How To Win a Fight…or Die Trying.

I don’t fight people, at least not physically. As I write this, I’m 52 years old, and that’s just too old to fight. Truthfully, I never was much of fighter. Nevertheless, I’ve been in a few fights. I grew in Harlan County, Kentucky, deep in the mountains of Appalachia where people have a reputation of being rough and tough. I enjoyed no such reputation and for good reason. I am neither rough nor tough; however, these deficiencies give me great insight into the world of street fighting.

I haven’t been in fight in about 30 years or so. Even that fight was not impressive, as I was forced to fight a girl. You can read about that here. How, you might ask, would a man of such limited prowess ever even get in a fight? In my youth, I possessed two traits which made the occasional dust up unavoidable–a big mouth and small body. Pour strong drink into that mix, and you get in fights. The more I drank, the more I ran mouth. The more my mouth ran, the more people wanted to shut it. They would then size me up and determine that giving me a beating would be fairly easy.

I’m not offering any advice on how to start a fight. Starting one is easy. Mouth off, look funny at the wrong person, throw a punch and other offensive behavior will do the trick. I want you to know how to survive a fight. Here are the things you need to know:

PUNCHING IS OVERRATED

You know how in movies a guy will knock someone out with one punch? That doesn’t happen in real fights, except by accident. Hitting someone in the face is difficult. Unless you are battling Mr. Potato Head or the Elephant Man, the human head is a small target. Hitting it with one punch is almost impossible, especially if the person is trying NOT to get hit. The exception to this is the Sucker Punch (discussed below). The other problem is that punching a head only works if you hit the face. The rest of the head is very hard as it consists of a thin layer of flesh and a really hard human skull. Punching a skull hurts.

Punching someone can hurt the puncher more than the punchee. I suspect this is because hands are made for such things as holding pencils and tying shoes. They aren’t made for beating things, hence the invention of the hammer. If you punch someone two or three times in the face, your hands are going to be pretty banged up. That hurts.

If you must punch, know your targets. The nose is great because it hurts and bleeds like hell. You will at the very least stun your opponent, if only momentarily. The throat is great, too, but almost impossible to hit. Under the armpit or directly under the rib cage are great, too; however, if you miss even a little, you won’t do any damage.

Real life punching is also goofy looking. You won’t look like Floyd Mayweather throwing a punch. Your punch will more like a close-fisted slap. You also are likely to be throwing the punch off the wrong foot, destroying any leverage you might have had. You likely have the wrong kind of hands for punching, just like me. I have bony hands with sharp, protruding knuckles. I know that sounds good, but it isn’t. I’m not a doctor, but I’ve determined that human knuckles are made of some kind of styrofoam-like material that crushes easily. Hit something two or three times and your knuckles will swell up and be useless.

Note your author’s bony, protruding knuckles. These are ill-suited for a fist fight.

The best kind of fist for punching is a big, fat one that doesn’t even look like a fist. It looks like meat mallet. If you have those at the ends of your arms, use them.

KICKING IS UNDERRATED

Just as the punch gets way too much credit, the kick is virtually ignored. No, I’m not talking about some fancy karate-like spinning back kick. If you can do that, you should be out fighting all the time just to show off. I mean a kick like trying to kick someone in the testicles or the face.

The kick has several advantages. One, it doesn’t hurt like a punch. Two, it can create valuable space between you and your assailant (or victim, as the case may be). This space can be used for such tactics as running or head down bull rush. Third, if properly executed the kick delivers more force than a punch. The kick best applied when your opponent is on the ground. Despite what you’ve heard, kicking a man when he’s down is perfectly acceptable in a fight. In fact, it’s often necessary.

I must here mention the martial arts. I greatly respect any person who has mastered one of these ancient forms of self-defense. These people need no advice from the likes of me. Mastery is the key. As I once heard, martial arts teach you one of two things: (1) how to kill someone with your bare hands; or (2) just enough to get your ass kicked.

FIGHT DIRTY

This caption is deceptive. There isn’t any dirty fighting. If you want rules, become a boxer. Regular fights don’t have rules. Here are some moves to consider:

Sucker Punch: This is hitting a person when he doesn’t see if coming. This is the mark of coward, but it could win a fight for you before it starts.
Eye Gouging: This is an underutilized tactic. There are plenty of badasses who will dare you to punch them. None of them will dare you to gouge their eyes.
Groin Smash: If you’re male, I need say no more. If you’re female, well…I just don’t know what to tell you.
Clawing: I’m not talking about scratching (unless that’s necessary, of course). Clawing is similar to the gouge, except you can apply it anywhere (see Groin Smash above).
Rabbit Punch: This is a punch in the back of the head. This isn’t recommended because of the relative strength of the back of the human skull; however, you might want to just take a shot if you are running away.

