Author: Anton Tabuena

Benjamin Olfindo

Continuing the events on ‘From Writing to Fighting: Colleagues Competing,’ Bloody Elbow’s Managing Editor Anton Tabuena competes in his MMA debut.

This is a follow up to From Writing to Fighting: Colleagues Competing

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Sounds echo throughout this empty, dimly lit lobby as my shin slams through the pads.

My brother throws another looping punch, which I dodge and counter with the same combination switching to a southpaw stance.

We don’t have much time, but warming up a floor above the venue for today’s fights seems like a good idea. There’s a lot more space, and a lot less prying eyes.

I want to do some last minute drills without worrying that the opposing team is getting a glimpse of my game plan and skill set. We’ve done our share of online sleuthing and have an idea what my opponent will bring. If he wasn’t able to do the same, I’m not about to allow minor scouting and concede tiny victories.

“Your movement and distance should be on point today,” Paolo tells me, before slowly shooting in and making me defend a takedown. “Remember to pick your spots with those kicks. This grappler will eventually just dive on them once he realizes he can’t hang on the feet.”

I’m on this dusty floor, stretching my legs for the third time. I look up and see the familiar entrance to the ballroom, where Muay Thai fights are held.

Two years ago, just a few feet beyond those doors, I was also sitting on the floor not unlike what I’m doing now. My last fight had just ended and I was devastated, immensely disappointed in myself.

I’m never really afraid of losing. My biggest fear has always been that I don’t perform to my ability.

In that moment back then, my nightmare had become reality. I just wasn’t myself, so I vowed to never repeat the same mistakes again.

Today will be different.

I get up and tell Paolo to hold the pads for me again. I’m not stopping until I start to feel tired.

I jog back down the stairs, keeping warm as I return to the competition area. An official tells me to wait for this bout to end, so I head to the red corner’s mat area and continue to stretch.

Warming up used to be something I took for granted. Now I treasure having time to do it properly.

“This guy surely won’t strike with you,” Paolo says confidently. He’s been surveying the other end of the room since we got back. “I’m not impressed with his shadowboxing. And his drills are just one overhand right before going for a takedown.”

I stand up to take a glance. He’s stocky and wide, but I’m much taller, so our game plan remains the same. That’s really all that matters to me at this point.

“Wait. Maybe they’re scouting us, too,” I tell him. “Time for a sloppy takedown!”

I shoot a hideous single leg takedown on Paolo, and we all laugh at my attempt.

“Guys, I’m a wrestler! I swear!”

“Hmm,” I nod approvingly as I put on these small MMA gloves. I like the idea that I won’t have to use those 16 oz pillows from my last Muay Thai fight.

“It’s like they’re giving me +3 to Power,” I tell Paolo with a laugh.

The official finishes taping my gloves, when Paolo points out another observation about my opponent.

“He’s nervous,” he says. “He’s been giving you the death stare for several minutes, and you’re not even looking back.”

“Good,” I respond with a chuckle as I strap on my shin guards. “Let him waste energy. It’s not like someone frowning will make me rethink my life.”

He can pout or shadowbox to nu-metal, for all I care. This is all about me now. I’m just looking forward to testing my skills in this new sport.

As the cage door locks behind me, I look down on the canvas and slowly step towards the red corner.

Milan is right, this is really softer than the cage we’ve been training in.

As the announcer starts his introductions, I glimpse my opponent still trying to stare me down. I just shift and bounce around, getting an idea of how I’ll be moving on this new surface.

“And from the red corner…” the announcer’s voice blares on the speakers. “Anton Tabuena!”

I face my opponent, and he’s still intensely trying to lock eyes with me. I give him a blank look, open my arms wide and bounce my back on the fence. I do this three more times. I don’t think he has even blinked the entire time.

I don’t care about intimidation tactics. I just plan on maximizing the use of this cage today.

“Ready?” the referee asks us both. My opponent gives two thumbs up. I nod. “Fight!”

I reach out my arm to touch gloves. He obliges.

I take the center of the cage and he immediately throws a left kick with all his weight. As his leg goes past me, I give him a little smirk for easily dodging that attempt. I want to make it clear that he’s not going to be as comfortable as I am standing up.

He smiles, then immediately dives on my legs. I step back to the fence, defend the takedown, and keep this on the feet.

He shot from way out of range. He really isn’t going to strike with me.

