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Show Flying - 133 to be easy. John Henry shuffles forward and throws a left jab, very professional but about a foot short. He has to jump back when Tovar flails out with both thick arms, no expression on his face at all. Somebody from the other side yells: "Get him Tovar. Kill the little fucker." That's me they're after. "Stay away from him, John. Box him. Keep moving," says O'Connell. No problem. Tovar just stands there, makes no move to follow. He stands with his fists hanging at his sides and waits for John Henry to come to him. Carefully, with the image of the big flailing arms in his mind, John Henry crouches and shuffles forward again, throws another jab, also too short. The audience begins to jeer. He tries again and this time lands a solid right to Tovar's face before he has to jump back. He looks, expecting Tovar to stagger and fall, but the man still stands, not a whit changed, no trace of the blow to be seen. One more time, baby. One more time and we're bound to get him. Black glove held high to shield his face, peering carefully around his left fist, John Henry moves once more to the attack. Two quick steps forward in the thick dust, |