These are just a few tactics you can use. During the heat of battle, you may think of many more. Try them all.

RUNNING

Running gets a bad rap. Many times, it is your last, best defense. The shame of running is no worse than the shame of getting a thorough beating and hurts it less. No one call tell you when to run. You must judge when the tide has turned. Profuse bleeding is usually a good sign. Unfortunately, many of us wait one punch or kick too late to utilize this move. For instance, I was once kicked in the stomach while on my hands and knees. At that moment, I thought “I need to run.” That thought was followed by another kick. Too late to run. Use your judgment.

AVOID WEAPONRY

I can’t emphasize this one enough. It’s bad enough to get in a fight. It’s even worse when you get killed. Weapons are good for that. For example, you might think hitting someone with a chair is a good move. You’ve seen movies and know that chairs splinter when they contact a human form. They don’t. They just hurt like hell (This all assumes you are strong enough to swing a chair like a club). You hit someone with a chair, beer mug, nunchucks, etc., and you better hope he doesn’t have access to something more deadly. You might find yourself at a gun fight armed with a chair.

CHOOSE YOUR OPPONENT

You don’t have to fight everyone with whom you have a conflict. If your potential opponent is a large, dangerous-looking man (or woman), you might want to think twice. You can save face by saying something like “Hey, dude, I don’t want any trouble.” That’s not cowardly. It has air of a man who has seen his share of trouble and wants to find a better way. If that doesn’t work, see RUNNING above.

Bear in mind, too, that there are people who actually like to fight. These people are deranged and will kill you. Avoid them. Sadly, usually we only discover this during the fight.

AVOID OLD MEN

I offer this for the young people. When you’re a young man, you feel indestructible to some extent. You are at your physical peak and look with pity at the middle-aged or older man, with his wife, kids, job and mortgage. This false sense of superiority often causes a young man to be mouthy or threatening. I know, for I was once young. Here’s some advice: Leave the old guys alone. Here’s why:

Old Man Strong: I don’t why–and science can’t explain it–but old guys are strong. They don’t look like it with their beer bellies and flabby arms, but they are. Even skinny old guys are strong. You will underestimate this, and he will beat your ass.
Old Man Don’t Care: Unlike a young fellow, an old guy isn’t concerned about losing a tooth or getting a black eye. He has no bright future ahead of him. He’ll wade right into you. It will catch off guard. Then you’re trouble.
Old Man Courage: Old guys don’t scare easily. Maybe it’s because they’ve seen a lot or maybe they just don’t give a damn. Fights are scary. They get your adrenalin pumping. Old guys don’t get rattled. They just wail away.
Old Man Mystery: Let’s say you’re a college age man and you get in a fight over something you said in a bar. Chances are that your opponent is about like you–college guy, drunk, mouthy, etc. You know what you’re dealing with. Now, add 30 years to that guy. For all you know, he got out of prison yesterday after 20 years for skinning some guy just like you. It’s best not to find out.
Old Man Army: He could also be Marines, Navy, Air Force or even Coast Guard. If you fight an old fellow, you just might be locking horns with a military veteran. Bad, bad move. These guys are just waiting for someone like you. It’s better to apologize and buy him a drink.

Just as boxers should stay in their weight class, you should stay in your age class. If you are an old guy, at some point, some young guy will mouth off to you. Have at it.

Those are my tips. Of course, none of this applies if you are a large, dangerous person or just psychotically violent. If so, you need no pointers me. I’m certainly not trying to tell you what to do or suggesting that you can’t handle yourself quite well. Take no offense. I’m not looking for any trouble.

©www.thetrivialtroll.com 2015

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My Over 50 Not-To-Do List

I’m in my 51st year on the planet. Although many people have exceeded my longevity, this impresses me. Of course, lots of folks lived less time than I have and did much more–Mozart, for example. All in all, though, living longer is a good thing.

