Got into a fight tonight *Updated with pic*
- Thread starter goosehorn
- Start date
L
longtex
Guest
Speaking of Goose's fight...
I've been pretty lucky, 'cause I haven't had to fight much - which is probably a good thing, 'cause I'm not much account in a fight, anyway. Fortunately, I don't HAVE to be, because I'm 6'5" and 240, and most folks - even drunks in bars - don't think too hard about taking a poke at me. Praise Jebus. O'course, now that I'm an Old Fart, too, it's that much less likely that anyone (including myself) is gonna push me into a corner that I'll have to fight my way out of.
That said, I'd like to tell you about the best bar fighter I ever met or ever even saw in action.
His name was George, and he was about 5'9" or maybe an inch higher, slightly muscular, but not mesomorph crazy or anything like that... I'd guess he might've gone 175 or 180, maybe a little more, but not much.
He was two years older than me, but we were freshmen together at UT. He had lived down the street from me at Redstone Arsenal when we first got there and he had just graduated from HS. He went in the army instead of going to college, and I didn't see him again until a couple of years later, shortly after school started in Austin. He had put in his two years and bailed. It turned out that he had never finished "school" in the army - if you've been through it, you know that after Basic you go to school for whatever your specialty is going to be. He'd gone radio, then intel, then to, of all things, Airborne Ranger schools (this was before they were known as "Green Berets"). When you sign up for the hot ****, they make you sign up for another two-year hitch before you start, but somehow they missed him, and he was still going and doing schools when his hitch was up. They tried pretty hard to "force" him to sign, but he steadfastly refused and was duly released... and off to college. Apparently one of the things he'd learned in the Ranger schools was how to approach fighting the proper way.
Back in the day, the bars around campus didn't check id's at all, unless there were cops standing right there, and sometimes not even then. The only liquor store that checked was the one right where the Drag t's into 19th Street, and all they ever did was write down the year and your birth year on a pad by the register, subtract them and get 21 (or more). Lone Star and Pearl were - I recall - 25 or 35 cents (gas was even less, per gallon then, 22 or 23 cents mostly - and under 20 cents at the Circle in Waco, on the way to Big D). He was 20 and I was 18, but there was never a problem at any bar I ever remember - it was sorta like Europe, in that if you had a quarter and could reach the bar, you were served without question. So we hit the bars for a cold one or two in the afternoons and evenings at least a couple of times a week. My princely $100 a month schollie left me enough cash after buying my monthly 2-a-day meal ticket at Mama Cryer's to have a few cold ones.
The joint we went to the most was on the Drag, across from the girls' dorms around 25th or so, I think. It had a nice long bar with probably twenty or so stools, a side room with plenty of tables, and a juke box that was a dime for a song, three for a quarter, seven for a half dollar. George had a HUGE liking for "Memphis" which I think was the cover version by Lonnie Mack. It was loud and repetitive. If no one else was playing, George would drop in a quarter and play the damn thing three times. It got old pretty fast, truth be told. One evening, after he'd played it far more than enough, he went over to the juke box with a quarter in his hand, clearly intent on playing it another three times. A tackle-sized frat boy jumped up from his seat and followed George over to the box, and as George dropped the quarter in, this fella grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. He growled "Do! NOT! Play! That! Song! AGAIN!" and accompanied each word with an index-finger jab into George's chest. He was easily head AND shoulders over George, and at least twice as broad. George stared up at him earnestly, and asked "What?" The fella started to repeat himself, "I said... DO!" and that was as far as he got, because George uttered what was easily one of the most ear-splitting consciousness-shattering screams I have EVER heard, sort of along the lines of "EEEEEeeee - YAHHHHHHRRRGGGGG!" and damn near ripped that index finger off, he bent it over backwards so far. The end of the scream was punctuated with a "CRAACKKK!" that was the sound of the finger breaking. The big fella picked up the scream where George left off and sank to his knees. George hit B14 three times and came back to our table, as Lonnie Mack's guitar started twanging.
I asked him what the hell was that? He said it was just his training taking over, and that was to pay attention and avoid fights if at all possible (the best defense being absence from the field), but if it was obvious that a fight was about to happen, make sure you got in the first - and ONLY - strike. You don't have to kill someone to make them not willing, or able, to fight anymore.
A few weeks later, I watched him leap off of one of the bar stools onto a similarly-sized bruiser who thought he was gonna teach that little ****** a lesson about talking to other people's girl-friends - started harrassing him, laying hands on, et cetera. This, too, was accompanied by the unbelievable scream. He didn't get down off the stool, he just LAUNCHED himself straight from the stool onto the guy, who was standing next to him. This time, he wrapped his arms around the guy's neck and his legs around his waist, carried him over backwards, and on the way down, he BIT the guy - bit completely through his ear (didn't bite it off, just through it) - there was blood everywhere, the guy was rolling around on the floor, screaming like a stuck pig, and the fight was OVER. George asked the bartender if he was gonna call the cops - actually, I think he asked "Hey, you aren't gonna call the cops, are you?" and sure enough, he wasn't. We left, anyway. Several people told him "Good job, man, that guy's a bully" as we were leaving.