He clinches and goes wild, trying to bully me inside. I adjust to control his head, get a full Thai clinch, and land a knee to his chest. He’s trying to muscle his way out of this clinch, but he doesn’t have the leverage.

I wish knees to the face were legal right now.

He drops down and I defend another takedown, before turning him around on the fence. I put pressure, thinking he’ll tire himself if he tries to muscle his way out again.

Instead, he grabs the fence behind him, and uses it to jump up and wrap his legs around my waist. The referee lets it continue, but slaps his hand and warns him for grabbing the fence.

Seriously? You’re pulling guard from here?

As he hangs on me, I put my forearm on his face, and shove him to the mat. He grunts from the impact, then grabs my head to keep me from posturing up.

I instantly feel his strength, and I’m struggling to break free and land punches from top position. I’m seeing and defending his submission set ups, but I’m getting frustrated that I can’t mount much offense.

He throws up his legs, and I adjust. He lets go and throws a hammerfist from the bottom. I’m finally able to posture up. As I look to land another punch, I feel something weird.

“Sipon??” I think to myself. I’m confused, wondering if I have a runny nose all of a sudden.

I look down and see that I’m dripping blood all over my opponent.

Shit.

“See, you’re good! His face is already messed up!” I hear his corner yell.

I break his grips and inhale deeply, trying to gauge the damage to my nose.

I can breathe! I’m good. I’m good.

I trap his arm under my knee. As I wind up for a big shot, he bumps his hips just enough. The canvas thuds as my punch narrowly misses his head.

I throw a hard shot to his rib cage, and he grabs my head to control me. I’m annoyed. I can’t believe one short punch has me bleeding all over the place.

I need to get this fight back. I need to make him pay.

I land another shot to his body, but he traps my punching arm, and throws his legs up for a triangle choke. I feel more blood starting to rush down my face.

“F–k! F–k! F–k!” I hear Paolo cursing, but I’m staying calm. I’ve gotten out of worse positions.

I use my length and throw my legs over him to defend the choke. We scramble, but before I can get back to my feet, he shoots again. I post on my arm and scoot my hips back, desperately trying to get my back to the cage.

I need to make this an MMA fight, not a jiujitsu match.

I finally feel the metal fence on my back, and my confidence increases. I make it to my knees and immediately grab a front headlock.

“He has nothing!” I hear his cornerman yell, and notice my blood continuing to drip.

I smile, as this has been my favorite position in the gym.

As he lifts his knee, I sweep him over and get on top, still holding his neck. I squeeze as a distraction, then pass my leg over to full mount.

I try to stretch him out and finish a one-armed guillotine choke, but his damned headgear is getting in the way. I’m at a crossroads and have to quickly decide: get my arm deeper and try to finish the choke, or let go and start punching?

F—k it, I can’t be the only one bleeding now.

I let go of the choke and punch the side of his head. I throw three more before moving up higher on his chest for better leverage.

“That’s good already! Just go! Pound! Pound! Pound!”

I’m hearing Milan and Paolo’s instructions, but I don’t want to just score points. I need to land clean and hard. I need to hurt him.

I’m able to pin one arm under my knee. He still seems weirdly relaxed, but now I know he can’t defend. Now’s the time to really open up.

I grab his free arm, drop my weight and punch him hard. His calm demeanor is gone. I throw another and he’s frantically trying to get free.

I land flush on the center of his face again, making sure I don’t hit the headgear’s padding. He tries to buck his legs, and I throw another solid punch to his chin. He struggles more, and I land another clean shot. Another. And Another.

The bell rings and referee pulls me off of him.

Dammit. I needed more time!

My face feels drenched. I know this isn’t all sweat, so I wipe my mouth and look. It’s all dark red. I’m starting to feel livid.

I shake my head, and flick the blood off my hand. I walk back to my corner furious at how this is all unfolding.

How am I the only one bleeding? F—k!

“Can you breathe?” Paolo immediately asks as he enters the cage.

“Yup. I’m good,” I reply, before motioning for his water bottle.

Before I can take a sip, a swarm of doctors and officials surround me. At least two of the medical staff are cleaning blood off my face with damp cotton swabs.

Did they just push my cornermen to the side? What is happening?

It’s chaotic. I’m being crowded, and they’re all talking over each other. If Paolo and Milan are giving me instructions, I can’t hear them, much less process them.

More cotton swabs are smushed on my face. I hear mumbled comments about how the bleeding isn’t stopping, and I suddenly feel scared that they’re about to stop the fight.