I now read AARP publications. AARP recently ran a tongue-in-cheek article about things NOT to do after age 50. It was somewhat humorous. Somewhat. Like a lot of things, it got me thinking. Now, that I’m 50 (and have been for several months now), what won’t I do? Here are five such things:

PLAY BALL! I’ve written before about my mediocrity as an athlete. That never stopped me from trying to play sports. No more. No basketball. No softball. No flag football. Nothing where I risk injury. Why? I don’t want any other injuries. The older you get, the more injury-prone you are. My sports are now limited to baseball and basketball with my youngest son and even then I don’t go all out.

I’ve never had a serious injury. I’ve never worn a cast or had surgery or used crutches. I did tear a muscle in my shoulder once, but they can’t do much about that. I had a stress fracture in my foot, but it went away.

In my 30’s I scraped the outside of left calf sliding during a softball game. It looked like a burn and hurt like hell. It scabbed up in a couple of days. Then, the scab disappeared, and it looked like an orange peel, except oozy. You know how your mother said that a cut with red lines running from it is bad? It had those, two. It was something called cellulitis. The doctor said it was a “galloping infection.” I had to elevate my leg and put a heating pad on the open wound. I also had to draw a circle around it with a Sharpie. If the red spread past the outline, that would be bad. When I stood, the blood rushed to my leg and it felt like a thousand needles. I had to get a shot every day, too, for a week. The shot gave me diarrhea. For days, I was reduced to lying down with a heating pad on an open sore which burned like it was on fire while trying to control my bowels and drawing on my leg with a magic marker. I’m just too old for this kind of thing.

Even if I wanted to play sports, I probably can’t. The simplest of sports may be beyond me now. A few months ago, I passed baseball with my 17-year-old son who is a high school baseball player. He can throw 80-85 mph without much effort. I was terrified. Enough of that, too.

Fortunately, my youngest son is almost 11 now. If I had a younger kid, I’d hire someone to play with him. No sense taking unnecessary risks.

ANGRY UP MY BLOOD: The great baseball player Satchel Paige once cautioned against eating fried food, because it would angry up one’s blood. I don’t necessarily agree with that, because I like fried food. I do, however, agree with the caution about angrying up the blood.

I was an angry young man. Angry about all kinds of stuff–my job, politics, religion, sports–pretty much everything. I had a short fuse which was easily lit, too. I was an unpleasant person. I’m too old for all that, as well.

It seems that my peers become angrier with age while I mellow. I am aging in reverse, like a far less handsome version of Brad Pitt as Benjamin Button. It seems that everyone my age is mad about liberals, conservatives, the rich, the poor, taxes, drones, sports, religion and life in general. Here’s the deal: We all have opinions. So do I. I’m certain that mine aren’t all that important. In fact, I may be flat wrong on many (most?) of them. Same goes for you. I’m sure that pisses you off. Relax.

I’m confident that being mad shortens my life. How? Well, every minute I waste fuming about something, I could be doing something else. So, there goes part of my life down the old crapper. As a live and let live guy, I really don’t care if you’re mad, even at me. Just don’t ask me to play along.

GET IN MY CUPS: I was once quite fond of strong drink. I may still be, but I haven’t partaken in several years. Understand that I have no problem with those that do. I just believe that such indulgences are a young man’s game. Hangovers had bad for my brain. Why else would my head hurt like that? Vomiting is no good under any circumstances. Also, not remembering conversations or where I’ve been or what I’ve done is problematic. Soon enough, age itself will cause such problems. No need to speed the plow.

Here’s the kind of thing I did when I drank. A few years ago (not as many as you might think), my wife and I went to a party. I drank quite a bit before the party and quite a bit at the party. Oh, I had a grand time–or so I’ve heard. When we came home, I retired to the basement whereupon I quickly dozed off (the more crass of you might call it “passing out.”) A couple of hours into my respite, I had the urge to relieve myself. Rising from the couch, I was unsteady on my feet. No doubt this was from the deep REM sleep. As I staggered toward the bathroom, somehow I fell forward, striking my head on a wooden post. Oh, I also broke my glasses.

No problem. Holding my forehead, I made it to the bathroom and did my business. My right brow was really throbbing, so I thought I might take a look at it. Leaning close the mirror–remember my glasses were broken–I moved my hand from my right eye to get a good look.

