I think I'll call him....

....Rocky.

Here is opponent number 1, measuring in at 13 and 3 quarters inches, thick, lush, wet and green....the current reigning champion.....The Unkempt Backyard.

(whooo hooo, yeaaaah-- try as he might, Rocky's operator is unable to sway the surrounding audience members to join in the booing and hissing)


And in this corner we have opponent number 2, with 10" wheels and 5 rotating blades and a 20" cutting width....Rocky!

(The boo's ring through the audience --Rocky's operator is the only one cheering. He abruptly stops as he sees a heavy shouldered man who looks disturbingly like Tony Soprano lift his meaty right hand--complete with pinky ring-- and taps his extended index finger on pursed lips.)



Battle ensues. Unkempt Backyard left no mercy for little Rocky's debut fight. Left. Right. Left, left, left. Hook. Slippery grass. Whhttsh, whttsh, whhttsh was the sound of Rocky's parry's and counter attacks. Whhttsh, whttsh, whttsh. Slippery, wet grass. Choked blades. Whhttsh, whhtsh.

The operator huffed and puffed with arms straining throwing Rocky into a towering opponent. Whhttsh, whttsh, whttsh. Rocky didn't give up. He fought. He knocked a path down and caught the deliquent blades on subsequent passes. Whttsh, whttsh, whttsh. His voice was stronger now, whttttsh, whttttsh, whttttsh as his opponent was beaten back against the ropes.

However Rocky grew tired, deliquent blades remained defiant. He was the little engine that could, whttttsh, whttttsh, whttttsh. Rocky fought and fought. In the end, Rocky was declared the winner despite the subprime conditions for his debut fight.



Above you can see Rocky stand tall, with his defeated opponent wailing for mercy in the background. Rocky retired to the shed for a few days off and hoped before his next battle he would receive some precious WD-40...however, lubrication or no, he knew he wouldn't be given an uphill fight like that again for some time.