Fight Night Round 3 Reader Review
I go toe to toe with my opponent; bobbing, weaving, trying to get inside. I'm throwing quite wildly, getting countered all too often, but I've done my heavy-bag and weight training, I know my chin can take it. My stamina's higher than his and I'm faster.
I see my opponents face whince as I catch him hard in the mid-section with my left upper-cut. I instantly let go of the left trigger and catch him full in the face with a right hook, then a left, then a right. I move back, jabbing to keep him from advancing, then I move in again. This time he reads me. I've used this combo too often in this round, so I get a haymaker in the face to politely remind me I actually have to think a little. Arrogantly, I step back and taunt him, making him lash out quickly, catching my jaw. It was worth it.
10 seconds to go and my punches are fading, I move back, making sure I score with some jabs to keep the judges and my corner-man happy. I can't fight like this for too many rounds without getting tired and useless, but I hurt hit him. 24.6% swelling on his left eye confirms that, along with the trickle of blood running into his mouth from his nose.
He comes out very defensively. He's parrying my jabs and I find I'm expending a little too much energy throwing punches that aren't hitting. I have an idea. I'll get in his face and make him punch me, parry him and open him up a little. My pixel-perfect fighter moves in with grace and style, the spotlights emphasing the tight muscle tone of his right arm. He jabs, I block. I jab he goes for me but misses, I open up. He's not happy. He backs away, with his eyes shut tight, gritted teeth and guard up. Rinse, repeat. This round is mine.
More of the same really. Unfortunately, where there's realism, there's not always unbridled excitement. Jab'n'move, jab'n'move. Take the bit big shots only when they're there. That's the game. That's boxing. That's also what I have to do if I want to claim my $100,000 dollar 4th round K.O. bonus. Money talks, my friend. That's the game. That's boxing.
Mr. Showtime steps out of his corner, Sugar Ray Leornard is looking a little too fresh for this Middleweight's liking. He's got a job to do. I've got a job to do.
Leornard seems to know this is going to be a slog by all hesitancy in coming forward. I know it's going to be a slog. I'm ready.
Jab to the head, jab to the body then Uppercut that right eye that his cornerman hasn't efficiently patched up. If he me, cover up and work to the body, back off with jabs and try again. That's my tactic. Last we fought I thoght I could out punch him. a 7th round K.O. proved I couldn't. Will these tactics work?
The rush I get as the camera goes into slow-mo is a feeling a game hasn't been able to give for a long time. I grit my teeth and clench the gamepad so hard as I admittedly start swinging like a mad-man. I've got him now. I've just got to put him down.
My fingers relax, I lean back and wipe my palms on my jeans. I smile to myself as I envisage Leonard's brain ramming the left-side of his skull as falls all too realistically to floor.
Someone asks me to move over and I'm parried back to the bus I've been sitting on. I shake my head, just as Mike "Mr. Showtime" Morriss did when Leornard put him down in the 6th. I sneer as I think back on how he out-fought me. He's the only one. 30 fight 29 K.O.'s: the blot on my scandscape. Hopefully the tactics in my daydream will work. Speaking of which, I've got 6 hours of it before I can pick up my pad again and sing along to 'Never Gonna Get It' as Mr. Showtime enters a packed auditorium. Maybe I can devise another way of taking Sugar Ray down while I'm there. I don't seem to be able to think about much else to be honest.
9 / 10