Fight - by Eugene S. Robinson
Posted: Sat Dec 15, 2007 10:32 am
The full and brilliant title: Fight: Everything you ever wanted to know about ass-kicking but were afraid you'd get your ass kicked for asking.
The author (my new hero) seems to hold in quite high regard the manly art and pleasure of a good scuffle. And what man, worthy of being labeled as such, does not, on occasion, feel the primitive visceral tug that can only be satisfied, it seems, by a good knock-down, drag-out?
This guy – Eugene – writes so eloquently on the beauty and splendor of the fight – in his own words: “Not sport-fight either (which is about as close as you can get), but fight. Not Ultimate Fight, but fight. Reliving like we do, perhaps, the burn of first loves, this love of the fight. I wanted to train but I had to fight.” This book is clearly a labor love for the man. He’s a man who knows and understands the sheer simple joy of beating down another man. This book speaks to me, as the kind of guy that I am. When you meet another man, what’s the most important question? It’s not the question of size – it doesn’t matter whose biceps/dick/bank account/intellect is bigger. Sure, these things are nice, but ultimately, they mean little when you break down the interaction between two men to its most fundamental element. It’s not a question of meaningless physical contests – it doesn’t matter in the least who can bench more or who can beat whom arm-wrestling. The only question of any significance as it relates to comparing yourself to another guy is, as Eugene writes, “Can I take him?”
I’m only just through the Introduction (Fighting: Why Not?), but I’ve skimmed through the entire book, and it’s good; it’s funny, literate, and insightful. It’s all that a book about fighting should be. Here are just a couple quick passages, just to give you a little taste, to see if it sounds like your kind of thing:
“Funny thing about getting knocked out: it steals your time away. And the ten seconds you were down there while feeling like a blink paradoxically also have you feeling long-nap refreshed and saying shit like, ‘I tripped’.”
Eugene writes about the time he was trying to leave a party that the cops were in the process of breaking up, only to be confronted by a drunken biker-type, who Eugene commences to drop with three right crosses, “as luck would have it, right at the feet of the cops, who asked me what happened. Well, I look at the unconscious biker, drunk, covered in blood and beer; I looked at the cop and said as honestly as possible, ‘He fell’.”
Eugene can also quote from AC/DC (“I never shot nobody that didn’t carry a gun.”), and paraphrase Tuco in The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly (“If you’re going to fight, fight. Don’t talk.”). He waxes sort of philosophically on the awesome Bronson movie Hard Times, and the brilliant John Carpenter fight-fest from They Live. He’s got little sidebars with titles such as “So you’ve been stabbed: Signs you may have lost a fight” and “So you’re being choked: What’s it all about, Alfie?” and “A fight film that works only if you don’t fight, never knew anybody who did fight, or believed me when I told you that the word ‘Gullible’ is not in the dictionary” and “Don’t make that stupid post-fight face”, and chapters called “The Real Sad and Weepy Part of Our Story” and “So You’re Knocked Out: Options to Consider”.
It’s a very funny, entertaining book, and I suspect my few meager excerpts don’t do it justice. If you’re a man – a real man – you might well enjoy it. (That's right, I'm questioning your masculinity. Wanna fight about it?)
Of course, if you’re one of those pussified liberal types who feels that a good scuffle is somehow barbaric and undignified – if such a thing is “beneath you” – you might seek your reading enjoyment elsewhere, for you’ll likely get nothing out of this.
The author (my new hero) seems to hold in quite high regard the manly art and pleasure of a good scuffle. And what man, worthy of being labeled as such, does not, on occasion, feel the primitive visceral tug that can only be satisfied, it seems, by a good knock-down, drag-out?
This guy – Eugene – writes so eloquently on the beauty and splendor of the fight – in his own words: “Not sport-fight either (which is about as close as you can get), but fight. Not Ultimate Fight, but fight. Reliving like we do, perhaps, the burn of first loves, this love of the fight. I wanted to train but I had to fight.” This book is clearly a labor love for the man. He’s a man who knows and understands the sheer simple joy of beating down another man. This book speaks to me, as the kind of guy that I am. When you meet another man, what’s the most important question? It’s not the question of size – it doesn’t matter whose biceps/dick/bank account/intellect is bigger. Sure, these things are nice, but ultimately, they mean little when you break down the interaction between two men to its most fundamental element. It’s not a question of meaningless physical contests – it doesn’t matter in the least who can bench more or who can beat whom arm-wrestling. The only question of any significance as it relates to comparing yourself to another guy is, as Eugene writes, “Can I take him?”
I’m only just through the Introduction (Fighting: Why Not?), but I’ve skimmed through the entire book, and it’s good; it’s funny, literate, and insightful. It’s all that a book about fighting should be. Here are just a couple quick passages, just to give you a little taste, to see if it sounds like your kind of thing:
“Funny thing about getting knocked out: it steals your time away. And the ten seconds you were down there while feeling like a blink paradoxically also have you feeling long-nap refreshed and saying shit like, ‘I tripped’.”
Eugene writes about the time he was trying to leave a party that the cops were in the process of breaking up, only to be confronted by a drunken biker-type, who Eugene commences to drop with three right crosses, “as luck would have it, right at the feet of the cops, who asked me what happened. Well, I look at the unconscious biker, drunk, covered in blood and beer; I looked at the cop and said as honestly as possible, ‘He fell’.”
Eugene can also quote from AC/DC (“I never shot nobody that didn’t carry a gun.”), and paraphrase Tuco in The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly (“If you’re going to fight, fight. Don’t talk.”). He waxes sort of philosophically on the awesome Bronson movie Hard Times, and the brilliant John Carpenter fight-fest from They Live. He’s got little sidebars with titles such as “So you’ve been stabbed: Signs you may have lost a fight” and “So you’re being choked: What’s it all about, Alfie?” and “A fight film that works only if you don’t fight, never knew anybody who did fight, or believed me when I told you that the word ‘Gullible’ is not in the dictionary” and “Don’t make that stupid post-fight face”, and chapters called “The Real Sad and Weepy Part of Our Story” and “So You’re Knocked Out: Options to Consider”.
It’s a very funny, entertaining book, and I suspect my few meager excerpts don’t do it justice. If you’re a man – a real man – you might well enjoy it. (That's right, I'm questioning your masculinity. Wanna fight about it?)
Of course, if you’re one of those pussified liberal types who feels that a good scuffle is somehow barbaric and undignified – if such a thing is “beneath you” – you might seek your reading enjoyment elsewhere, for you’ll likely get nothing out of this.