Wait. You can’t do that. No. Not like this.

“I’m fine! I’m fine!” I yell out. I know amateur fights get stopped quickly, and I’m desperately hoping that’s not what’s happening now. “I’m good! I can continue!”

I raise my arms, plead my case and try to calm them down.

“If the blood isn’t affecting him, if it isn’t going into his eyes, you don’t have to stop it,” I hear a voice from outside the cage.

“Yes!” I react after hearing what I assume was another official. “I’m okay! I can fight.”

They all seem to calm down after that, and I breathe a huge sigh of relief.

The referee signals for the next round. I didn’t hear my corner during that madness, but at least the fight is still on.

I push one of the cotton swabs away, while trying to politely smile at the doctor.

“Is it okay if I take a sip of water now?”

The bell rings to start the final round, and I don’t bother to touch gloves. I’m still furious. I just want to hit him back for busting me up.

I fake a jab and kick his leg hard. He nods as it lands clean, and tries to return the favor. I dodge his kick, but miss with my counter.

“Don’t engage with his striking!” I hear his coach yell.

“Distance!” Paolo says, warning me that this guy is only going to shoot. I’m feeling a sense of urgency and I’m intentionally ignoring him.

Nope. I need to hurt him. This is how I get back at him.

I walk him down, feinting uppercuts and knees to make him wary of diving down for a takedown. He hesitates, so I press forward even closer and make him uncomfortable. I feint a jab and draw out a defensive push kick from him. I deflect it and kick hard on the same spot on his leg.

He’s winding up for another big kick, so as he lifts his leg, I meet his forward momentum with a stiff jab that snaps his head back. I follow with a straight right.

He clearly didn’t like that. I push forward despite my corner’s instructions and open my arms out wide. I’m baiting him to punch instead of diving for a takedown.

I’m up close. My face is wide open. Throw a f—king strike!

He takes the bait, and throws a wild overhand right. I step my lead leg back just enough to make him miss, before throwing the same southpaw combination I drilled earlier. I land a slapping left hand, a right hook and a hard leg kick. He dives for another takedown in response.

He drives forward with a tight grip on my legs, eventually muscling me over, and putting me flat on the mat.

Don’t accept bottom position. Use the damn cage.

I twist my hips, get to my side and try to cage-walk. I get to my knees, but I’m stuck, weirdly unable to move. I quickly realize my opponent’s grabbing the cage, trying to pin me down and get my back.

“Ref! Fence again!” I shout, furious that he’s breaking the rules again. The referee swats his hand and I manage to get to my feet as he lets go.

He’s pushing me to the cage, grabbing my shorts, and desperately trying anything to get a takedown. But I’ve done so many fence drills with better grapplers that I’m confident he won’t get me down from here.

He eventually lifts his leg the wrong way, and I instinctively reverse and take him down. I get off some weak shots to the body, and a better one to the head, but he’s strong and I’m struggling to land decent offense again.

“He has a weak ground game!” the opposing coach yells. “That’s nothing!”

Wishful thinking?

I land a few short punches and I’m finally able to break free from his guard and stand up. He stays down, and it doesn’t look like he wants to fight on the feet anymore.

“Move away! Move away!” Paolo screams at me.

My corner wants me to hang back and make the referee force my opponent to stand, but I want to keep him in this embarrassing position a little longer. I stand over him and kick his legs a few times for good measure. He still isn’t getting up.

Suddenly, he rolls and dives for one of my legs. I’m forced to scramble. I rotate with him and end up on top.

Was that an Imanari roll? What?

I’m back in his guard. Again. He’s trying to hold me down. Again. He’s physically stronger and none of my strikes are landing clean. I need to deal damage, but I can’t.

As my frustration builds, the bell rings to end the match.

I offer a hand and help my opponent up, before thanking him for the match. As I walk towards my corner, I look up at the ceiling, struggling to process everything that just transpired.

The fight is really over, and an immense feeling of disappointment surges through me.

Why did I take him down? Why did I play his game? Why didn’t I listen to my corner? I could’ve done so many things better. I should’ve.

Regret. Disappointment. Anger. Frustration. Sadness. Thoughts are instantly flooding my head, and all these emotions are coming in with it. I didn’t get tired during the fight, but now my entire body feels so heavy.

Months of killing myself in the gym, for that performance? F—k. F—K!!!

