I was hoping he would get up so I could hit him again and keep him down.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
Finally there was a moment when it just hit me. John wouldn't want me to sit on my butt for the rest of my life feeling sorry for myself or sorry for him. As cheesy as it sounds, he would have wanted us to go on.
Somebody hits me, I'm going to hit him back. Even if it does look like he hasn't eaten in a while.
He punched me. If that's his best punch, he'll be in trouble some day.
I want to hit him, step away and watch him hurt. I want his heart.
Then I heard another shot which hit him right in the head, over here, and his head practically opened up and a lot of blood and many more things came out.
Pitchers did me a favor when they knocked me down. It made me more determined. I wouldn't let that pitcher get me out. They say you can't hit if you're on your back, but I didn't hit on my back. I got up.
Now I am within thirty yards of him. He must fall. The gun pours out its stream of lead. Then it jams. Then it reopens fire. That jam almost saved his life.
Opportunity knocked. My doorman threw him out.
Something inside of me just said 'Hey, wait a minute, I want to beat him,' and I just took off.
He hit me 18 times while I was in the act of falling.