I don't know what other fighters do, but when I get hit and go

Hear the fiery words of Naseem Hamed, the Prince of the ring, whose style was as dazzling as his spirit: “I don’t know what other fighters do, but when I get hit and go down, I smile and I say, ‘I’m going to hit you harder than you hit me, and I’m going to knock you out.’ The times I go down and get back up—that’s when I’m the most dangerous.” These words are not only about the craft of boxing, but about the essence of resilience, the art of turning defeat into power, and the warrior’s creed that the truest danger lies not in the one who never falls, but in the one who rises with renewed fury.

The meaning of his words lies in the paradox of the smile amidst pain. To most, a knockdown is shame, fear, or weakness. But Hamed transforms it into fuel. His smile is not denial of hurt, but defiance against it. It is the signal that he has absorbed the blow, tasted the dust, and chosen not despair but retaliation. He reveals the ancient truth: that suffering can either break a man or sharpen him, and the choice belongs to the spirit. The fighter who finds strength in the fall becomes more fearsome than the one who has never been struck.

History speaks of such warriors. Recall Alexander the Great at the Battle of Issus, pressed hard by Darius’ forces. His men faltered, and for a moment, the tide seemed lost. Yet Alexander, wounded and bloodied, did not despair. Instead, he rode harder, struck fiercer, and broke the enemy line with renewed determination. Like Hamed, he was most dangerous after being struck, for his resolve was not weakened but magnified. Greatness, in every age, belongs not to those who never stumble, but to those who rise stronger after the stumble.

There is also wisdom in the vow: “I’m going to hit you harder than you hit me.” This is not merely revenge; it is the spirit of overcoming. In life, we are all struck—by failure, by betrayal, by hardship. The question is not whether we will be knocked down, but how we will rise. To answer with greater strength than the blow we received is to turn adversity into mastery. The world expects defeat to crush us; but when we answer with renewed power, we astonish, we inspire, and we conquer.

And consider too the danger of the one who rises. For the opponent, the knockdown is meant to finish the fight, to sap the spirit. But when the fallen man rises with a smile, he steals the enemy’s confidence. He reveals that their strongest weapon has failed, and now their own fear begins. Thus Hamed declares himself “most dangerous” not when untouched, but when tried and tested. This is the law of warriors, ancient and eternal: the battle is not won by those who never fall, but by those who refuse to stay down.

The lesson for us, O seekers, is plain. In your own life, when you are struck down—by failure, by grief, by rejection—do not hide your face in shame. Instead, rise with a smile, not of mockery, but of defiance and resolve. Say within yourself: “I will answer this blow with greater strength.” In this way, every trial becomes a forge, shaping you into something more dangerous, more resilient, more unbreakable than before.

Therefore, let each one act: embrace the fall as teacher, rise with courage as weapon, and smile amidst the trial as a declaration that you are not broken. Meet life’s hardest strikes with fiercer resolve, and you will become, like Hamed, “most dangerous” in your moments of recovery.

Thus, the teaching is eternal: The measure of a warrior is not in how often he stands, but in how fiercely he rises after falling. The smile of defiance, the heart that grows stronger in adversity—these are the marks of the indomitable soul, which no blow can conquer.