The front of the middle school was like three quarters of a concrete coliseum. The two story school stood in front of concrete steps that led to a large concrete plateau walled in with glass windows and entryways. Every morning and afternoon, we got off the bus, headed up the stairs, and waited here until teacher aides opened the doors. It was like a bunch of concert goers waiting to go into the show. There occasionally was trouble: snowball fight, stealing someone’s hat and making them run after it, crap like that.
Today was going to be different; the night before at hockey practice, the team’s goalie and I had had a problem. I played defense and had knocked him down trying to get the puck. While he was trying to save it. Anyway, the puck scored. He was ripping mad. After exchanging pleasantries of idiot, jerk, among other names, we stared at each other. Usually, we were friends – evidently, being knocked down and a goal being scored changed everything. That was fine with me.
Right after practice, he said, “I will fight you tomorrow at school.”
I said, “Sure.”
Duels didn’t just happen in the 1700s. They happened in middle school. I got off the bus and was ready to go. It was January and pretty cold. I could see my breath. I started up the steps.
He was ready. Fights were always a big draw. He stood at the top of the stairs in a circle built of middle school kid’s bodies. It was like a group of campers standing around a fire. He moved to the far side of the circle, and I stepped in.
“Everyone has a plan until they’ve been hit.” -Joe Louis, Boxer World Heavyweight Champion
I looked at him. He said, “Come on!” He raised his fists.
I simply smacked him in the eye with my right. And slammed the side of his head with my left fist.
The idea that you should hold off throwing the first punch is nonsense. A real fight is a real fight; it isn’t a half fight or a pretend fight. You might as well win and try not to get hurt. A solid first strike or a shock-and-awe punch will 9 times out of 10 get the guy wobbly. Then, it is off to the races.
In this opening round, I made two mistakes. One mistake was forgetting to take my winter gloves off. Too much padding, a bare hand certainly hits harder. The second one was I stopped after my first two punches to admire my work. Dumb, dumb, dumb. He went from wobbly to wailing me back. He caught me in the nose and then the mouth. A good nose shot always makes me a bit teary. I fired back.
That was it. We pounded each other for what seemed like an hour. All my shots were head shots. This wasn’t boxing – no points for body blows. We just hammered away. I busted his lip and he gave me a slight bloody nose.
Finally, the teacher aides grabbed us from behind and pulled us apart. (After this, the aides were told to supervise us sooner in the morning.) Due to my nose, I was escorted to the nurse’s office, and he was hauled off to the principal’s office. After a bit, we changed places. The he was brought into the office. The principal gave us the “don’t do it again” business and two detentions. It was followed by the halfhearted handshake between the two of us. This whole moment lasted about three minutes. In the 70s, the principal wasn’t going to have us express our feelings or hug-it-out. He just wanted to get rid of us – out of his office and back to class. We obliged.
For a day or so, the school was abuzz with the battle. Who won? Who lost? It was determined a tie. We both gained a little street cred. Two weeks later, we were friends again.
"To be the man, you gotta beat the man!" - Ric Flair, Wrestler 16-time World Heavyweight Champion