When was the lastime you were in a real, good old fashioned fistfight?

Miscellaneous and Personal Stuff I Must Share
41

First year of college. I’m a male, not tall. I was taking Myo Sim Karate at the time, so I was as fit as I’ve ever been, but not heavily muscled – pretty much a little guy.

All of a sudden one day, the captain of the rugby team, with whom I’d never had any interaction beyond nodding as we passed, seized me and began to drag me down the hall. He announced I was going to be dragged into the bathroom for some kind of surprise.

All I wanted was to be left alone. I definitely didn’t want to experience any “surprise” from the rugby team or its musclebound captain. I can only imagine what he might have had in mind, but he clearly didn’t want my consent.

The “little guy” in this kind of exchange generally has three options. He can submit, bluff, or he can escalate – merely matching the force of the larger, stronger, more experienced aggressor is a formula for painful defeat, so (assuming bluffs don’t work) the little guy must be more violent than his tormentor is prepared for, or inevitably lose.

I made a bid for time. I grabbed the doorframes of dormitory rooms as I was dragged past them, and hung on until pried loose. I loudly clarified that I wanted no part of this and insisted on him letting me go. I tried to wriggle free. An audience formed, all laughing or staring, but no one offered to help, and the good captain did not relent.

The police tell you “never get into the aggressor’s car; if you do, you’re dead.” I don’t think my life was in danger, but the situation is comparable – I wasn’t going to go into that bathroom, and put myself in his power, and only then find out his intent.

So at the steel door frame of the bathroom itself, I made my stand. As he swung me around to go through it, I shifted to plant my back against the hard edge of the frame and put one hand on his face. I gave no warning of my escalation – I’d given plenty already.

With whatever strength a semester of karate, push-ups, and three minutes of fear of rape could give me, I shoved his head straight back into the sharp edge of other side of the steel door frame.

For an instant he was too stunned to react. I could either try to break for it, hoping he’d be unable to pursue, or I could try something else to defeat him.

Or I could do it again.

I banged his head into the frame again, and he bellowed and lowered it and seized my neck and chest with both hands. So I did it again. And again.

I hammered him into the frame until he was reeling and bowlegged. Spectators called with alarm for me to stop, lest I seriously harm or kill him. The same spectators hadn’t called for HIM to stop whatever he had been doing to me, but maybe it looked like I was killing him.

I didn’t want to kill anyone, so I stopped.

Roaring with renewed fury, he seized me again and shook me and drew back his fist…

Unfortunately for him, during his moment of initiative, he had neglected to move either of us out of the doorframe. A steel corner lurked right behind the bruised part of the back of his head. I found his forehead with my palm and shoved again. Not very imaginative, I admit. His head caromed off steel again.

And I basically stood there and beat his head against the metal until he fell down and couldn’t rise.

Sure, the spectators resumed screaming at me, but why should I listen to them? When I’d stopped the first time, I’d delivered myself into the hands of an enraged athlete with a score to settle. Was it possible I would permanently harm him or kill him? Maybe. I dunno. I wasn’t trying to break his skull or anything. I was just tired of being the guy who everyone expects to submit to being dragged into the bathroom by hulking strangers. I’d tried persuasion, resistance, and shouting for help…none of that worked.

When I judged I was done dribbling his skull, I let go. Captain Rugby fell to the floor and rolled around weakly. I left him and walked back to my room through a crowd that miraculously parted. No one stopped me, and I did not look back.

I had no more troubles with anyone in that dorm ever again.

The Captain recovered without apparent impairment of any kind. I don’t think he spoke to me again either. I had no real reason to hate him, and didn’t. I never found out what fate had awaited me on the cold tiles of the bathroom.

Sailboat

42

I lost the fight I talked about in the OP. I had a black eye and he had nothing.

43

Never.

Last physical altercation was in 6th grade, though. I had a stupid fued with these two girls (“You’re friends with Jane! I hate her, so you’re a bitch.” “What? Why?” “And you’re ugly!” “Well, you’re dumb and your hair smells funny!” “Well, your pants are ugly!”) and in the culmination of a week or so of back and forth, one shoved me. I kicked her in the shin really hard. She and her friend stomped my toes. I shoved them back. No teacher saw, because it was the end of the day and we were waiting on the bus.

The next day, we got into a shouting match in gym, where the gym teacher said we’d all have to go to the office. I burst into angry tears and said that I hadn’t started it, I’d quietly put up with all kinds of crap from bullies for years and teachers had never done anything about it, and the one time I stand up for myself I get in trouble? I didn’t think so. I wasn’t going to the office, and wasn’t going to back down from people like that any more. The other girls went to sit on the other bleachers and the gym teacher said all right, but she’d better not hear any more out of us. I don’t know what possessed me, other than possibly the primal hormonal anger of a girl about 6 months before her first period.

Now, yes, in hindsight I shared half the blame for the argument and I was shaking with fear at having stood up to anyone, let alone a teacher, but I had tasted victory. Glorification of the past? Damn straight, it’s one of my favorite memories–don’t go messing it up with a reasoned viewpoint. :smiley: That was the day my inner bitch got her wings.

44

Got it! :cool:

45

I was picked on a lot in grade school. I was quiet, shy kid and pretty passive. I was also a big kid. I was 6’ tall by 6th grade, and about 180 pounds. Everyone seemed to realize this except for me, and as the shy passive kid, I usually just let it go every time I was made fun of.