The funny thing about cuts to the head is that they bleed far in excess of the severity of the actual injury. When I moved my hand, blood fairly gushed from a small slice in my right eye brow. It ran into my eye and down my face. It just kept coming. There was only one thing to do–I puked and went into a full-blown swoon. Then I sat in the floor convinced that I was bleeding to death and would be found covered in blood and vomit–not a glorious demise.

So, I did the only thing I could do. Holding a towel to my head, I climbed the two flights of stairs to the master bedroom and consulted my dear wife. Let’s just say that the evening suddenly took an even uglier turn.

I’m too old for this kind of foolishness now. Let the young men bleed profusely and copiously vomit. I’ll sip my Starbucks, work the crossword puzzle and retire for the evening at 9:30 or so.

EAT WELL: This takes some explaining. I don’t eat all that poorly. I don’t have a weight problem. I’m a lean, mean 160 pounds. Perfect middle-weight size. Think of me as a whiter, less-imposing, soft version of Marvelous Marvin Hagler (if you don’t know Hagler, you’re not my age). At one time I weighed 176 pounds, which was a little too much. I quickly shed that weight. That’s just a genetic thing. Don’t get all pissed off (see section above).

People want me to eat well, and I guess I should. My family has a bit of a history of heart disease. Regardless, there are things I like to eat. They include, but are not limited to:

High fructose corn syrup
Sugar
Chocolate
Ice Cream
Eggs
Bacon
Pork in general
Deep fried anything
Gluten
Peanut butter
Hot dogs
Red meat
White meat
Meat

I also don’t mind my food being laced with preservatives. Why not? Hey, I like it preserved until I want to eat it. Call me crazy.

I’m not diabetic. I don’t have celiac disease. Or diverticulitis. Or any food allergies. If you do, please watch what you eat. The key here is to watch what you eat, not what I eat.

If YOU don’t want to eat this stuff, I’m okay with it. I won’t force it on you. I don’t have people to my house for dinner anyway. Eat what you want. You can eat free range horse for all I care. Just don’t tell me what to eat. I enjoy food and fully intend to continue to do so.

FIGHT CLUB: Chief Joseph said: “From where the sun now stands, I will fight no more forever.” That’s a good philosophy, and I agree wholeheartedly with him. Fighting isn’t good, especially if you run the risk of getting the crap beat out of you.

Like heavy drinking, fighting is a young man’s business. When you’re young, fighting can be a test of your manhood. It can also be provoked by heavy drinking. Either way, it’s usually a one-on-one situation and little harm is done.

Unlike in the movies, real fights rarely result in a lot of punching. A good punch is almost always a “sucker” punch which the recipient doesn’t see coming. Otherwise, punching is mostly a bunch of embarrassingly wild swinging.

It hurts to be squarely punched in the face. It also hurts to squarely punch someone in the face. Your hand explodes in pain. I don’t like pain. That said, real fights end up with a bunch of rolling around on the ground.

Another thing about real fights. No one gets punched in the face repeatedly and keeps fighting. Nor do you punch anyone in the face repeatedly. The human head is hard. It’s like a bowling ball with a few soft places on it. Go punch a wall five or ten times and let me know what you think.

At a certain age–maybe 30–I realized that people who are willing to fight might be dangerous, especially if they, too, were in their 30’s. These folks also tend to carry weapons, because they’re looking for trouble. I don’t want even a remotely deadly weapon used on me. I don’t want to throw a punch and miss, only to end up with a Chinese throwing star stuck in my forehead.

One possible exception is that I might fight a younger man. Why would I do that? Wouldn’t youth put me at a terrible disadvantage? Possibly. However, don’t discount the power of being Old Man Strong. We all reach an age where our years create a certain toughness without us even knowing it. Some suggest that perhaps we lose the will to live and become fearless. I prefer to think of it as God’s way of rewarding us for surviving.

When I was in high school, a friend of mine foolishly punched his dad. His dad didn’t flinch. Old Man Strong. Fight over.

So, if you’re a young fellow, be careful. If you get mouthy with an old guy and he just chuckles or, worse yet, takes a step toward you, run. It may be all that saves your dignity.

CONCLUSION

This is hardly a comprehensive list of things I won’t be doing. Such things as starting a meth lab, amateur pornography and polygamy are also taboo. These, though, are things I wouldn’t have ever done, as far as you know.

I’m not perfect. Maybe one day I’ll be shooting basketball with my kid, and you’ll wander into my yard spewing about politics and telling me to reduce the MSG in my diet. Like Clint Eastwood in Unforgiven, I’ll take a swig of whiskey and then start a fight with you. Let’s try to avoid all that.

