they are a confirmation of failure.
Read Storm Rider: Danny Garcia W12 Zab Judah on The Cruelest Sport.
In Between Rounds 