Spinoff: What was the last fight you had? Details please!!!

[wutamess]

If your last fight wasn't as entertaining, then please share your most entertaining fight.

Mine would have to be in eighth grade...

My best friend at the time would relay messages back and forth to this guy I was having problems with (basically my best friend was instigating). Anyhow, (I'm an artist) I drew a really artistic middle finger and gave it to my best friend which in turn gave it to the guy.

So after class the guy confronts me about the picture I drew and starts to push me. I immediately start swinging for the face and got a couple of good quick shots in while he was actually trying to choke me. So after (what seemed like an eternity) about 5-6 seconds we actually start exchanging blows and everyone is around in a frenzy.

I quickly found that fighting wears you down faster than Phobia's aunt after a few martini's. By the 15-20 second mark I was tired as hell and basically gave up. By that time the guy seemed to be gaining strength and got a couple of good shots in before the teacher broke it up.

The funny part is, I was so damn happy the fight was over people was asking me why was I smiling when the teacher's broke up the fight on the way to teh principals office.

Anyhow, in my mind, I won round 1 and we split the second round and he won round 3. But considering that the "on-lookers" started gathering in the middle to last round, it was a unanimous decision that I'd lost the fight.

Moral of the story: Don't get caught in the hype of letting "friends" cash a check that your fists can't handle.

~ The good 'ol days.

[chiefs4me]

Originally Posted by RedNFeisty

! I took that to mean your hubby! To funny!

So, which side won? The right or left!?!

I won of course...I think I have had enough...I already have 3 sons and I don't need a 43 year old 2 year old. What age do you all think men go through the change?

[chiefs4me]

Originally Posted by gochiefs

I bet you throw a mean right hook.

Wanna find out?

[RedNFeisty]

Originally Posted by chiefs4me

I won of course...I think I have had enough...I already have 3 sons and I don't need a 43 year old 2 year old. What age do you all think men go through the change?

Death

Today is not a good day to ask me about men. I think men in general are great, unless they are ours.

[Hammock Parties]

Originally Posted by chiefs4me

Wanna find out?

I was trying to poke fun. You actually had a fistfight with your husband?

[BIG_DADDY]

Wasn't much of a fight. We were practicing some grappling moves after hours in childcare when I ran health clubs when one of the guys said grappling was shit and he could take me if he could punch. I told him if he wanted a shot at the title to go for it. He tried throwing one punch I blocked it stepped forward, over him taking his back leg out. I landed on him in mounted position and started slapping him saying "what are you going to do now bitch" He gave up his back and I went for the rear naked choke and got it in a few seconds. He tapped and I held it for a few seconds longer so he started to pass out. He was mad at me when I let him up for not releasing immediatly but I wanted to prove a point considering he was trying to take my head off. Like I said, not much of a fight.

[chiefs4me]

Originally Posted by gochiefs

I was trying to poke fun. You actually had a fistfight with your husband?

No we didn't have a fistfight. Not that I wouldn't like to slug him sometimes. I was funning with you on the wanna find out.

[HC_Chief]

Originally Posted by BIG_DADDY

Wasn't much of a fight. We were practicing some grappling moves after hours in childcare when I ran health clubs when one of the guys said grappling was shit and he could take me if he could punch. I told him if he wanted a shot at the title to go for it. He tried throwing one punch I blocked it stepped forward, over him taking his back leg out. I landed on him in mounted position and started slapping him saying "what are you going to do now bitch" He gave up his back and I went for the rear naked choke and got it in a few seconds. He tapped and I held it for a few seconds longer so he started to pass out. He was mad at me when I let him up for not releasing immediatly but I wanted to prove a point considering he was trying to take my head off. Like I said, not much of a fight.

hehe... never, EVER, under ANY circumstances give up your back. Try that Greco shit w/ a grappler and you'll be out cold in no time flat.

[Mile High Mania]

"... went for the rear naked choke and got it in a few seconds..."

Interesting.

