These days, I'm older and a bit harder. Not much, but a bit.
However, all that wrestling and near torture suffered at the hands of my brother left me wondering: what would happen if I got in a fight?
I like to lead a life such that no one would take issue with me. I choose to diffuse situations, not add fuel to them. It's not just that I find fighting undignified for a lady, it's more that I think only stupid people do it. And you can get in legal trouble. But I've always had this little wish to call someone out. Throw down. Have someone push me to the point that I say, "Right. You are having it." Knuckle sandwich. Junkyard scuffle. I've always imagined it wouldn't be hair pulling and slapping, but some serious knee-to-face kinda Brad Pitt in Snatch kinda sh*t up in here. Me, only hard. Me, only not afraid of the ramifications like going to jail.
Then, one night in college, it happened. I found a legal way to have a fight. Some fraternity's philanthropy for premature babies was a boxing tournament and this was to be the first year they allowed women. It was the following day, and I signed up. I didn't tell anyone.
I didn't know what to expect really. Three, one-minute rounds? Easy-peasy. A few dozen people? Over-sized, cartoon gloves? A little fun for a little money for kids?
Not so much, as it turns out. Hundreds of people were there to watch something like 10 fights, three of which were girls. They'd set up a professional ring with a real ref. The girl I was matched against wouldn't talk to me and she had "bitch" written on her mouth gaurd. None of the guys in my tent would give me any advice because they were friends with her.
The bell rang for the first guy fight, and a few punches in let me tell you it wasn't the first time I thought this is a bad idea.
Keep in mind I'd never thrown a real punch in my life.
By the time I got the gloves and head and crotch gear on it stank and was wet from sweat. Bad idea.
One of my two friends in attendance offered to be in my corner, and did this boxer/football pads/guy thing where he hit my shoulders kinda hard then slapped me in the head gear with his right hand, then his left, all of which hurt. Bad idea.
I got in the ring and looked at the crowd. For reals, yo. BAD IDEA.
You know how Zoolander is brainwashed to kill the Prime Minister when his trigger song "Relax" is played? Well, the bell rang and the switch flipped. From mild-mannered girl next door to Dolph Lundgren in Rocky IV.
I must break you.
Turns out, three minutes boxing is a really long time even when you're in good shape. Even with extra corner time because I kept knocking her headgear sideways and she needed smelling salts.
Turns out, the competition was rigged as she was friends with the judges. I was a little miffed as I'd clearly won, but I was a lot glad it was over. Then, quite proud of myself as the ref and boxing club owner asked how long I'd been boxing and were incredulous that they'd just seen the first (and last) three minutes of my career. Must have been a dozen guys gave me ye ol' pat on the back. Must have been hundreds of single guys who decisively put me on their "not in this lifetime" lists.
I got the video. Next time you're in Salem and have a VCR handy, you can borrow it off me Ma. Don't worry, she doesn't have any dags and she doesn't live in a caravan in a pikey campsite. Brad Pitt. Snatch. No? Rent it, it'll make sense.
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