My dad saw that it was upsetting me and told me I needed to take a stand and defend myself, even if that meant physical violence. He also assured me that I would not get in any additional trouble from him if I were to get into a fight. And he reminded me that I was way, way bigger than the people who were doing the picking, a fact that I don’t think I had noticed until then.

The next day on the bus ride to school, the kid behind me was messing with me and giving me wet willies. I told him the next time he did it, I was going to hit him in the face with a text book. about 4 second later I was pushing his spit-covered finger out of my ear again. True to my word, I took out my math book and pushed it as hard as I could into his face. I gave him a pretty bad bloody nose.

At school he told his little bully friends. 2 of them attacked me on the play ground at lunch, and I absolutely clobbered them. I was taller than them by 6-8" and heavier by 30 or 40 pounds, which makes all the difference in grade school when no one really knows how to fight. They both stumbled away bloody and bruised, and my pants were ripped, but I was otherwise okay.

I ended up with a detention, and my dad told me how proud he was that I stood up for myself and didn’t act like a doormat. I was never picked on again and I truly believe that day changed a lot about how I feel about myself and the amount of bullshit I’m willing to take from other people. I plan to give my kid the same advice my dad gave me.

For the record, all my class mate’s height and weights eventually caught up to mine, and I don’t have nearly the size advantage I used to. I don’t think I could win a fight against many people these days.

46

That’s awesome.

47

Fist fight? Never.

Knife fight? About 20 years ago, but unfortunately only one of us had a knife and it wasn’t me.

48

I see you’ve played knifey-no knifey before.

49

Never (thank God).

50

It was with my brother in an ICU waiting room in 2000, so 8 years ago. We both got a lick in but it was a draw because my sister broke it up.

51

It was with my brother in an ICU waiting room in 2000, so 8 years ago. We both got a lick in but it was a draw because my sister broke it up. I would have been 33 and he was 39.

52

Never.

I don’t think I’d have a clue about effective fighting, except to try to put my weight behind a punch.

During my years in public school there were very few fights. Perhaps once a year, or less, there’d be a fight between two boys and great excitement would ensue due to the rarity of such occasions.

Just a tiny bit, i regret not having had to prove my mettle physically, but still, fighting’s stupid.

53

I wouldn’t call my last one a decisive win. I probably took more damage than they did (although nothing serious), but they decided I wasn’t worth the trouble. Before that I had been mobbed several times (not the same guys though) and pretty much was at their mercy until they got bored.

54

I meant I exchanged a few blows with the girl, but I wasn’t sore or bruised. It wasn’t really a fight so much as her punching me once and me kicking her back at exactly the same time. Then it was over.

My parents were not good parents, let’s just leave it at that… though I don’t know if what they did in this case was so weird. She was 4 or 5 years older than me; I was in junior high. The girl had been harassing me for a long time for no good reason, and my parents had a very ‘‘put up or shut up’’ attitude about it – that I had to stand up for myself or else she was going to continue. They had seen this coming from miles away. My parents made out like they were amused by the fight, but they probably just wanted to supervise to make sure nobody took it too far. My stepdad was a black belt in Tae Kwon Do and could have easily intervened. She didn’t appear to be in pain when I left her, I’m only going by what my parents told me–if she was really hurt, she didn’t show it when we were facing off. According to them she dropped the pretense as soon as I walked away. She was also with 2-3 neighborhood guys who were also high schoolers. I think it’s part of the reason my parents wanted to be present–it was basically me against 3-4 people several years older than me if things got out of hand. They lectured me about being a Jesusfreak because they saw that I was alienating other people and probably bringing torment on myself. There was no physical altercation with my parents at any point during the episode; I apologize for the misplaced sentence.

FWIW, I don’t condone violence. This girl was dying to kick my ass and the truth is I could have hurt her at least as bad as she could have hurt me. I walked away because it was stupid.

55

In a small twist…

I stood up to a bully in Junior High. I was sick of him picking on me and decided to stand my ground.

He was bigger and stronger and used to fighting. I was a smaller guy fighting for the first time. It was over quite quickly.

Funny thing was, after the dreadful beating I recieved, he got a lot of grief from the other big kids because he didn’t pick on someone his own size.

56

See mine above.

Then there was the time in high school, where since I was on the football team, was all of the sudden “one of the cool people”. I got a lot of grief trying out for the team, but my speed proved to be an asset at WR and DB. And while I was still a little smaller than the other kids, I was still strong enough to tackle, take a hit, etc.

So, in the big role reversal, I became a bully, now that I was a cool football player. I started picking on this smaller kid. He stood up to me.

This should’ve been a warning sign.

He knew some kind of martial arts. Wasn’t pretty.

0-2 on fistfights, both as the victim and aggressor. Top that!

57

Um, Sampiro, unless you don’t want to talk about it, I’m lodging a complaint that you’re not telling the story behind this post!

Also, CaerieD, you sound like you’re ok. If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s cool, but I’d like the story to this one also if you don’t mind.

58

Grade school, and she kicked my ass.

59

I’ve never been in an actual fight. The closest I ever came was in 1986 in 8th grade when this kid used to come up behind all of us girls and knock our books out of our hands while we were walking down the halls. One day he did it and I snapped. Even though he was a lot bigger than me, I grabbed the hair on top of his head and pulled his head down and put my knee in his face, then I threw him back against the lockers. He slumped to the ground, stunned, then started to cry and ran off. His friends thought this was hilarious and jokingly called me “brute” the rest of the year.

60

I’ve never been in any kind of fight (I’m 54).