I’m in the center of the cage, with my head down. I’m furious with myself but I can’t go anywhere just yet. The referee is still gripping our wrists, waiting for the official decision to be announced.

I don’t even care which hand he raises. None of this matters. I fought like shit and I need to get out of this cage right now.

Seconds start to feel like minutes, and it’s like I’ve been standing here forever.

“And your winner, by majority decision,” the announcer blares, “From the red corner, Anton Tabuena!”

Huh?

The referee raises my hand, and I have a puzzled look as the ring girl puts a gold medal around my neck.

I’m so much better than that.

That thought keeps repeating in my head as I rush out of the cage. Calling that a “win” isn’t making me feel any better.

“Congrats! That was so good,” a friend and training partner says excitedly as she comes over from the crowd.

Huh?

I look down at my medal, almost disgusted that they’d reward such a terrible performance. As I try to take it off, Paolo pulls hard on my arm.

“You forgot this,” he says.

I turn around and he hands me a massive trophy. I’m surprised, because I haven’t seen these given to anyone else. I just put it down on the floor. I have no interest in holding that right now.

“Wait. Why do you think you lost?!” Paolo raises his voice to drive home his point. “You easily won that!”

Huh?

“I wasn’t paying attention. I just sucked and made so many mistakes,” I respond. “He was so strong but I stupidly played his game. I did nothing. I just got controlled and neutralized.”

“No. Think! What was he able to do to you?” Paolo responds. “My only worry was the judges getting distracted by all your blood.”

“Yup. You also won on the ground,” My jiujitsu training partner says. “Mount, sweeps, takedowns. Trust me, you were so good!”

I see Milan also nodding in agreement.

Huh.

I stuff another tiny ball of tissue in one of my nostrils, hoping I don’t bleed all over our food.

In our post-fight tradition of sorts, we’re back at my favorite Japanese restaurant in the area for a celebratory meal. Only this time, I’m worried that my appearance is freaking out the other diners.

I ask for some ice, and the waitress instantly reacts to my bruises.

“I got punched in the face,” I say with a smile. I don’t think that helped.

“From a competition! He won,” Paolo immediately interjects before laughing.

“You should’ve seen the other guy!” I add. “Just kidding. His face still looks exactly the same…”

I’m already in a much better mood. Amidst close friends and good food, I can’t help but feel nice about this entire experience. I’ve learned so much about myself, which is really the main reason for doing all this in the first place.

Everyone raises their glasses, and we toast to all the hard work and the two wins that came from it. I take my first sip of beer in a long while, and I swear that San Miguel has never tasted better.

While breaking down footage of my fight, it becomes clear that I am definitely my own worst critic.

I realize that no matter the outcome or how I’ve performed, I’ve always been furious at myself after each of my bouts. I dwell on every single mistake, that I tend to forget the things I actually did right.

“You know how some fighters weirdly apologize to Joe Rogan for a ‘bad’ performance despite a big win?” I ask them. “Shit, I guess that’s me?”

I get uncharacteristically emotional and irrational immediately after fights. I’m just glad no one’s ever shoved a mic in my face when I’m about to throw a tantrum.

As we’re grabbing our things and preparing to go our separate ways, Milan comments on my trophy sitting on the back seat.

“So why did you get one and I didn’t?” he asks with a laugh.

“You were dominant,” I respond. “But maybe they felt bad for the scrawny guy bleeding all over the place?”

A couple of hours ago I didn’t even think I deserved this thing. Now it fills me with pride. It’s the perfect reminder for all the things I’ve learned about myself through this fight, and all the sacrifice that it took to get there.

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Previous ‘From Writing to Fighting’ editions:
[ Opening Round | Second Round ]
[ Brothers in Arms | Millennial Medals ]
[ Coaching a Colleague | Preparing for Pressure ]
[ Colleagues Competing | Bloody Debut ]

Benjamin Olfindo

In the latest edition of From Writing to Fighting, Bloody Elbow’s Anton Tabuena and Milan Ordonez prepare for their respective bouts.

“Fighting is crazy,” I think to myself as I lie in bed. It’s the same recurring thought I’ve had all week. “Years honing your craft, weeks of intense training, and countless hours of hard work and sacrifice — all for just a few minutes of actual competition. No repeats. No bounce back games.”

There are so many things I’ll be doing for the first time on this fight, and the last few nights, I’ve found myself wasting hours just thinking about all the unknowns heading into this.