[Rain Man]

The year was 1975. The place: Hickory Hills Elementary School in Springfield, Missouri.

It was a clear spring day, isolated clouds drifting on a sea of cerulean blue. The shouts of children filled the air.

I was at second base. I always played second base, and no one questioned it. We all knew our strengths and our weaknesses, and no one questioned my ability with a glove.

There was one out, and we were up 3 to 1 in the middle innings. The teacher hadn't come out with her whistle yet, so we all knew that there was no urgency...yet. Paul was on second, and held off my good-natured attempt to push him off.

Who was up in the batting order? My eyes widened. Big Bart was striding toward the plate. We began waving the outfield back. Bart was five feet and five inches of towering giant, 130 pounds of muscle, almost as tall as the tallest girls and much more beefy. He was mighty Casey in any sport we played, by virtue of good genes and early puberty.

I knew Bart well. We had matched up before, many times. I was four feet and eleven inches tall, 90 pounds of bone and flash, the second-tallest boy in the class, so we were often on opposing teams. We were Chamberlain and Russell, Montana and Marino. We respected each other's skills, but in our hearts we knew that we each were the other's barrier to success.

Mark was on the mound, and he put the pitch up. Ball One. The second pitch was in the dirt. Mark knew not to give Bart something to hit. He knew that Bart was impatient, and that he would eventually swing. We all helped, chanting that Bart was off his rocker, just like Betty Crocker. You could get in Bart's mind with that stuff.

The third pitch nicked the inside of the plate. It also nicked Bart's bat. Spinning crazily, the ball rocketed toward John at first base, too hot to handle. It bounced off John, and Bart barreled toward first.

A scramble ensued amongst the gaggle of backup first basemen. For the most part, these were girls who were concentrated in a low-traffic spot hoping to avoid being hit. They were not ready to field a ball. John darted through them, and Bart hit first base. Bart knew about the backup first basemen, knew them well, and he made the bold decision to go for second. The great beast of a man-child sprinted toward me.

Lisa saw her chance. Small and bespectacled, her trademark was her bare-handed style, made possible only by the fact that she had never actually fielded a ball. Today was different, though. Today was her Yorktown, her Kursk. Today was the day that she would become a baseball player.

She knelt down and cleanly fielded the ball. Aware that she threw like a girl, she evaluated her options quickly. There was only one decision to make, and she was one sharp girl. She handed the ball to John.

John whirled and threw, hoping to beat the giant to second base. I was left of the bag, crouched and ready. Bart was coming. The ball was coming. Only physics could predict which would arrive first.

The answer was never revealed. The ball was to my left. So was Bart. The ball was in the base path. So was Bart.

So was my arm. Never slowing, Bart knocked my arm away. The ball went by, embarking on a tour of left field. Bart parked on second. He turned toward me. He turned toward left field. He made a break for third.

Now, I don't normally consider myself a violent man. I broker peace deals. I negotiate. I avoid conflict by hiding. But this was intolerable. I had him dead to rights. He should have been trudging back to the backstop, having learned not to challenge Lisa to John to me.

But he wasn't. He was heading toward third, and the ball was in left field, and the girls chasing it ran like girls and threw like girls, and had no chance of getting the ball back into the infield except by bucket brigade. Paul was already home, and Bart was the tying run, the hero for his team.

There comes a time when a man has to act. There are also times when a man has to lash out mindlessly. This was one of those times.

I met Bart at the shortstop position, behind him and to his right. Football was my sport, and I knew how to hit. I nailed him.

Two hundred and twenty pounds of us went sprawling into the dirt. Two hundred and twenty pounds of us got back up, of which a hundred and thirty pounds was pissed. I held my ground. Sometimes a man has to do that.

Sometimes a man has to know when to give up, too. That's what sets the smart ones apart. The clouds drifted by. The sky was a beautiful cerulean blue. The bottom of Bart's foot was on my face. A teacher ran.

The shouts of children filled the air.