What I took from George's examples was to avoid a fight, even if it means you have to walk away - which he did on occasion... but if you can't avoid it, don't wait for the other party to start it. Make sure you disorient your opponent at the outset, and do your best to disable him immediately.
As Yogi said, "It ain't over, 'til it's over."
I've been pretty lucky, 'cause I haven't had to fight much - which is probably a good thing, 'cause I'm not much account in a fight, anyway. Fortunately, I don't HAVE to be, because I'm 6'5" and 240, and most folks - even drunks in bars - don't think too hard about taking a poke at me. Praise Jebus. O'course, now that I'm an Old Fart, too, it's that much less likely that anyone (including myself) is gonna push me into a corner that I'll have to fight my way out of.
That said, I'd like to tell you about the best bar fighter I ever met or ever even saw in action.
His name was George, and he was about 5'9" or maybe an inch higher, slightly muscular, but not mesomorph crazy or anything like that... I'd guess he might've gone 175 or 180, maybe a little more, but not much.
He was two years older than me, but we were freshmen together at UT. He had lived down the street from me at Redstone Arsenal when we first got there and he had just graduated from HS. He went in the army instead of going to college, and I didn't see him again until a couple of years later, shortly after school started in Austin. He had put in his two years and bailed. It turned out that he had never finished "school" in the army - if you've been through it, you know that after Basic you go to school for whatever your specialty is going to be. He'd gone radio, then intel, then to, of all things, Airborne Ranger schools (this was before they were known as "Green Berets"). When you sign up for the hot ****, they make you sign up for another two-year hitch before you start, but somehow they missed him, and he was still going and doing schools when his hitch was up. They tried pretty hard to "force" him to sign, but he steadfastly refused and was duly released... and off to college. Apparently one of the things he'd learned in the Ranger schools was how to approach fighting the proper way.
Back in the day, the bars around campus didn't check id's at all, unless there were cops standing right there, and sometimes not even then. The only liquor store that checked was the one right where the Drag t's into 19th Street, and all they ever did was write down the year and your birth year on a pad by the register, subtract them and get 21 (or more). Lone Star and Pearl were - I recall - 25 or 35 cents (gas was even less, per gallon then, 22 or 23 cents mostly - and under 20 cents at the Circle in Waco, on the way to Big D). He was 20 and I was 18, but there was never a problem at any bar I ever remember - it was sorta like Europe, in that if you had a quarter and could reach the bar, you were served without question. So we hit the bars for a cold one or two in the afternoons and evenings at least a couple of times a week. My princely $100 a month schollie left me enough cash after buying my monthly 2-a-day meal ticket at Mama Cryer's to have a few cold ones.
The joint we went to the most was on the Drag, across from the girls' dorms around 25th or so, I think. It had a nice long bar with probably twenty or so stools, a side room with plenty of tables, and a juke box that was a dime for a song, three for a quarter, seven for a half dollar. George had a HUGE liking for "Memphis" which I think was the cover version by Lonnie Mack. It was loud and repetitive. If no one else was playing, George would drop in a quarter and play the damn thing three times. It got old pretty fast, truth be told. One evening, after he'd played it far more than enough, he went over to the juke box with a quarter in his hand, clearly intent on playing it another three times. A tackle-sized frat boy jumped up from his seat and followed George over to the box, and as George dropped the quarter in, this fella grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. He growled "Do! NOT! Play! That! Song! AGAIN!" and accompanied each word with an index-finger jab into George's chest. He was easily head AND shoulders over George, and at least twice as broad. George stared up at him earnestly, and asked "What?" The fella started to repeat himself, "I said... DO!" and that was as far as he got, because George uttered what was easily one of the most ear-splitting consciousness-shattering screams I have EVER heard, sort of along the lines of "EEEEEeeee - YAHHHHHHRRRGGGGG!" and damn near ripped that index finger off, he bent it over backwards so far. The end of the scream was punctuated with a "CRAACKKK!" that was the sound of the finger breaking. The big fella picked up the scream where George left off and sank to his knees. George hit B14 three times and came back to our table, as Lonnie Mack's guitar started twanging.
I asked him what the hell was that? He said it was just his training taking over, and that was to pay attention and avoid fights if at all possible (the best defense being absence from the field), but if it was obvious that a fight was about to happen, make sure you got in the first - and ONLY - strike. You don't have to kill someone to make them not willing, or able, to fight anymore.
A few weeks later, I watched him leap off of one of the bar stools onto a similarly-sized bruiser who thought he was gonna teach that little ****** a lesson about talking to other people's girl-friends - started harrassing him, laying hands on, et cetera. This, too, was accompanied by the unbelievable scream. He didn't get down off the stool, he just LAUNCHED himself straight from the stool onto the guy, who was standing next to him. This time, he wrapped his arms around the guy's neck and his legs around his waist, carried him over backwards, and on the way down, he BIT the guy - bit completely through his ear (didn't bite it off, just through it) - there was blood everywhere, the guy was rolling around on the floor, screaming like a stuck pig, and the fight was OVER. George asked the bartender if he was gonna call the cops - actually, I think he asked "Hey, you aren't gonna call the cops, are you?" and sure enough, he wasn't. We left, anyway. Several people told him "Good job, man, that guy's a bully" as we were leaving.