I put my earphones on, looking to shut out any and all negative thoughts. I’m competing tomorrow, and I just can’t afford to waste energy and emotions on things I can’t control.

Party for one, hey! If you don’t care about me, I’ll just dance for myself, back on my beat!

I crank up the volume, realizing how this album is exactly what I need at this moment. I mean, how can anyone even stress about face punching while listening to Carly Rae Jepsen?

I’m imagining my jacked opponent pumping himself up and aggressively shadowboxing to nu-metal, while I’m just bobbing my head and dancing to bubblegum pop.

This weird image is stuck in my head, and I’m laughing alone like a crazy person.

I guess my plan is working.

Back on my beaaaat!

I’m on the backseat of the car, on our way to the venue for today’s bouts.

Anton looks back from his seat and asks if I’m feeling anxious. He notes how I can’t just freeze up on striking exchanges like last year.

“I wasn’t nervous. This just wouldn’t turn on,” I jokingly respond, laughing about those flaws we’ve worked to fix.

I’m not really sure why, but I have yet to really experience those nerves before my fights.

On some level, I guess I have a good reason not to feel much apprehension. Unlike last year’s debut, I heavily worked on my striking for this fight. That meant six months of boxing and Muay Thai sparring, getting toyed around in the gym, and experiencing a couple of mild concussions along the way. All that fun stuff.

I always have my grappling and wrestling to lean on, but I can say I’ve grown more comfortable fighting on the feet this time around.

We arrive at the venue, and walk down to the basement where the fights will be held. I take a quick look at the area, and I’m met with this very familiar feeling. Still no nerves though.

“Filipino time, as usual,” I think to myself. It’s obvious that things are running late again.

We’re back to the waiting game, which is a nightmare for many competitors. I take this time to give myself some last-minute reminders.

Stick to the strategy. Play your game. DON’T. F—K. THIS. UP.

I extend my legs and lean back on my seat; another futile attempt to find a more relaxing position on this flimsy plastic chair. I look over to my right, and watch as Milan’s hands are being wrapped.

If he wasn’t about to fight, I probably would still be lying down on some corner, taking a nap until it would be my turn to compete.

Milan pounds on his fists, checking his wraps a final time. He begins to stretch and move around. I’m still just trying to lay back and conserve as much energy as possible.

My brother Paolo starts to holds pads for Milan. He will be in both of our corners today.

I give up on finding a comfortable position, so I get up from my seat and walk over to the center of the venue, where a worn down looking cage has been set up. I grab its fence from the outside, shaking and pulling on it a little. I’m checking to see how much movement it allows, trying to get a better feel for this new fighting surface.

Yep, this isn’t Muay Thai anymore.

I’m listed for bout number two, and they seem to be following the schedule this time around. I’m watching the opening fight unfold, and I remain unruffled. I’m actually finding myself in tune with what’s happening.

That was a nice armbar attempt, if only he had the guy’s thumb pointing upward.

Paolo is helping pick out my gear, and we both scout the guy at the other end of the room. He figures I’m facing a predominantly Muay Thai fighter, based on how he’s doing his warm-up drills.

This calmness that I’m feeling is both relaxing and a bit bothersome at the same time. After all, I do need a healthy amount of nerves and not be overconfident, right?

This fight gets stopped just before the end of the first round. I’m next. My mind starts to go blank.

Just like in my debut, I feel a switch in my brain flip.

All of a sudden, I am back on that same autopilot mode, but with just a tad bit more confidence this time.

“Blue corner, Ordoñez!” the announcer calls me out on the mic. “Get ready!”

“Just sit down and relax. I got this,” Paolo tells me as I try to check on them again.

He’s right. I can’t repeat the same mistakes from the last time I coached someone before fighting. I want to help more, but I also can’t get too emotional. I can’t have spikes of adrenaline for someone else’s bout.

Paolo is also coaching today. Trust them. Save all that energy for your fight.

“Why am I always super nervous when it’s not me that’s fighting??” I blurt out as I feel my heart pounding.

I realize that might not have been the best thing to say out loud next to Milan’s loved ones, who are probably much more anxious than I am. I awkwardly try to laugh it off, and assure them that Milan is more than prepared for all of this.

I tell them about his massive strides in the gym. I tell them he destroys me on the ground every time. I’m not sure if I’m helping.

I see that Milan has worn all of his fight gear, so I get up to talk to him.

