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TIME Ideas The Knockout Game: Erik Kochs Perfect Punches

Kerry Howley is the author of Thrown.

The ref checked his hands. Duke vaselined Eriks cheeks, and for a moment Erik stood perfectly still, eyes closed, as Duke rubbed two greased thumbs over his cheekbones. Brown-orange complected, head shaved, Erik was a completely different creature than he had been in Vegas. Instead of looking ill in a recognizable way, he looked simply other, glowing brown-orange under the lights, shadows over his sunken eyes, under his pecs and neck, under each tiny ripple of stomach. He accepted a hug from Duke, a hug from Pettis, and stepped through the cage door to a bright, white, sterile cage. He had never fought first before, never seen a cage so clean.

Raphael Assuno walked out, singing along to his entrance music. He was four inches shorter than Erik, with broad muscles unlike anything on Eriks body. He had a flat brown fighters nose, a wide brow, dark stubble about his mouth.

Are you ready? the ref shouted to Erik. Erik, looking grim, gave a thumbs up. Are you ready? the ref shouted to Assuno, and he nodded. Lets fight, said the ref, clapped, backed himself toward the cage.

Here we go! said the TV color man.

Erik runs in and leans low on his legs, almost squattingthe stance of a man preparing to be pulled down, afraid to be knocked off balance by an opponent five inches shorter than himself. And yet even in this awkward fearful hunch Erik moves so fast he is hard to see, arms up and down, hands fisted then palms open, a step here and a step thereto Assunos every motion, three in response. Erik kicks high with the kick that had downed Cisco but Assuno just throws an arm in front of his face, blocks it. The TV color man compares Erik to Anthony Pettislong and lean, that reachas Erik carefully hops toward Assuno, and Assuno carefully hops away. Assuno stops his slow backward walk, swings, misses, and backs away more. They are falling into a partnered pattern, rarely touching, forward and back. Hes got that right hand loaded, the color man says of Assuno, and its true, Assuno is just waiting for the moment to lunge that right hand into Eriks face, knock him to the ground. Assuno throws a high kick, and Erik pops away with a single deft jump, so smooth it seems Erik knew where Assuno was headed long before he threw. Assuno swings, misses, and Erik does not retaliate.

Come on guys, shouts someone from the crowd, this is a contact sport!

Just throw! shouts Duke from behind the cage.

Erik is afraid of losing focus; the fight is a minute and a half in; he feels that he must end the fight or hell simply fall. But he hasnt yet found a range, and there is that loaded right hand. A normal fight for Erik is a moment of total absorption, but with the newfound cloudiness, the way it throws him off, he must somehow keep track of his own body in addition to Assunos. It is as if Erik is standing outside himself, reminding his body to do what it is told. Its all so unstable, the bodys obedience so subject to chance, that Erik is desperate for a way out.

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The Knockout Game: Erik Kochs Perfect Punches