Dirty Ground. Kris Wilder
of it this way. If a 250-pound tattooed steroid freak tells you to show up at a certain place and time where he’s going to beat the crap out of you, you could react in couple different ways. If you’re thinking sport, you show up at the venue, strap on the gloves, and have a go at it. If you’re thinking combat, you wait in ambush and blow his head off when he arrives. Or bomb the building once he goes inside.
Sport rules can be anything from how you can use your hands to what kind of equipment is required. There is a beginning, middle, and an end to the sporting event, with timelines known to all participants ahead of time. The rules are designed to ensure that the participants have a level of safety that brings an ability to participate again at a later date, sometimes again that same day.
Another aspect of sport is the pageantry that is associated with the event. There can be all sorts of formal pageantry, everything from uniforms and titles to ceremonies prior to the sporting event, observances after the sporting event, or even rites performed in the middle. You can think of it in terms of a football game in the United States with the singing of the national anthem, the halftime entertainment, and then the awarding of a trophy at the end of a particularly significant game.
Sport rules also support a form of competition that keeps the spectator engaged, so they may enjoy the competition as much as the participants. Typically, these rules include leveling the playing field to increase the chances of an exciting event. A spectator isn’t going enjoy watching a 250-pound judoka take on a 115-pound opponent any more than he will like watching a professional football team play against a bunch of high school athletes. We all know that the smaller person has little chance under sports rules that take truly dangerous techniques out of play. It is just a matter of time before the bigger competitor falls on the smaller competitor and the match is over.
Specialization exists in every sport. An example of specialization is the designated hitter in the American League of Major League Baseball. This player does nothing but bat the ball. Unlike everyone else on the team, he does not play a position on the field. In American football, an offensive tackle may weigh upward of 300 pounds. His job is to stop people from getting past him, people who tend to match up favorably in size and speed. Compare this to the average wide receiver who weighs in at 200 pounds or less. The smaller, faster receiver’s job is to get away from other players, catch the ball, and travel as far down the field as he can before being tackled. Sporting rules allow for specialization, and in that specialization, comes the context in which to enjoy the event. It’s not that warriors don’t specialize, they often do, but that both teams have the same mix of specializations (e.g., quarterbacks, receivers, kickers, punters, linebackers, safeties, and the like).
The time line is one of the biggest separators between sport and combat. Although not all sports use a clock (like baseball), the majority of sports use some kind of a timer. Those that don’t count periods such as rounds or innings instead. The reason for this is that a clock provides an external pressure determining the intensity of play. Players and coaches have little control over the clock other than a few timeouts. In combat, the battle rages until one side or the other gives up or moves for a political solution (we’re not aware of any wars in the last few centuries where one side completely wiped out the other).
The assumption is that in combat and war there are no rules of engagement but in reality there are. A good example would be the Geneva Protocol to the Hague Convention. Signed in 1925, it involved, among other things, permanently banning all forms of chemical and biological warfare. This protocol came about after World War I where the use of mustard gas and other similar chemicals not only killed thousands upon thousands of soldiers but also left many of them blinded and maimed.
Approximately seven years after World War I, more rules of warfare were put in place, including the illegality of the triangle-shaped blade on a bayonet. This prohibition was adopted because the resulting triangular wound was very difficult for a surgeon or field doctor to suture. The intent of the triangle-shaped blade was to create a wound that remained open as long as possible. If the wound site became infected, the injured soldier would not only be incapacitated but would eventually die from that contagion.
These are two examples of rules of combat. Unlike sport, there is no clock in war and combat is about battles of dominance, submission, and attrition. In the simplest terms, victory is ensured by breaking more of the other combatant’s things (e.g., buildings, roads, infrastructure, and equipment) and killing more of their people than they kill of yours so that they will eventually give up. Media and political pressure play an important role.
Drunkles, Druggles, Dysfunctional Relatives, and Whacked-Out Friends
It was my turn to watch the door. Everyone at the party had left their keys on a pegboard and I wasn’t supposed to give them back unless the person was sober enough to drive. About midnight Ron staggered up to me and demanded his keys. He was hammered, so I told him no, something along the lines of, “You’ve got to sober up first, man.”
Well, he wasn’t having any of that. He lunged for the keys. I got there first, grabbed them off the board, and twisted away from him. I told him no again, but he kept coming. He was bigger than me, and a serious asshole when drunk, but he was my fraternity brother and I wasn’t about to let him kill himself or someone else driving home. Unfortunately, the other guys just thought it was funny. They were no help. Until he grabbed me by the throat and tried choking me.
I drove my knee into his stomach. It wasn’t much of a blow but it did force him back. As he lunged again I pivoted and hit him in the base of the jaw as hard as I could. Much to my surprise he crumbled to the ground. It was the first time I’d ever knocked anyone out. Thankfully, the next morning he didn’t remember who’d hit him…
A couple months later it got worse. Our frat was one of the only ones in the U-District with a parking lot. Space being at a premium, that land was worth more than our house and everything in it combined. There was enough room on the street to accommodate most who lived in the area—but not nearly enough for townies, party guests, and the like so guys from nearby houses kept parking on our property. Despite the warnings, tow trucks, and even a few fistfights, they’d been doing it all semester. Then a couple guys from the fraternity across the street keyed a few of our vehicles in retaliation.
That didn’t go over very well. Within minutes, some seventy of us were brawling in the street, Ron leading the charge.
Being somewhat smarter, or at least more sober than most, I chose not to participate. I was watching the ruckus from the front yard when Ron stumbled past, nose gushing blood, and disappeared into the house. Thinking he was hurt more seriously than a busted nose to have left the fight like that, I turned and followed him in, but I couldn’t find him on the main floor. As I passed the stairs leading to our rooms above, I spotted him heading back down, murder in his eyes and a rifle in his hands. Holy shit! I didn’t even know he had a gun, let alone would be stupid enough to bring one to a fistfight!
I bolted to the front, grabbed three other guys who had also been watching the scrap in the street, and blocked the door. We tried to talk some sense into him but Ron was too enraged to listen. He kept right on moving, shoving his way past us. We undoubtedly underestimated the true danger we faced. I know that I certainly did, but there was no way in hell I was about to let him out that door. I dove for his knees, striking with my shoulder and wrapping him up like I’d learned to tackle playing football. It didn’t work (did I mention that Ron was a hell of a lot bigger and stronger than me?). After a slight hesitation, probably all of a half second but it seemed a couple decades longer at the time, the other guys jumped in as well.
The four of us managed to wrestle him to the ground, wrench the rifle out of his hands, and sit on him until he calmed down. And, thankfully, the gun didn’t discharge during the altercation. If we had not intervened, I’m certain that Ron would have killed someone over scratched paint.
Drunkle is an important concept when choosing the right way to respond to any given situation, so it merits a bit more detail. Drunkles do not