“When he throws, fire back, then clinch up and put him on the fence,” I tell him. “Trust your striking. We’ve done the work and you’ve improved so much.”

Milan knows all of this already. We’ve drilled it countless times, but it’s worth repeating.

“He’ll be explosive early, so if he defends your initial takedowns, don’t worry about it. Just strike on every break then repeat,” I give him more instructions and tap him on his shoulder as he walks toward the cage. “Defend, counter, and clinch, over and over. Wear him down and your takedowns will get easier.”

Milan goes up the steps, and they lock the cage door behind him. I give him a final reminder.

“Keep it simple! Discipline on defense, and don’t rush anything.”

My heart is racing again.

As soon as we touch gloves, my opponent instantly throws a big overhand right. It lands flush on my left cheek. It throws me a bit off-balance, but I remain unflustered. I’m somewhat relieved for those concussion-inducing sparring rounds I went through during camp.

Thank god I’ve been hit way harder than this.

I continue to move forward with a two-punch combination, before engaging a clinch off the fence. I specifically drilled this over and over during the last few weeks of training and made sure it became almost second nature.

In a matter of seconds, I break his balance with a double-leg takedown and he falls to the mat. I continue to put pressure from up top before transitioning to full mount. As I try to move up to high mount, he bridges out and flips me over to reverse positions.

I end up on the bottom, in full guard. I immediately break his posture by clamping my right arm on his neck, as my left hand holds an overhook on his right arm. I flip him over and land back on mount with the exact modified scissor sweep I used in last year’s fight.

“Nice. Pound, pound, pound!” I hear my corner saying.

I oblige by slamming right fists onto his face, as my left hand holds up his extended arm. He tries to bump his hips up and throw me off balance, but to no avail, as I make sure to lock him in place.

“Bridge out, bridge out!” the opposing coach yells from the other side of the cage. Her fighter isn’t going anywhere this time around.

I see his face redden and his eyes tear up from absorbing all these punches. I continue this ground-and-pound sequence until the final moments of the round.

“Nice, niiice!” I hear Anton saying from the corner.

The whistle signaling the last ten seconds sounds off. I land a few more punches before throwing a last-ditch armbar attempt to hopefully finish strong. The bell rings and the round is over.

Alright, we got this.

“How’s your cardio?”

It’s the first thing I ask Milan in between rounds, even if I already know the answer.

“I’m fine,” he responds.

“He came out with that big punch early. Expect him to be even more desperate now, so be careful of those first few power shots,” I tell Milan, before giving him a sip of water.

“He doesn’t use the fence properly to defend takedowns, so just do the same thing. Back him up, then take him down from there.”

The referee signals cornermen to exit the cage as the next round is about to begin. Paolo grabs Milan’s stool and we give more advice before going back down the steps.

“Do the same, but be careful of his first shots.”

Our original game plan was to pressure my opponent towards the fence and drown him with strikes. I was even hoping to connect a few knees to the body and head to end the fight standing.

That’s off the table now. I just see the same opening as we enter the second round, and I decide to shoot for another double-leg off the fence. I complete the takedown and land inside his guard, right in front of his corner.

“Place your foot on his hip,” I hear one of the coaches instruct him.

He manages to create some space by kicking me off a bit, but I also see an opportunity to capitalize. I slide my right knee in, drop my right shoulder to his chest, and transition to side control.

“Nice pass!” I hear Paolo saying from our corner.

I hold the position for a while before inching to knee-on-belly, then to full mount again.

“Fight to finish, fight to finish! Let’s go, let’s go!” the referee urges me.

I land more punches while all my weight is on his chest. His corner is starting to get frustrated.

“Bridge out, bridge out! What are you doing??” one of the opposing coaches yells.

Sorry, guys. Your boy isn’t getting out of here.

As I keep punching him, I start to feel some lactic acid build-up. My right arm is getting heavier and heavier as I switch back from hammer fists to straight punches. I start to worry a bit, as I hear the referee’s calls to not throw “baby punches.”

Milan is constantly pouring on the strikes and his opponent is starting to look helpless on the ground. He’s in his element, and I don’t really need to give him much instructions from this position.

“Ref, he’s not doing anything anymore,” I just tell the referee from outside the cage, wondering why he’s allowing this one-sided beating to go on this long.

Someone then taps me on the shoulder.

“Anton Tabuena? Go to the waiting area on the opposite corner and get ready. You’re fighting soon,” an official tells me.

