I'm getting too old for this.

So Saturday night I had a show at The Pontiac. During the opening band I noticed this big dude sort of walking around staring at girls inside the bar. Then I saw him put his hands on the waist of one of the servers who works there. Then he approached the female singer of the band that was performing and tried to strike up a conversation with her in mid-et. At this point I began to suspect that the dude was maybe not all there and seemed to be missing the many social cues being directed at him that his behavior was inappropriate. After failing to get anywhere with the singer he sidled up behind the band’s manager and grabbed her shoulders.
At this point the bartender signaled enough was enough and asked me to help get rid of the guy. So I approached him and told him I needed to talk to him outside. He didn’t want to go. I told him he was really going to have to go, leave for the evening, but he was welcome to come back the next day. He told me he had to say goodbye to some friends. I looked around and it was obvious he wasn’t there with anyone so I asked him who these friends were. He stammered and mumbled and finally made his way out of the bar.

Two minutes later he was trying to come in again. So I went outside, told him he wasn’t welcome to return for the remainder of the evening and he turned to leave again.

So I go back in the bar, thinking everything is cool, until I hear the bartender yelling my name and pointing outside … where this big dude is trying to wrestle the doorman to the ground after apparently AGAIN trying to get back into the bar!

So I run outside, pull the bug dude off and start yelling at him to go or I’m calling the cops. This whole time I’ve been trying to deal with him respectfully and, even after he’s attacked one of the staff, I’m still trying to solve the whole ordeal through words.

It’s at this point that the dude decides to land a roundhouse on the left side of my head.

Now when you get hit, especially in the head, a burst of stimulus floods through your brain but you essentially have two options; return fire and behave like a wounded animal (which is, to be fair, one’s basic instinct, and the route most folks follow) or you can decide to end the fight then and there with a minimum of damage to either party. I decided to take the second route. I leapt on the guy, somehow got behind him, pinned his arms behind his back and pushed him up against a truck. And set the truck’s car alarm off. So now anyone that hadn’t been watching the events unfold were certainly paying attention.

For the record, I pushed him up against the truck because I didn’t want anyone misinterpreting my pinning the guy’s arms behind his back as an invitation to throw any punches. In the heat of a fight people do things without thinking and I didn’t want anyone to regret anything that happened.

So, now with the help of the bouncer and the bar’s cook, I pull the guy off the truck and lay him down, on his back, on the ground. I pinned one arm, the bouncer got the other and the cook stood just in case either of us needed relief. A valet from across the street called the cops and we settled in and waited. And waited. And waited.

While we waited the guy started begging to be let go. Saying he couldn’t go to jail. Asking why we pinned him. And it slowly became evident that he didn’t realize he had hit me. He knew he hit someone but he didn’t realize it was me. And I began to realize that I was beginning to feel sorry for this guy. I mean, nothing excused his inappropriate behavior, or his punching me on the side of the head, but I was feeling sorry for him nonetheless. It was also becoming pretty obvious that the cops weren’t coming. So I told the guys to get off my assailant – which the did, cautiously – and I helped Mr. Inappropriate to his feet and told him to leave and not come back. He thanked me and, literally, ran as fast as he could in the other direction.

The remainder of the evening is pretty fuzzy, since many shots were consumed directly afterwards in an attempt to ease the adrenaline rush. I know I ended up going to The Continental to see Skid and Dave DJ, but I don’t think I was there for long. I really don’t remember. So if you saw me, I was probably a blithering idiot and I apologize. I do know I didn’t get into any more fights though!

The next morning, however? Oof! Apparently, when you get older and you do things like push people up against trucks, and bring them down to the ground and take hits upside the head, your body is les than pleased. I pulled muscles in my shoulder and chest, my knee, and elbow, and hands were scraped up … I was a mess. I ended up hobbling around like an old man all day long and kept saying, “I’m obviously too old for this shit.”

Because I am, you know.

So, to recap, fighting is not cool but if it has to happen try and make sure people get hurt as little as possible. After you hit 30, though, you should be advised that the mere act of fighting may be enough to put you in traction, even if you’re the undisputed victor. And finally, after a fight, don’t drink lots of bourbon, because all that’s going to do is disguise the fact that you should probably be icing your shoulder at home.