Have you ever been in a fight?

I was always a pipsqueek growing up, so I usually found ways to keep out of trouble or knew how to talk fast when someone got pissed off at me. Like the time the fattest kid in school found out that I was telling people he stunk like shit (because he did). Sensing he was ready to throw down and knowing that any punches I threw would be ineffective, I quickly convinced him that the guy who told him was a habitual liar and was lying to him about what I said.

Had two real chances to get into fights, first when I was in seventh grade some jackass sixth grader threw a bat at my sister. He missed, but I wasn't going to stand for it and got in his face all ready to whoop his ass. He started acting like a dipshit which just frustrated me to the point where I left.
The second time was one of my friends was getting picked on as we rode the school bus home. So we got off and I tackled the guy who was being a jerk. Thought about pounding his face in and I'm pretty sure he was getting ready for his face to get pounded. Of course my fear of getting punched back got the better of me and I let him go.

The only fight where I actually threw and took punches was a staged boxing match where my buddy and I got talked into boxing and neither of us really wanted to. We threw some token punches that did absolutely nothing to each other and finally stopped because we both got tired. Realized then just how much of a workout boxing can be. Once we got done, there was some random guy who told us what a shitty fight it was and proceed to tell us some bullshit about getting jumped by 10 guys but he claimed he won because he started talking shit and threw them off.

 

I always laugh at the debates over the best athletes. There are boxers ... and everyone else.

 

I have one pretty good boxing story. At my first paper, there was a local lightweight (if I recall correctly) who was apparently pretty good. Worked his way into a bit of prominence, then got a shot on an ESPN Friday night matchup. Lost a close decision, but still ... you gotta be pretty damn good to get that far.

Anyway, couple years go by and he's pretty much done with it. Takes his kid to a Clemson-South Carolina game (he was a Gamecock fan), which the Chickens won. On the way out of the stadium, some fool Clemson fan grabs the SC flag out of his back pocket and snaps it in half. Our guy says, OK, that was for my kid, you're gonna buy me another one. Guy says make me.

Before it was over that guy was begging for the chance to go to a flag vendor.

 

A lot of times, the attempt to break them up resulted in me getting punched more than the original combatants. Also meant I got to do some as well.

 

I would rate amateur wrestlers above boxers. Hardest work I have ever done was a three-round match.

 

Got into my share of scrapes when I was a kid, but nothing as an adult.
I think the closest I came was when the wife and I were leaving a bar one Saturday night. I had the trunk open while she transferred from her wheelchair to the car, and some drunk fool saw the open trunk and started to climb in thinking it was his car. I spotted him and shouted, but instead of backing away and apologizing he started to bow up. He was about my size (average) and probably 20 years older and drunk (I wasn't), so I figure I can take him and stand my ground while firmly telling him to back off. One of his buddies finally saw what was going on and pulled him away, but I think we were both ready to throw down. My protector instinct had kicked in, and I think his drunken dumbass instinct had kicked in.

 

You gots some strange locals

 

One time I was 17 and working as a waiter at Steak n Shake in Houston. I worked on the outside for the cars driving in for curb service.

One night it was near closing and I was sweeping the lot. These three guys in their 20s come out of the restaurant, and a couple of them throw beer cans on the ground. Not sure how they snuck the beer inside.

I tell them I am cleaning up and ask them to pick those up, and they just laughed and told me to sweep them up, I missed a spot, etc.

The pulled out in their Camaro and it pissed me off, so I threw one of the empty beer cans at the car, thinking it would not sail very well and was really an empty, angry gesture.

Instead, it hit their hubcap and made a loud clang. The guys started yelling and pulled next door. They all got out, and this one guy brings the puny BB gun rifle. They were all about my size and seemed more drunk than anything.

I walked straight up to the guy with the BB gun and he raised it a few inches from my head. I told him if he pulled the trigger I would kick his ass so bad and make him eat that popgun.

So they went back to their car. I went to get the tray from the last customer, nerves all jangling.

He said I was an idiot for doing that. I said the BB would hurt like hell but ...

He said that wasn't a BB gun, that was a .22 and at that range I'd be dead.

I haven't thrown stuff at cars since.

 

Dude, details?

 

I never got into fights as a youngster, but after my parents divorced when I was in third grade I got into a ton of fights. I fought kids older than me, younger than me -- it didn't matter. I'm not saying I was some badass, but I learned early that punches to the face don't hurt that much -- they're more of a shock than pain -- and I could still throw after being hit.

I got my ass kicked in seventh grade, and I got a black eye in high school when I was drunk and fucking around with a guy's until-that-night girlfriend (they were on the outs, but still).

The last fight I got into was at a bar in Owensboro, Ky. The Boiler Room, it was. Anyway, me and a buddy were out on the big patio watching karaoke, and some dude at the next table just started giving us shit for no reason. We were more perplexed than anything and went on with our night, even getting up to do a truly brutal duet on Wooly Bully. Probably a half-hour and a couple of beers later, my buddy got up to sing Sixteen Tons. At some point during that, the guy said something like Go fuck yourself, and that was it. I tackled him and my buddy yelled from the stage, Get him, Swingline! and came running. Me and the dude were rolling around on the ground when a bartender I kind of knew broke it up. I got a cut on my finger from broken glass on the ground, but that was it.

They kicked all of us out of the bar.

These days, I'm married with two daughters, so the opportunity to find myself in a fight doesn't happen, well, ever. I'm not scared of anything, and I'd fight if I have to -- especially if someone in my family is getting hurt, and then I'd fuck you up something terrible. But I'm certainly not looking for a fight. I'd rather buy a guy a beer and move on in peace.

 

I'll have you know that's the Ohio spirit that produces every dickhead college football coach in America.