56-0

56-0T wasn't the cast that bothered him--the thing was like rock, like a weapon, and that was just how he would use it--and it wasn't the hyperextended knee or the hip pointer or the yellowing contusions seeping into his thighs and hams and lower back, or even the gouged eye that was swollen shut and drooling a thin, pale liquid the color of dishwater; no, it was the humiliation. Fifty-six to nothing. That was no mere defeat, it was a drubbing, an ass-kicking, a rape, the kind of thing the stati...