Pedro’s gloves were smeared with the blood of the Irishman. His lightning left hook followed by a right cross had landed with pinpoint accuracy. The Irishman stumbled backwards and then lunged forward with an explosive haymaker that connected with Pedro’s temple. The crowd roared as Pedro “The Puncher” crashed to the center of the ring like a fallen oak. The referee shouted the ten count with his arm flailing at the downed boxer.

Pedro’s chin reverberated off the canvas as the Irishman stood in his corner smiling sardonically with his bloodstained mouthpiece. “The Puncher” was in a dream state as the referee’s count reached six. Suddenly, his arm began to move and his mind flipped back and forth from the past to the present. Was he still that frail, skinny boy in Ecuador, or was he really Pedro “The Puncher” fighting for the championship at Madison Square Garden?

Unfortunately, neither was true. These were only the fleeting thoughts of a dying murderer as the deadly cocktail of drugs passed through his veins at the Florida State Prison.

Some say justice was served as Pedro took his last breath. Far removed from the small innocent boy of his childhood, he didn’t become a boxer, but the victim of a violent world.