A few years ago, a couple of colleagues and I were going into a dance club in Roppongi, Tokyo. Ahead of us, and filling the landing at the top of the stairs outside the entrance, was a very large and very unsteady U.S. Marine, as made obvious by his haircut and the “USMC” emblazoned across his T-shirt. Apparently, he and the bouncer (who was even larger, and by his accent, American as well) were having a disagreement of some sort. I thought the bouncer was being quite reasonable about it all, but suddenly the drunk guy let fly with punches. It didn’t last long, although I gave the Marine points for having a granite jaw.
Everytime I go out drinking in town there’s at least one. The Police have a heavy presence at closing time on King’s Street (the main street in Wigan with all the bars/clubs), but there’s just too many drunk folk pouring out looking for a fight for them to handle.
Even queuing for a kebab before going home can be a fraught affair.
Stories like these makes me believe God has put Darwin in a position of trust and earthly manipulation on Earth. (Well, if I believed in God, that is)
Anyway, I handle a reception alone on friday and saturday nights, at a work camp of around 2000-3500 workers, so I’ve seen plenty of fights. Nothing very memorable, as we keep our own Securitas force in camp, but some stories still.
I think the most memorable one was where I was going into one of the night shift’s dining rigs. Apparently, a Swedish guy had gotten into his Finnish neighbour’s fridge and stolen two slices of ham for his lunch.
When I found him in the morning, he had a black eye, a bruised jaw and his hands were nailed down to the floor. Had a lot of problems getting the nails out, too; as proof of Finnish workmanship, the guy had bent the nailheads.
Gukumatz:
:eek:
Note to self: NEVER steal ham from a finn.
The last fight I saw was in 2000 or so at a nightclub in San Antonio. I was up on a balcony in the club so I had a good view. One guy shoved another guy, that guy took a swing at the first guy, the crowd surged away from them, and then immediately half a dozen security guys descended on the fighters. It was like they materialized out of thin air. The guys were hustled out of there in a hurry as the DJ started playing “People Are People.” 
I was impressed by the security; they did a great job of containing the situation in a hurry.
I witnessed another fight through my apartment window about a year before that. It was late and I was trying to go to sleep when I heard a bunch of shouting. My bedroom window had a view of the building across from mine (maybe 20 feet away), where two guys on the second floor were in a huge fight. Judging by what I heard before I peeked through the blinds, one guy had physically forced the other guy out of the apartment, and they were still scuffling and yelling at each other. Just as I looked out the window, one of the guys shoved the other over the balcony railing. Fortunately, he missed the concrete staircase and landed on the grassy area below. I got away from the window and dialed 911. By the time I got through to the operator, she told me they had already received multiple reports and the cops were on their way. Naturally, the whole thing was over by the time they got there.
Does being in one count?
At my old apartment in downtown Memphis, I occasionally say homeless people lay into one another. The last donnybrook I saw was when the buildng ws gogn condo, on a Sunday afternoon when the new management was having an open house. I remember thinking that the site of these two homeless guys threatening to rape each other’s mouths and then getting into some major fisticuffs was not going to make the realtors’ jobs any easier.
Last fistfight I saw, I ended. It was at a big open-air rock concert in midsummer a few years back, my little bro and I were there with his roommate P. and two or three of their female friends. We were hanging out well away from the mosh pit, just chilling and dancing, when suddenly this little wide-eyed shirtless dude bouncing around like he’s on meth just wanders up and punches P. in the face for no clear reason. Suddenly, there’s a hole cleared up in the crowd, and this guy and his three buddies are shouting drunken obscenities at P. So my bro and I look at each other, and realize three things:
- at 6’1" and 250lbs, I’m the smallest and least intimidating of the set of myself, bro, and P.
- the biggest of the four crazy dudes is maybe 5’10" and 160lbs.
- that dude just hit P for no reason!
Sparing the blow-by-blow, it was brief, entertaining, and satisfying to knock some jerks around, twist their arms a bit, and drag them over to the security guards. Turned out, the little meth freak had been randomly punching people for a good fifteen minutes and we were the first group who decided to make something of it.
Not me, (un) fortunately, but my friend was quick on the draw with his camera for this fight here in San Francisco.
I think the last time I saw a public fight was at the Bucca de Beppos in downtown Columbus. A couple of friends and I were waiting outside for a seat when a bunch of big black gangsta looking guys come running up and start beating on one of the guys there. It couldn’t have gone on more than 10-15 sec, and then they ran off. The guy looked more startled than hurt.
When I was in college I tried going to a few frat parties before giving up on them as true to stereotype. I was at one hanging out on the porch when I saw a black guy and his white gf walk past with half a dozen skinheads a few houses behind yelling all kinds of racist shit at him. A couple of houses down on the other side a group of SHARPs at another party decided they didn’t like this and started out toward the skinheads. They met in the street, and after a few minutes of incoherent screaming, proceded to beat the tar out of each other. It was brutal, all knuckles and elbows and knees and huge boots. They scattered after a few minutes, and I think the SHARPs won, because they had to help a few less of their guys back to the party.
I break up a couple a week. The last entertaining one was watching drunks and security guards ninny-slap eachother at a Toby Keith concert a couple years ago. For as bellicose as they are in their patriotic rhetoric, Mr. Keith’s fans (and the event security) fought with all the ferocity of Amish kindergarten girls.
I’m pretty sure that every fight I’ve seen as an adult has been at the ballpark. Old Comiskey Park was notorious for them. One time when I was about ten the guy in the next seat asked me to hold his beer while he broke up a fight. (He knew it was safe with a kid.) Another time I saw a real, live cat-fight.
They’re much less common at the new park, but I have seen one or two there as well.
All I can picture is Judd Nelson and Emilio Estevez in The Breakfast Club, so totally about to rumble. 
Oddly enough, I saw two of them, on successive nights last week in Paris. Both fights took place outside the brasseries where we were having dinner.
The second fight was by far the most interesting, involving a seemingly deranged employee (waiter) and the manager/supervisor of the waitstaff, both of our restaurant. The deranged guy started out ranting and flailing about with a couple of those plastic garbage bags that you see in stands around the city. I have no idea what the problem was; aside from the fact that it was all in French, it was also heavily accented French (Turk? Greek?) and possibly incoherent to even a francophone. When the manager dude went out to calm M. Crazypants down, blows AND a garbage bag were thrown. This caused a third person to run outside and join the meelee. This third person was an older woman who up until that time had been sitting at the counter smoking cigarettes and drinking. She was wearing a leopard print jacket and matching leopard print high heels and LOTS of lipstick.
She jumped right in and there they were: M. Crazypants, still screaming and windmilling his fists, Manager dude trying to be all calm and rational and keep from getting hurt or covered with garbage, and Cigarette Lady all mixing it up on Rue D’Amsterdam.
Nobody in the restaurant or in any of the surrounding take out places took much notice at all, but I kept a real close watch on the proceedings since I was sitting right next to the door. Weird-o-rama.