“Two rounds left, okay?” he said to start, with Clarke breathing heavily on his stool. “Listen, I’ve got you two behind, all right? Big breaths. You need these two rounds, Frazer. You need them. Honest to God, you need them. He’s just coming on with big shots, you’re holding, he’s nicking. Let your hands go. You keep leading with that right hand. You can’t lead with the right hand, son. He’s coming with that left hook. Right hand-left hook, and jab-right hook. You landed it lovely there, boom-boom. Next time, jab-right uppercut and bring it over, son. You’ve been in Manchester for four months, three months. I need to see a bit of grit, a bit of desire, a bit of determination. You want this. You sacrificed everything. You’ve only got six minutes to do it. That doesn’t mean go out like a headless chicken, but reset, round one, chin down, good basics, all right? Do you hear me? Punch to hurt, not punch to survive, all right?”
