Originally Posted by RedNFeisty

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

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

Originally Posted by gochiefs

I bet you throw a mean right hook.

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.:banghead: What age do you all think men go through the change?:hmmm:

Originally Posted by chiefs4me

Wanna find out?;)

Originally Posted by gochiefs

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

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.

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.

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.

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.