Tuesday 13 November 2012

Cowardly Swamp Fox

A few days ago on facebook a friend started a conversation that linked dog fighting to UFC. I don’t know about the dog fighting, but the UFC is something that I have strong opinions of. Most of them negative as I feel that although these fighters are undoubtedly good athletes they seem to be glorified bar brawlers to me. I don’t get why so many young women find it appealing. Perhaps because the guys are “ripped” and on a subconscious level these are the alpha males. I don’t really care to talk about this kind of animal behaviour tonight, the fighters or the people that watch this trash.

I will talk about fighting however, my life of fighting. I am not and have never been a fighter. I’ve never been much of a lover either, so I can’t figure out just where I belong. When I was small, the only fighting that I did was of a defensive nature. I had to protect myself from my big brother. I wasn’t very successful. I was never a target for bullies, well at least not the main target of bullies. Some other poor slob had that distinction. I was no more terrified of these guys than everyone else was.

I vaguely remember fighting once in the school yard, but I can’t remember who it was with, why we fought or who won the fight. I suspect that I wasn’t the winner. I did manage to avoid fighting pretty much for the rest of my life. There was a time in Florida when I was punched and ran faster than I ever had before. I managed to escape and it turns out that the guy I was with took off in the opposite direction just as quickly. Perhaps it is true about like attract like.

I remember walking my girlfriend home one night when a car full of drunken guys pulled up beside us and started talking obscenities to my girl. I knew that I had to do something and I think I asked them to leave us alone. I was quite prepared to fight until I was unconscious, but that wouldn’t be too long since fighting was never a strong suit. Luckily, the car load of thugs and would be rapists drove off laughing. What a relief! The problem was that I don’t think I had ever felt so ineffectual before. There was nothing I could have done to stop something from happening and even when I think of it now I feel less than useless.

I suppose that is the kind of event that can change a man’s life. Not mine though. I didn’t go out and start to lift weights, take ju-jitsu or even learn to play the guitar, because no one expects a musician to be able to fight. I have always relied on my sense of humour to avoid getting the shit beaten out of me. Mostly it has been a successful life strategy. I can’t help but think it would have been nicer to know that I could wipe the smirk off of someone’s face if the need ever arose.

I’m sixty now and even if I were a fighter, my best days are well behind me now. I still plan fight scenarios in my head, but they are more likely to appear in this blog than in the real world. The trouble with fighting is the same as it has always been, someone (probably me) will always get hurt. I don’t like pain! I am pretty good with other people’s pain and even their blood, but I don’t like it when I feel pain or see my own blood.
I like to think of myself as kind of a modern day “Swamp Fox”, running away so that I could fight another day. In my case it would be just running away I suppose.


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