“What? Shouldn’t there be four or five more fights?” I respond, a bit irked that they’re trying to get me out of Milan’s corner right now. He then explains that other competitors haven’t showed up, so I would be bumped up a few bouts earlier.

“Okay, but can you at least just let me finish coaching my friend?”

As soon as he nods, I quickly go back to my position cageside. Milan is still raining down punches from full mount.

Phew! Okay, good. He’s still in control.

If something bad happened during that interruption, I would’ve been more annoyed at them. It’s also a huge relief that Milan is performing so well. It means I can relax and start shifting my mindset from coaching to getting ready to step in there myself.

I continue to throw labored punches. My opponent just grunts from underneath, and the referee threatens to stop the fight.

“No, no, no!” my opponent yells out with both hands covering his face.

I’m now throwing left hooks to the side of his head, while the opposing corner continues to urge their fighter to bridge out from underneath me.

I hear the whistle to signal the last ten seconds of the match, and I am enveloped with an immense feeling of relief.

I throw a few more punches and the final bell sounds. The fight is over.

I have to admit; I’m a bit worried that the decision won’t go my way. That’s the pessimist in me talking, I guess.

“Your winner, by unanimous decision,” the announcer’s voice blasts through the speakers. “From the blue corner, Milan Ordoñez!”

Milan’s hand is raised by the referee, and a gold medal is put around his neck. Milan’s family comes over to offer congratulatory high fives to us in his corner, and everyone is in a great mood from this accomplishment.

“Dominance!” I tell Milan with a smile, patting his back and congratulating him as he exits the cage.

He goes over to greet his family and friends. I have the urge to join in and celebrate, but I leave them for a minute and pull Paolo aside. I tell him about my conversation with the official.

“I’m fighting soon. Help me get ready.”

I sit with my girlfriend and family, and I’m still trying to soak this all in. Another fight is in the books, along with a 2-0 record to be proud about for now.

This entire experience was similar, yet completely different from last year’s. I employed the exact same strategy, but the confidence I got from the half a year of training helped a great deal.

If I decide to fight again soon, I’ll be given a bigger step up in competition, against more experienced fighters. That could be my make-or-break moment, the deciding factor on whether I’ll fight professionally or not.

I know it’ll be another grueling few months of training, but I’m liking my chances, especially with the same team around me.

In the meantime, I will enjoy this hard-earned win.

I grab my cup and mouthpiece, and I’m rushing over the opposite side of the venue. I’m slightly bumping over some of the people in the audience, murmuring apologies as I squeeze through and look for the official from the red corner.

Paolo is following behind me, carrying our training gear.

“Tabuena,” I tell the first official I find, pointing at my name on his list. “They told me I’m fighting soon?”

“You’re here. Good,” he responds. “Your opponent has been getting ready.”

I look across the cage and I see this muscular guy in the back, moving and jumping around. I’m already worrying about repeating past mistakes and not having proper time to prepare.

Do I even have enough time to warm up?

---

Previous ‘From Writing to Fighting’ editions:
[ Opening Round | Second Round ]
[ Brothers in Arms | Millennial Medals ]
[ Coaching a Colleague | Preparing for Pressure ]

Tom Szczerbowski-USA TODAY Sports

Watch the early and official weigh ins for Saturday’s UFC card in Uruguay.

The UFC hosts an event in Montevideo, Uruguay, and it will be headlined by a flyweight title bout between Valentina Shevchenko and Liz Carmouche. Also on the card, Mike Perry will take on Vicente Luque in what could be a promising slugfest.

Before those bouts can be finalized though, the fighters first have to tip the scales on their contracted weights.

The early and official weigh ins are underway and you can watch it on the live stream below:

The ceremonial weigh ins can be watched at 5 p.m. ET on the stream below:

The full fight card is as follows:

V. Shevchenko vs. Liz Carmouche

Vicente Luque vs. Mike Perry

Humberto Bandenay vs. Luiz Garagorri

Volkan Oezdemir vs. Ilir Latifi

Oskar Piechota vs. Rodolfo Vieira

Enrique Barzola vs. Bobby Moffett

Ciryl Gané vs. Raphael Pessoa

Tecia Torres vs. Marina Rodriguez

Raulian Paiva vs. Rogério Bontorin

Geraldo de Freitas vs. Chris Gutierrez

Alex da Silva vs. Rodrigo Vargas

Gilbert Burns vs. Alexey Kunchenko

Polyana Viana vs. Veronica Macedo

Photo by Mike Roach/Zuffa LLC/Zuffa LLC via Getty Images

Colby Covington is still trying too hard to drum up controversy.