[Hammock Parties]

Originally Posted by Rain Man

The year was 1975. The place: Hickory Hills Elementary School in Springfield, Missouri.

It was a clear spring day, isolated clouds drifting on a sea of cerulean blue. The shouts of children filled the air.

I was at second base. I always played second base, and no one questioned it. We all knew our strengths and our weaknesses, and no one questioned my ability with a glove.

There was one out, and we were up 3 to 1 in the middle innings. The teacher hadn't come out with her whistle yet, so we all knew that there was no urgency...yet. Paul Bushong was on second, and held off my good-natured attempt to push him off.

Who was up in the batting order? My eyes widened. Big Bart Tindle was striding toward the plate. We began waving the outfield back. Bart was five feet and five inches of towering giant, 130 pounds of muscle, almost as tall as the tallest girls and much more beefy. He was mighty Casey in any sport we played, by virtue of good genes and early puberty.

I knew Bart well. We had matched up before, many times. I was four feet and eleven inches tall, 90 pounds of bone and flash, the second-tallest boy in the class, so we were often on opposing teams. We were Chamberlain and Russell, Montana and Marino. We respected each other's skills, but in our hearts we knew that we each were the other's barrier to success.

Mark Cooper was on the mound, and he put the pitch up. Ball One. The second pitch was in the dirt. Mark knew not to give Bart something to hit. He knew that Bart was impatient, and that he would eventually swing. We all helped, chanting that Bart was off his rocker, just like Betty Crocker. You could get in Bart's mind with that stuff.

The third pitch nicked the inside of the plate. It also nicked Bart's bat. Spinning crazily, the ball rocketed toward John Greenbank at first base, too hot to handle. It bounced off John, and Bart barreled toward first.

A scramble ensued amongst the gaggle of backup first basemen. For the most part, these were girls who were concentrated in a low-traffic spot hoping to avoid being hit. They were not ready to field a ball. John darted through them, and Bart hit first base. Bart knew about the backup first basemen, knew them well, and he made the bold decision to go for second. The great beast of a man-child sprinted toward me.

Lisa Felix saw her chance. Small and bespectacled, her trademark was her bare-handed style, made possible only by the fact that she had never actually fielded a ball. Today was different, though. Today was her Yorktown, her Kursk. Today was the day that she would become a baseball player.

She knelt down and cleanly fielded the ball. Aware that she threw like a girl, she evaluated her options quickly. There was only one decision to make, and she was one sharp girl. She handed the ball to John Greenbank.

John whirled and threw, hoping to beat the giant to second base. I was left of the bag, crouched and ready. Bart was coming. The ball was coming. Only physics could predict which would arrive first.

The answer was never revealed. The ball was to my left. So was Bart. The ball was in the base path. So was Bart.

So was my arm. Never slowing, Bart knocked my arm away. The ball went by, embarking on a tour of left field. Bart parked on second. He turned toward me. He turned toward left field. He made a break for third.

Now, I don't normally consider myself a violent man. I broker peace deals. I negotiate. I avoid conflict by hiding. But this was intolerable. I had him dead to rights. He should have been trudging back to the backstop, having learned not to challenge Felix to Greenbank to Raines.

But he wasn't. He was heading toward third, and the ball was in left field, and the girls chasing it ran like girls and threw like girls, and had no chance of getting the ball back into the infield except by bucket brigade. Paul Bushong was already home, and Bart was the tying run, the hero for his team.

There comes a time when a man has to act. There are also times when a man has to lash out mindlessly. This was one of those times.

I met Bart at the shortstop position, behind him and to his right. Football was my sport, and I knew how to hit. I nailed him.

Two hundred and twenty pounds of us went sprawling into the dirt. Two hundred and twenty pounds of us got back up, of which a hundred and thirty pounds was pissed. I held my ground. Sometimes a man has to do that.

Sometimes a man has to know when to give up, too. That's what sets the smart ones apart. The clouds drifted by. The sky was a beautiful cerulean blue. The bottom of Bart's foot was on my face. A teacher ran.

