Squirrelly Bitch

"Hey man you talkin' back to me?
Take him out
You gotta keep 'em separated
Hey man you disrespecting me?
Take him out
You gotta keep 'em separated"

     Some men are fit for civilized society and some men, well, some of us are barely more evolved than knuckle dragging primates.  Being a man myself, I don't think that statement is overly offensive and I also happen to think it's fairly accurate, because I myself wrote it.  I submit this Tuesday's events as Exhibit A.  A for Alpha.

     The sun, she was a-shining and I had just left my favourite Queen West coffee shop, freshly caffeinated and not thinking about too much in particular.  In fact, I can't really recall if I was thinking at all.  I'm walking down the street, headed home to enjoy the afternoon.  Coming up the opposite side walk is a wiry, sunglass wearing semi-degen who proceeds to cross the street at a brisk pace, and as he walks by me (no one around by the way), leans his shoulder out and clips me with a little more force than could be explained as accidental, considering the space around us.  We both took about 2 steps before we turned around to see what was what.

     I was just about to open my yap to say "Sorry bud" or some variation, when he starts verbally assaulting me with some high school level shit talking.  Asking me if I wanted to go, calling me a 4 eyed motherfucker (which made zero sense because we were both wearing sunglasses), eloquent phrases in other words.  The guy just gives me a verbal tirade and says he's having a real bad day and that he wants to kick my ass.  I counter with asking how us fighting would improve his day?  So I just stood there with a half grin on my face, and slowly started to realize what was happening.  He calls me a bunch of other names that are NSFW and says "I hit you, you call the cops, give me a guarantee you don't call the cops."  I respond with another, "Why would we fight over a sidewalk bump?" but he's having none of it.

     He gives me a very aggressive stomp forward, the type of move known by younger brothers and hallway nerds everywhere and I instinctively put my hands up in a defensive fashion, just in case.  I mean, I had just seen Mayweather/Pacquiao not two weeks before.  He doesn't throw and calls me a squirrelly bitch, among other things.  I try to come up with some sort of comeback but it's no use.  A few seconds and cusses later and he keeps walking, as do I, at this point amped up on more than the caffeine.  I managed to say I hoped the rest of his day went better as we parted ways.  

     Minutes later, given time to assess the situation, it becomes clear this guy crossed the street to come at me when there was acres of room for both of us and our egos.  Judging by his dress and demeanour, he was right at home in Parkdale and if you don't know what that means, come to Parkdale sometime and walk around in the middle of the day.  You'll get the point.

     Now I'll be the first to admit I am not a fighter.  Haven't had a bout since Grade 4 and since then I've seemed to be able to side step trouble if it ever popped up.  I am, however, a male and that means I have testosterone and and an overly developed amygdala, which is the part of the brain most responsible for bloody noses and bruised egos.  And I won't lie to you friends, I left the encounter perhaps 90% sure I had done the right thing, but 10% sure I pussied out like a bitch.  That might sound stupid and immature, but its how I felt.  The street offered up a chance to get it on, as they say, and my civilized brain managed to cool the situation before we both ended up in the back of a Crown Vic or worse.  Call it a win by judges decision I suppose.         

     I've always said it's the guys who want to fight on a Tuesday morning that are the ones to worry about, and I believe that even more firmly now.

     Can't help but think I'm a bit of a squirrelly bitch though.

Socially Responsible Violence

     "Everywhere I hear the sound of marching, charging feet, boy
       Cause summer's here and the time is right for fighting in the street, boy"
   
     Take a look at the calendar and it'll show we're on the doorstep to the NHL playoffs and that means a couple of things.  Sport journalists all over the nation will be taking easy shots about the Leafs golfing and the rate of hockey fighting will go down drastically.
   
     Naturally, this is an argument the bleeding hearts fall back on when trying to make the case for an outright ban on fisticuffs.  See, they cry out in unison, once every game matters the level of fighting drops, so there's no need to fight in the regular 82 game season either.  After careful deliberation and considerable libation, this writer must (dis)respectfully disagree.
   
     Hockey is at times violence on ice, and has a reputation for a reason.  Every NHL roster usually includes one or two savage brutes whose job it is to start (or finish) the odd donny-brook, either to light a fire under a team's collective ass or to dole out some righteous retribution.  If the talent is in danger or if the opposing team takes liberties on a first line sniper, out come the fists.   It is a code that many are pretended to be offended by, but in reality no one ever chose a brouhaha to get another beer or spill some urine.  Cheers for fights are often as loud as cheers for goals.
   
     The men trusted to hand out these beatings are often large and always dangerous and have the ability to hurt more than feelings when tilts break out.  I don't know about you, but I would much rather have these would-be-felons throwing hammers in NHL rinks than to have them out and about in society at large.  We are much better off having these angry and vicious men out in the open, under the intense spotlight of professional sport than cast into society's shadows where their best talents could have them locked behind bars.  If a man wants to carve out a paycheque beating the skulls of other men with his fists, perhaps we all need to indulge him for the greater good.
   
     To those that say there is no place for fighting in hockey, I ask, what better place than in hockey for Alpha-Males to display their physical prowess?  Judging by the reactions from the stands, it's abundantly clear that fans don't cover their eyes and hiss and boo with disapproval either, when these modern day gladiators square up for a round or two of the man dance.
   
     Can you imagine getting into a parking lot dust-up, only to see the likes of a Bob Probert or a Donald Brashear emerge from that car that stole your parking spot?  Or trying to complain to a service representative with a mind-set like Brian McGrattan?  You'd certainly think twice about raising your voice and taking out your daily frustration on them.  Would you really honk your horn in that ever so passive aggressive way if you knew it was Ben Eager who cut you off in traffic?  Neither would I.  Many intellectuals and academics will look at fighting in hockey as something brutish and nasty, but what is worse?  Adult men getting paid to occasionally beat on one another or having these same men on the streets with the same mentality?
   
     We live in violent and savage times, and to pretend sport doesn't reflect that just isn't being honest.  But if a few men want to trade punches for a salary and go sit in a glass box after as punishment, I don't think it's the end of the world.  Now if only more violence could be settled with a few 5 minute majors, then we'd be getting somewhere.

(source)