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The Night I Fought A Girl

I never was a skilled fighter. I’m small and have a big mouth, especially when primed by strong drink. So, I did get in fights, but I fought dirty and usually ran at the first chance. As a result, I don’t have good fight stories. Except one. Well, it may not be a good story, but it’s a story, and it’s more or less true.

I fought a girl. There, I said it. It wasn’t the only opportunity I had for such a fight, but it was the only one that turned into a real brawl. Oh, I’d been hit two or three times before, had a couple of drinks thrown on me and been cursed at often. I was quite the charmer in my youth. But, there was only one fight.

It was Oktoberfest 1986. I had a friend who was working in the beer garden. She told me that if I came by and helped her, I could have free beer. Since she was also a fetching lass, I agreed to help. I helped for a while and sold a bunch of these buckets of beer. I had a few buckets myself (Note: If you measure your drinking in “buckets,” you may have a problem). After a short time in the beer garden, I wasn’t really much help, but I kept working.

Toward the end of the night, a good friend of mine happened by, and I generously served him several buckets. The evening wound down, and I was having no luck with any lasses, fetching or otherwise. My friend (I shall call him “Stu” to protect his identity. He is a respectable citizen now) offered to give me a ride home. I closed up the beer garden and we left.

On the way home, Stu suggested we stop at Jerry’s Restaurant. Jerry’s was notable for two things. One, it was open 24 hours a day; and, two, it served breakfast all day and all night. It was a favorite for late night dining. We sat down and ordered. I ordered the Big Breakfast.

While we waited for our food, two young couples came in. Without any provocation on our part, one of the young ladies pointed at me and shrieked: “What are you looking at?!?!” Now, these are well-known fighting words, right up there with “What’s your problem?!?!” My food had been served, and I wasn’t in the mood for any conflict. So, I tried to defuse the situation by asking: “WHAT THE —— DID YOU SAY?” The young lady then fairly screamed: “Don’t make fun of our dates!!!” This struck me as odd, since we hadn’t paid any notice to this girl or the “dates.” Stu, being the peacemaker, said: “Hey, shut the —- up. We’re eating.” You would think this would have ended the potential conflict, but no. It seemed to enrage her further.

She repeated her earlier demand stating: “STOP LAUGHING AT US! DON’T MAKE FUN OF OUR DATES!” Stu stood up. He was a big dude, 6′ 3″ and about 230. I was a much less impressive 5′ 8″ 140. Stu’s witty rejoinder was: “We weren’t making fun of those two —holes, but we will now.” Well, that didn’t go over well with the girls or their dates. The dates attacked Stu, who proceeded to beat the crap out of both of them–quickly. He hit one guy in the chest with a forearm, and he just collapsed. Stu grabbed the other guy and threw him into the coat rack.

Like I said, I’m not a fighter. I was watching. I had a mouthful of food when the big-mouthed girl somehow sneaked up behind me. Quite unexpectedly, I was being strangled. Not just strangled, but strangled while swallowing a big forkful of pancakes. Oh, and the fingernails. They were digging into my jugular vein. Now what? She had come over the back of the booth and was literally choking the life out of me. If I had my wits about me, I would have stabbed her in the neck with my fork, but I was disoriented. As the life was draining from me, I reached behind me and managed to grabbed her hair. With Herculean strength I pulled her over the booth and was prepared to beat the stuffing out her. Here was the problem: If a drunk chick is strangling you in a public place and you rip big chunks of her hair out, it is a mistake to pull her on to you. It was like someone tossing me a wolverine.

Needless to say, Big Mouth and I spilled into the floor where she was wild-eyed and clawing at me like one of the Walking Dead on a meth bender. For a split second, I realized I was fighting a girl and in real danger of an ass whipping. This was all I needed to regain my composure. She came at me once more. Mistake. As she flew toward me, I grabbed her hair again. This time, I slammed her face-first into the floor. She didn’t look so tough after that, what with all the crying and carrying on.

That was it. The fight was over. The manager of the restaurant apologized to us and gave us free meals. The scratches on my neck weren’t that bad. Oh, the whole fight lasted maybe 30 seconds. Seemed like a lifetime. Stu said it was one of the funniest things he’d ever seen. Guess you had to be there.

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