The shouts of children filled the air.

You are brilliant.

[Ghostof]

I'd like to claim that I have been in numerous fights, that I won them all or got my ass kicked in everyone of them......but sadly...I cant claim either.


I have never been in a fist fight, push shove matches yes, but those dont count. I was always the tall kid from kindergarten up to 7th grade junior high. I guess I never did see the point of fighting. Call me a pussy whatever, I never ran from anyone, and the only person I was ever scared of, besides God of course, was my dad. No one ever has thrown a punch at me and the only thing I ever hit was the Everlast bag in the basement.

[cdcox]

I was at Boy Scout Camp (Oceola) and this kid a year or two younger than me decides he can pick on me. He has a couple of older brothers that are also in the troop, one my age and another a year older. He keeps calling me names and whacking me on the head in order to provoke me. I'm at least 6" taller than he and he doesn't have any more meat on his bones than I do, so I can't figure out why he thinks he can pick on me. But I'm definitely a turn the other cheek guy and let it go. It goes on for several days.

One day a bunch of us were walking between two of the camps and were pretty isoated from any adults. The kid that is picking on me and his brother that is my age get into some big arguement over I don't remember what, but the little brother ends up in tears with most everyone ridiculing him, including me.

So he calls me out. Naturally all the other kids in the troop egg me on. Peer pressure finally had its way, so I say, "Sure I'll fight you." I take a swing with my left. I'm moving in slow motion, so he easily ducks it to my right. Repeat. Repeat. Now I am nothing if not observent. It occurs to me that if he keeps ducking to my right when I punch with my left, he is putting his face in a good position for my right. So I throw another slow motion looper with my left, he ducks to my right, and I clock him with the right. He never saw it coming. Gave him a pretty good black eye, with a broken blood vessel in his eye to boot.

His oldest brother (not with us at the time) pulled me aside and told me, "yeah he's a pain in the ass, but what in the heck are you doing beating up on a kid so much smaller than you." Didn't overtly threaten me, but made it clear not to go beating on him any more.

Many years later I ran into my adversary again. It was at the oldest brother's funeral (drunk driving). By now the kid I'd beat up had finished a tour in the Marine Corp, was every bit as tall as me, and built like a house. As I shook his hand and offered condolences, he reminded me of that day. He basically admitted he had it coming, but he had a smile on his face that indicated he wasn't too worried that it would happen again.

[Iowanian]

It was feb of 2001 and snow and Ice piled the roads for 2 days. Iowanian fired up the Ford Dogsled team with a destination of Omaha. She was new, pretty and holding out. He was in Full Rutt and could not be stopped by rain, snow nor hail.

After braving the elements, our hero has near completed his 4 1/2hr drive back towards home on a sunday night. Reaching the extent of no-gas capacity, Our hero stops for gas at a interstate/hwy intersection station. having spent all of his money on food, flowers, gas, a concert et al, he heads to the ATM withdraws some money, completes the purchase of Fuel and a 20oz Mt Dew.

I noticed the brown van in the parking lot when I arrived, and noticed it pull out behind as I headed into the pitch black of a rural Hwy at 11pm. the Van followed at 1/4mile for a few miles, and suddenly it speeds to my bumper, flashing the brights. I'm thinking "something must have blown out of the back or something".

So like a dumbass, I pull the truck off into the 10" snow on the shoulder and roll down the window...the van pulls up beside, and the guy is yelling a bunch of jibberish. I smell a skunk and try to pull away, but in my haste, I'd forgotten the 4x4.
The Guy floors the van and turns broadside in the hwy blocking my exit and I hear the door.

A Bug eyed(OBVIOUSLY high) steps around the back of the van, which is over the center line with his arms up like "C'mon, get some"..I say "whats up?" and I"m thinking "this fugger wants to fight?".....He jams his hands deep into the pockets of his starter coat, and does this thug strut....I'm pondering Getting out so I can actually fight back

.and then it hits me.

