He walks through the hall with a heavyweight stare. Shoulders squared up like he owns the air. Picks on the quiet kids, laughs too loud. Always showing off for the hallway crowd. Says he’s undefeated when the stories grow. But everybody in the gym already knows. When the whistle blows and the match gets tight. He’s face-down counting ceiling lights. The mat don’t lie, the mat don’t play. Big talk gets pinned at the end of the day. Run those laps, better pick up speed. Every loss is another lap guaranteed. The mat don’t lie, no alibi. Tough guy talk can’t touch the sky. He can shove, he can shout, he can act all mean. But the scoreboard knows what the hallway’s seen. He flexes by the lockers like a movie star. But he’s wheezing by the bleachers, not getting far. Got a mean little laugh and a champion pose. But he trips on his ego wherever he goes. He says, “Next time, man, I had that won”. Then coach says, “Good, now give me one”. One more lap for the match he blew. One more lap for the attitude too. The mat don’t lie, the mat don’t play. Big talk gets pinned at the end of the day. Run those laps, better pick up speed. Every loss is another lap guaranteed. The mat don’t lie, no alibi. Tough guy talk can’t touch the sky. He can shove, he can shout, he can act all mean. But the scoreboard knows what the hallway’s seen. Says the ref was blind, says the floor was slick. Says the other guy pulled some kind of trick. But coach just points where the runners go. And says, “Move those sneakers, nice and slow”. Round and round under gym-class lights. The mat don’t lie on Friday nights. Round and round to a losing beat. Big talk running on tired feet.
