Speaking of balls…


I just rediscovered one of my favorite Flash games on Break.com. I keep telling myself that this game is great for developing hand-eye co-ordination and reflexes, and is therefore highly useful for fencing training. I keep telling myself this because I’m going to be wasting many hours playing it anyway and might as well feel I’m getting something out of it.

Speaking of fencing, the other night, my opponent hit me in the left arm so hard I thought it was going to wither and fall off. It’s still numb and achy. And it was the rear arm too, so it was really off-target. I can only imagine how much it would have hurt if he’d hit somewhere nearer. This guy’s got a bad reputation for being unnecessarily forceful; in fact, earlier that night, a girl began her match with him by scolding him for tearing a hole right through her pants and bruising her leg the previous week and warning him to lighten up. Obviously, he didn’t pay much attention to her.

There’s a well-substantiated story that Steven Seagal had a habit of taking liberties with stuntmen on his movie sets, bullying them around and hurting them unnecessarily, which led stuntman and martial arts legend “Judo” Gene LeBell (Seagal’s senior by two decades) to take Seagal up on his claims that he could escape any hold by immediately choking him unconscious twice and making him lose control of his bladder. This is not something I considered doing. I just wanted to tell that story because Gene LeBell isn’t allowed to, owing to the terms of a subsequent legal settlement, and it deserves to be more widely known.

What I did do was immediately turn around, take off my mask, unhook myself from the wiring to the electronic scoring system, and walk away, which confused him because the score was only something like 2-1 at that point. Then the judge explained to him that he’d been hitting too hard, which I emphasized by theatrically showing someone my new bruise in front of him. I figure this was classier than yelling at him (which is actually the recommended club policy). Sure, staging a walkoff is still kind of creating a scene, but yelling at him would be putting on a big production. There’s less sound and fury. It doesn’t actually make anyone turn around and look. I can always yell at him later, like that other girl.

Then I went home, had a look at my bruise, and phoned my friend Janet, who thinks I am the Devil, to complain about it. “I’ve got this purple circle the size of a quarter, and then there’s a red dot the diameter of a pencil eraser in the middle of that,” I said. “It looks like I’ve got a goddamn fourth nipple on my arm!”

“That’s disgusting,” she said. “I have to go.”

One Response to “Speaking of balls…”

  1. 1 Out for a Kill « Man vs. Clown!

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