Colby Covington is still trying so hard to make people care about him. Following up to his tasteless remark about Matt Hughes’ accident, the MAGA hat wearing fighter has now decided to remain “controversial” by bringing up the passing of former Blackzilians founder Glenn Robinson.

“The guy’s a piece of shit,” Covington said about Kamaru Usman in an interview with Submission Radio. “He was ducking me for so long when Glenn Robinson was his manager, that Glenn Robinson died from it… Because he was, he was ducking me so hard and wouldn’t fight me.

“So you know, it’s pretty sad. The guy… the guy is fake. No one cares about him. I’m gonna end him soon. I promise you guys that.”

Robinson passed away less than a year ago.

This “trash talk” isn’t witty, nor does it even make any sense. It’s again just another obvious attempt to just drum up controversy, but at what cost? Sure he’d get a headline or two from people like me in the media, but is constantly trying to one up his own cheap remarks actually going to make people pay to see him fight?

Related: On offense and offensiveness: Covington is turning trash talk into something worse

Despite previously holding a belt and having the President of the United States promoting his Twitter, he still has one of the fewest followers in the welterweight top 10. He clearly doesn’t have a big fan base, so if his goal is for people to “hate watch” his fights, it doesn’t seem to be working either.

Covington’s last bout reportedly had the lowest ticket sales in the eight trips UFC has made to Newark. This ESPN card also had by far the fewest viewers in the UFC’s five events with the company.

He’s mocked someone’s life threatening injuries, and has now gone for people who recently passed. He’s probably going to up that and badly deliver another crude insult soon, making more enemies for life in this MMA business. Will it even be worth it?

I guess we’ll have to wait and see. In the mean time, here’s the rest of his “trash” talk from Submission Radio. It’s supposedly about Usman, but it seems more apt about his own personality.

“The guy’s a piece of shit,” Covington said. “Dude I’ve just heard from so many people like, how he’s so fake and he just acts like he’s some superstar. And he acts like he’s better than people.

“So, you know, he has no personality. Literally, Tyron Woodley had more charisma than him right now. That’s sad, Tyron Woodley has zero charisma, so you math — you know that’s in the negative for Martin FakeNewsman.”

You have been warned.

In this Muay Thai bout from Lion Fight 57 this past weekend, shin met forearm, and the forearm lost, badly.

These bone breaks have always been one of my worst nightmares when competing. But while they’re relatively uncommon, I guess these devastating injuries are really part of the hurt business.

You’ve been warned in advance about the nature of this video, but if you’re still willing, you can watch Magalie Alvarez defeat Andy Nguyen with a forearm shattering kick below.

The bout was officially called at the 14 second mark of the second round, and Alvarez was awarded with the TKO win via injury. Alvarez improved her record to 4-1, while Nguyen dropped to 1-1.

In the main event of Lion Fight 57, it saw England’s Salah Khalifa (39-7) win a super welterweight bout against CSA gym’s Eddie Abasolo (11-3), taking a unanimous decision with the scores of 48-47, 49-46 and 49-46.

Photo by Josh Hedges/Zuffa LLC/Zuffa LLC via Getty Images

Cain Velasquez showed off some of his athleticism.

Saturday night, Cain Velasquez made his professional wrestling debut at AAA’s biggest event, Triplemania XXVll. After about a year of training, the former UFC champion shined during his debut, and showed off some of his athleticism as well.

Watch the clips below that had his teammate Daniel Cormier also raving about the moves he pulled off.

Here’s quick results from the match, courtesy of our more pro-wrestling savvy friends over at cageside seats:

Cain Velasquez, Cody Rhodes, & Psycho Clown defeated Texano, Taurus, & Killer Kross. Kross was the surprise luchador. Velasquez won the match via kimura submission on Texano. Velasquez was legit in luchador talent considering his level of training. Velasquez wrestled in a bull horn mask. Kross had peach fuzz hair. I got the feeling that maybe mask vs hair for Cain vs Kross is in the future.

Velasquez’s UFC contract allows him to continue doing pro-wrestling while also balancing his MMA career. He last fought in February, losing by TKO to top contender Francis Ngannou.