At the end of the twelfth round, both boys showed many signs of wear. Roger's cheeks were as red as the glow of a jet blast deflector from the hundreds of lefts Tom had pumped into his face, while Tom's ribs and mid-section were bruised and raw where Roger's punches had landed successfully.
It couldn't last much longer, thought Astro, as he called time for the beginning of the thirteenth round.
Roger quickened his pace, dancing in and out, trying to move in under Tom's lefts, but suddenly Tom caught him with a right hand that was cocked and ready. It staggered him and he fell back, covering up. Tom pressed his advantage, showering rights and lefts everywhere he could find an opening. In desperation, his knees buckling, Roger clinched tightly, quickly brought up his open glove and gouged his thumb into Tom's eyes. Tom pulled back, instinctively pawing at his eye with his right glove. Roger, spotting the opening, took immediate advantage of it, shooting a hard looping right that landed flush on Tom's jaw. Tom went down.
Unaware of Roger's tactics, Astro jumped into the ring and his arm pumped the deadly count.
"One—two—three—four—"
It was going to be tough if Roger won, Astro thought, as he counted.
"Five—six—"
Arrogant enough now, he would be impossible to live with.
"Seven—eight—"
Tom struggled up to a sitting position and stared angrily at his opponent in the far corner.