He watched me through the window at the ATM....I'm about to be robbed and shot, in the middle of Amish Country.

I look around for a screw driver, flashlight whatever....nothing within reach. If I had a concealed weapon, he'd be 2 steps from Dead.

I yell, he keeps coming, never says a word. As he gets to the truck, I rared back til my elbow hit the armrest and Hit him absolutely as hard as I could from a seated position, square in his Snaggled, green nasty teeth and point of his nose...........A home run shot.

He stumbles back 3-4 steps, and which time I'm expecting a gun to come out and I reach for the 4x4 button, Floor the 5.4 v8 in reverse, back out onto the hwy and Floor it.........If he gets int he way, he's flat.

He was still stumbling around in the road as I went by.

The most scared I've probably ever been. I was Amped up for days.....................and THAT friends, is why I believe all law abiding citizens should have the right to carry.

[Hammock Parties]

Originally Posted by Iowanian

It was feb of 2001 and snow and Ice piled the roads for 2 days. Iowanian fired up the Ford Dogsled team with a destination of Omaha. She was new, pretty and holding out. He was in Full Rutt and could not be stopped by rain, snow nor hail.

After braving the elements, our hero has near completed his 4 1/2hr drive back towards home on a sunday night. Reaching the extent of no-gas capacity, Our hero stops for gas at a interstate/hwy intersection station. having spent all of his money on food, flowers, gas, a concert et al, he heads to the ATM withdraws some money, completes the purchase of Fuel and a 20oz Mt Dew.

I noticed the brown van in the parking lot when I arrived, and noticed it pull out behind as I headed into the pitch black of a rural Hwy at 11pm. the Van followed at 1/4mile for a few miles, and suddenly it speeds to my bumper, flashing the brights. I'm thinking "something must have blown out of the back or something".

So like a dumbass, I pull the truck off into the 10" snow on the shoulder and roll down the window...the van pulls up beside, and the guy is yelling a bunch of jibberish. I smell a skunk and try to pull away, but in my haste, I'd forgotten the 4x4.
The Guy floors the van and turns broadside in the hwy blocking my exit and I hear the door.

A Bug eyed(OBVIOUSLY high) steps around the back of the van, which is over the center line with his arms up like "C'mon, get some"..I say "whats up?" and I"m thinking "this fugger wants to fight?".....He jams his hands deep into the pockets of his starter coat, and does this thug strut....I'm pondering Getting out so I can actually fight back

.and then it hits me.

He watched me through the window at the ATM....I'm about to be robbed and shot, in the middle of Amish Country.

I look around for a screw driver, flashlight whatever....nothing within reach. If I had a concealed weapon, he'd be 2 steps from Dead.

I yell, he keeps coming, never says a word. As he gets to the truck, I rared back til my elbow hit the armrest and Hit him absolutely as hard as I could from a seated position, square in his Snaggled, green nasty teeth and point of his nose...........A home run shot.

He stumbles back 3-4 steps, and which time I'm expecting a gun to come out and I reach for the 4x4 button, Floor the 5.4 v8 in reverse, back out onto the hwy and Floor it.........If he gets int he way, he's flat.

He was still stumbling around in the road as I went by.

The most scared I've probably ever been. I was Amped up for days.....................and THAT friends, is why I believe all law abiding citizens should have the right to carry.

Better to have it and not need it. Cool story.

[BIG_DADDY]

Originally Posted by Ghostof

I'd like to claim that I have been in numerous fights, that I won them all or got my ass kicked in everyone of them......but sadly...I cant claim either.


I have never been in a fist fight, push shove matches yes, but those dont count. I was always the tall kid from kindergarten up to 7th grade junior high. I guess I never did see the point of fighting. Call me a pussy whatever, I never ran from anyone, and the only person I was ever scared of, besides God of course, was my dad. No one ever has thrown a punch at me and the only thing I ever hit was the Everlast bag in the basement.

That explains your need to get attention all the time now, you never grew any huevos. My guess is you never did much of anything with your life in general.