What I took from George's examples was to avoid a fight, even if it means you have to walk away - which he did on occasion... but if you can't avoid it, don't wait for the other party to start it. Make sure you disorient your opponent at the outset, and do your best to disable him immediately.
As Yogi said, "It ain't over, 'til it's over."
OK, I've looked at this thread a couple of times and held myself in check from commenting but now that LHG has led the way I have two questions.
Did you people skip all of kindergarten? You know, the very beginning where they teach that sticks and stones thing about words not being able to hurt you?
The other question is, what do bouncers do these days? Have bars stopped using bouncers? If someone is being obnoxious, especially to the band, isn't it part of the bouncer's job to deal with them? Did you even mention the problem to the man paid to deal with it before you let it get violent?
I'm glad you weren't hurt any worse and I'm sorry you're ribs hurt. I'm also sorry you ran into a man with no class and no training in how to be a good audience. However, I do not approve of your choice.
Did you people skip all of kindergarten? You know, the very beginning where they teach that sticks and stones thing about words not being able to hurt you?
The other question is, what do bouncers do these days? Have bars stopped using bouncers? If someone is being obnoxious, especially to the band, isn't it part of the bouncer's job to deal with them? Did you even mention the problem to the man paid to deal with it before you let it get violent?
I'm glad you weren't hurt any worse and I'm sorry you're ribs hurt. I'm also sorry you ran into a man with no class and no training in how to be a good audience. However, I do not approve of your choice.
L
longtex
Guest
HousHorn09
2,500+ Posts
Great story Goose.
I am well passed my "fighting" days as the last fight I was in was a drunken idiotic night in Hong Kong with a shipmate during my Navy days - 21 years ago!!!
I know some people can't understand that sometimes a man simply must engage in a fight. Gay or straight makes no difference, its just one of those things we will all face. Some more than others but it happens. Now then, should it is another topic altogether.
I take my hat off to you for the before, during and after attitude you have had through your whole ordeal. These are not easy dilemmas to work through. Just know this, what happened happened. Its over now. There is no need to feel good or bad about simply accept the experience for what it was.
I believe that ******* had that ***-whipping coming to him. I feel no remorse for someone who allows their ego to impose on others. I wish nothing but the best and finest for you Goose. Not because I feel you should be rewarded but simply because you are the "common man" in this occasion, one that we can all relate to. And I wish nothing but the best for everyone.
I can't wait to share this story with my friends who are gay, I'm sure they'll be inspired by your courage. Not to fight but find that comfort to know that stereotypes are nothing but that.
Hook'em!
I am well passed my "fighting" days as the last fight I was in was a drunken idiotic night in Hong Kong with a shipmate during my Navy days - 21 years ago!!!
I know some people can't understand that sometimes a man simply must engage in a fight. Gay or straight makes no difference, its just one of those things we will all face. Some more than others but it happens. Now then, should it is another topic altogether.
I take my hat off to you for the before, during and after attitude you have had through your whole ordeal. These are not easy dilemmas to work through. Just know this, what happened happened. Its over now. There is no need to feel good or bad about simply accept the experience for what it was.
I believe that ******* had that ***-whipping coming to him. I feel no remorse for someone who allows their ego to impose on others. I wish nothing but the best and finest for you Goose. Not because I feel you should be rewarded but simply because you are the "common man" in this occasion, one that we can all relate to. And I wish nothing but the best for everyone.
I can't wait to share this story with my friends who are gay, I'm sure they'll be inspired by your courage. Not to fight but find that comfort to know that stereotypes are nothing but that.
Hook'em!
ihearttajeallen
250+ Posts
that is a tough looking shiner.
sometimes we have to fight. sometimes we have just freakin had enough of whomever. it is not good or bad, it just is. last fight I got into - the next 4 days felt like I carried the ball 35 times in the RRS.
at least you got the first good lick in. usually that wins it.
sometimes we have to fight. sometimes we have just freakin had enough of whomever. it is not good or bad, it just is. last fight I got into - the next 4 days felt like I carried the ball 35 times in the RRS.
at least you got the first good lick in. usually that wins it.
accuratehorn
10,000+ Posts
Ghandi just shed a tear.
allweatherHorn
1,000+ Posts
Well, six pages in, at least no one has suggested forming a fight club.
Actually three of the middle schools in Pflugerville have a program called Kick start. They get to take martial arts in lieu of another PE. The first lesson they learn is that martial arts should be used ONLY for self defense. It's a wonderful program started in Houston by Chuck Norris. Since the first belt ceremony last year was the first for the program in central Texas, Norris showed up. My nephew got his picture taken with Chuck Norris. I don't think Mr. Norris would approve of hitting someone just because they insulted you.
L
longtex
Guest
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