Before: "I'm the best fighter in boxing today," Jovovich tells a stunned press gallery, apparently sincere in her estimation, "Laetitia Casta isn't serious competition for me. I'm faster - she knows this - I'm more skilled, better conditioned. We've fought many times in Europe and turning back Casta is the sweetest victory I can have. After I dismantle her for the FCBA title, there only remains the issue of stripping her of her Ice Hotel crown - a bauble she has held for far too long. And after that, I truly believe Laetitia will be a broken woman. Broken by me: Milla Jovovich!"

Casta arms crossed, lips pursed as she sits through the Jovo-tirade: it's still a shock to the French Vixen that Milla sits atop the throne at lightweight. "Tearing title belts away from Krusher waists is delicious enough," Laetitia allows, "tearing it from MILLA'S waist will be a dream come true. Cherie - I will batter you - I will leave you on your back. Are you prepared for that Milla? (Jovovich up out of her seat and lunging - Casta rising to meet her as security rushes in - circus breaks out as both girls leave better judgements far behind them. Fines all around - tawdry conduct deplored in Tractorpull Magazine - European gals just can't get enough of one another.)

Milla in peach bikini with ruffles, curly brown hair. Casta in leopard print bikini, hair up (Aristide ref). During stare-down, Laetitia leans in to air-kiss Jovovich's cheek, but Milla won't have it: another tawdry scuffle breaks out as fighters grapple up - fight delayed several minutes as officials struggle to restore order.

During R1: Jovovich quick, slick, stepping lively to her left and bedevilling Casta from long range. Laetitia turning, dukes up cheek high, she's trying to line Jovo up, but Milla darting in and out, pre-empting her French rival. Jovo pinning straight right hand leads to Casta's mouth, punching 'Tisha's head back tart n' tangy, grinning as she pivots away from receipts. Stiff jab parts 'Tisha's mitts - knock-knocking Casta's face back again. Direction changes sudden, sharp: Jovovich VERY sure footed, screwing up Casta's balance and jotting tight left/rights to the cheek before skipping away from danger. Casta already blushing in frustration: Milla executing like a champ, slicin' n' dicin', scoring brisk, then scooting away - she's beaming at the bell, cooing to Laetitia from across the ring. Casta fuming, embarrassed - corner works hard to calm her down long enough to get some instruction.

R2: Jovovich grinning, dancing well outside with her hands down, then scooting in with the lead right hand, sidestepping to get 'round Casta's right flank via silky-smooth pivot. Feints from Jovo, then a blinding jab, then a sharp hook onna cheek: pivot-left, and Jovovich's around Casta's right flank again. Laetitia lumping up nicely, but keeping her composure - she's stalking, prowling flat footed for maximum leverage, and half way through, she succeeds in timing Jovo on the hop, popping a straight right hand lead between Milla's mitts. Jovo's head banged back: she totters off balance to ropes, bounces forward a step and forms a temple-high guard at the perimeter as Casta scoots-to. Tip-tap, Casta: just a light left/right touching Milla in her gloves - Jovo thinks it's over, drops her mitts to hook and EATS LAETITIA'S WALLOPING HOOK INSTEAD! Shattering blast torques Milla's head, shuts off all the power to her legs - Ukrainian beauty corkscrews with a limp hooking motion of her own, sinking into the canvas and sprawling on her belly parallel to ropes directly in front of the Krusher bench. Heigl, Theron up out of their seats, screaming blue murder at Jovovich: "GET UP YOU LAZY COW! GET UP!" Laetitia grinning as ref waves this thing off at the sight of Jovo's deep slumber - no way she beats a 10 count: MEDIC!!! KO2 in spectacular fashion, Laetitia Casta.

After: Casta grinning, making a great show of wiping first her right foot, then the left on Milla's peach-pantied backside, then resting the foot in the small of Milla's back while leaning forward on the ropes to taunt outraged Krushers ringside. Security holding Theron and Co. back - rich French slap in the face scalding to proud beauties who consider Laetitia nothing more than cannon fodder. In the aftermath, Casta refuses the belts from FCBA officials, demanding that woozy Jovovich present them in person. Upon doing so, weepy Milla snivels in the grasp as Laetitia snakes her right arm around athletic Jovovich hips - ex-model takes ex-model for a blistering walk of shame. Casta never more radiant, waving to the crowd, kissing away Jovovich's tears - Milla turning her head away in disgrace at the hot brush of Laetitia's soft lips. Casta exulting in double triumph tonight - totally, decisively victorious. Le Monde Frappe news magazine show out of Paris interviews Casta in-ring and asks her if that hook was the hardest punch she's ever thrown.

"Oh, oui, most definitely," Laetitia nods vigorously. "When it landed, I felt the shudder through my body - like an orgasm, yes? Seriousement! Regardez! ('Tish arches her back, proudly presenting the finest chest in all Europe: the nipples are still rock hard, poking up like little corks behind the thin material of her swimsuit. Casta smiles wickedly: needless to say, she won't be mentioning this effect to the American press). No word as yet on whether Casta will splinter the belts to initiate a new feeding frenzy at lightweight: the FCBA hangs in the balance, awaiting the TU announcement.