I just watched that Jamall Emmers knockout from UFC Sacramento. That clean one-two? Hit different. Reminds me of last month, a 22-year-old kid came into the ER with a split knuckle after sparring. He swore he’d landed the same combo, even though his hand was throbbing so bad he could barely hold his phone. I stitched him up while he replayed the move in his head, ranting about how Emmers would’ve never messed up his form like that. After, I left a dark chocolate cookie on his tray. He smiled through the gauze. Small wins make the late shifts worth it.