Page 186 - The Art of Learning by Josh Waitzkin_Neat plip book
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hard  with  a  four-strike  combination  that   scored  at  the  bel l.  Round   one   was  a
                tie, b arely.

                    The   second   round   is   always   played   with   the   left   foot   forward.   Fo r   some
                reason  my  opponent’s  structure  di dn’t  feel  qui te  as  solid  with  the  legs   reversed
                in  the  opening  position.  I  began  sinki ng   deepl y  on  my  attacks ,  playing   with
                feints,   tight  combinations,   and  misdi rection.   I  noticed   that   if  I  fake d   in   my

                mind,    without   even   moving,    he   felt   it   and   respo nded .   He   was   inc redi bl y
                sensitive to intention, so I started unbal anci ng  hi m with  inv isibl e attacks  tha t I
                pulsed  into  but  didn’t  actually  manifest  phy sically.  I  was  getting   in  hi s  he ad.
                He  felt  it  and  got  aggressive,  attacked   hard,  and   blasted  me  away.  But   no w  I

                had him attacking, and I knew I had  a deeper  root. I started receiving  hi s bl ows
                and  bouncing  him  off—won  a  bunch   of  point s.  Then   I  made  the   mistake   of
                coming  straight  in  and  he  threw  me  on  the  floor—t wo  po int s.  If  I  lowered  the
                sophistication  of  my  game  a  hair,  he  des troyed  me.  He  slipped   into  a  zone   and

                attacked  hard.  We  were  even  with  thr ee  seconds   to  go   in  the  round.  I  upr ooted
                him   with   a   four-prong   combination,    most   of   whi ch   di dn’t   actua lly   ha ppe n.
                Then I took the next point at the bell with a h uge s urge and w on t he  round.
                    Round  three,  right  leg  forward  agai n,  thi s  was  wher e  he  liked  it,  but   me

                too.  We  started  trading  points,  back  and  forth,  a  war.  My  team  was  cha nt ing
                Tiger,  Tiger  Buma  Ye.  (Bruce  used  to  call  me  Tiger  in  the  young  chess  days,  and
                it  stuck.)  The  rest  of  the  crowd  was  chanting   in   Mandar in.   They   loved   hi m,
                and  I  didn’t  blame  them.  Then  I  no ticed  a  hole.  He  had  found  the   solut ion  to

                my bear hug,  trapping my right forward  elbo w so I coul dn’t get out side  of hi m
                —but  if  I  flashed  my  mind  to  the  bear  hug,    in  jamming    it  he  ope ne d  up   hi s
                armpit  to  inside  pummeling  techni ques .      I  started  taking   the   unde rho ok   and
                tossing   him   left   and   right.   Every   point    I   was   playing   with   invisibl e   feint s

                which  he  somehow  felt,  and  then  I  expl oited  hi s  reactions .  Trippy   ide a.  I  was
                using  his  crazy  perceptiveness  agai nst  hi m.  Fi nal ly  I  caught   a  thr ow  whe re  I
                got  the  right  underhook  and  cranked   hi m  all  the  way  over  and  around  me.  He
                hit  the  ground  hard.  In  that  moment  I  felt  a  wave  of  sorrow—l ike   I  ki lled  the

                last   unicorn.   The   match    ended   and   we   hugged .   I   told   hi m   he    was   an
                inspiration.


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