Funny Fight Story (KF related)

Okay, it's only KF related because these guys had taken a few months of KF and thought they were badasses. This is an excerpt from Eddie MacKenzie's book "Street Soldier--My Life as an Enforcer for Whitey Bulger and the Boston Irish Mob." (one of my favorite boks ever, BTW)

WARNING!!! CONTAINS SOME PROFANITY, WHICH I HAVE THOUGHTFULLY EDITED!


**DISCLAIMER--THIS IS THE TALE OF A FIGHT BETWEEN SCRUBS AND SEMI-SCRUBS--BUT IT"S STILL HILARIOUS!**

(story to follow)

"As Spring approached, Paul and I found a new outlet for our aggression. On warm nights, we'd cruise down to the esplanade on the Boston side of the Charles River, where a decent-sized gay population hung out. We figured we'd use our martial arts skills to do a little high-octane gay bashing. I didn't, and I don't give a (lump of excrement) about anyone's sexual orientation. We just identified the gays who hung out along the Charles river as a minority on the fringe who had no real support or backing. Perfect victims for a couple of gutless dirtbags.

For five nights straight, it was easy pickings and great fun. Paul and I concealed ourselves in the darkness, moving quietly, ducking behind trees, acting like guerrilla warriors. We'd move in and start shooting the (excrement) with some of the guys. We'd play it cool for a while, but not for too long. We didn't want to start thinking of these guys as humans. Once everybody started to relax, we'd pounce, blindsisding a few queer bears and dropping off few heroes who came to the aid of their friends. We tried out all the new moves we'd been taught, plus a few we made up. Once we started kicking, it was bedlam: the rapid-fire staccato of fist or boot connecting, and then the yelling and moaning. We'd give ourselves a good two or three minutes of fun and then run like hell before the cops arrived.

Paul and I made sure we never struck the same place twice. We thought we were covering our bases. We didn't know that time was running out. We also didn't know that a block from the esplanade, serious and dangerous talent, most of it gay, trained at this dojo called the Mattson Academy of Martial Arts.

It was a weekday night, the first week in June. Beautiful, warm, cloudless. Paul and I were on the hunt. We zoned in on a group of ten guys standing next to the water. I noticed that these guys seemed taller and wider than the ones we'd encountered in our previous forays, but we were so confident in our abilities that we feared no one.

We crouched, moving stealthily, all the while getting closer to the clearing. This time, no small talk. We were going to run these (bundles of twigs) down and kick the (lump of excrement) out of them. We stayed on the edge of the field for ten minutes, gearing up, whispering to each other and pointing: 'Okay, you take that one.' 'I got that (maternal fornicator).' 'Let's hit that queer together.'

We were in sync. We gave each other the nod, and then sprang across that field like two players on a kickoff return team. We were twenty yards away, stride for stride, when our boys turned around to face us. We knew in the next second--when, in a relaxed manner, they all slipped into a classic kung-fu stance--that this drill was going to be different. We were running head first into a gang of recruits from the Mattson Academy of Martial Arts.

We knew we had a problem, but there was no way I was going to puss out. Neither was Paul. Not yet, anyway. I went after a guy out front. built like me, broad-shouldered, but two inches taller. That arrogant prick was waving me on. And I was coming: Twenty feet, ten feet, five feet, and then BAM! I don't know what he hit me with because it happened so quickly. I don't know if I got caught with a fist, a foot, a baseball bat, or all three. I do know that I saw a bright light and felt an intense, piercing, vibrating pain that reverberated throughout my head and body. I didn't go down, though. I could always take a punch. I stumbled backwards and tried to regain my senses. And I did, just in time for my opponent to take out my legs with a perfectly executed kick."

Continued...

"This prick was tough--and good. I bounced up, dancing on my feet and screaming, "C'mon, you (maternally fornicating rooster slurper)!" I always had more guts than brains. Just before I stepped up for more punishment, I looked to my right. To my horror, Paul was running away.

I was in deep (lump of excrement). I have to give those guys credit, though. I was outnumbered ten to one, but it was left to me and the guy who'd just rocked me to resolve the issue. Then again, I think his buddies figured that I was going to get my (backside) kicked without their help. I hadn't come to the same conclusion. I was hurt and tingling, but I was pissed, and stupid enough to think that I could still pull out a victory. I danced around for ten more seconds, giving myself time to shake off the stars and the ringing and the pain. The truth was I had no idea how I was going to get out of this without becoming the poor prick who loses an ear or a finger. (a reference to earlier in the book where he talked about beating guys up and then biting or pulling off an ear or a finger or whatever)

I'm not sure if it was my anger, fear, adrenaline overload, or all of it together, but I then did something that would have caused Tony Iantosca to deny he ever knew me, never mind taught me. I dispensed with all discipline, with all consideration of balance and leverage, and became a Southie street brawler. I executed a combination lunge-and-flying-tackle at my opponent's waist. Of course, this stroke of brillinace resulted in further distress. I remember a knee connecting to the bridge of my nose and the instantaneous crack of cartilage and bone, blood pouring out of my nose and into my mouth.

And then I was on my back. The guy straddled me, his kness pinning my shoulders to the ground. He bent forward, his face six inches from mine. My face was throbbing and my head was in a fog, but all I could worry about was that he was going to try to kiss me. Nope, he was just getting close enough so that I could hear what he had to say. I couldn't make out much of his face, but I could see that he was smiling.

'Okay, you stupid (fornication),' he said calmly, not a shade out of breath. 'Do you give'

I had little choice. 'yeah, yeah, sure, I give,' I said.

'Okay now get the (fornication) out of here. And I don't ever want to see you here again. Not you. Not anyone who looks like you. You got it'

'Yeah, sure, just let me up. Plaese.'

He didn't say anything as he stood up and took a step back. I scrambled to my feet and turned toward Storrow drive, making like i was heading out. But then I spun around and tried to land a haymaker. The only thing I landed on was my back, as my target deftly slipped my knockout punch and truned my momentum against me, grabbing my shoulders and executing a perfect body toss. I could hear the air punch out of my lungs as my body slapped the earth.

Again, he straddled me. Through the moon beams and lightning bolts dancing in front of my eyes, I could see his face. He wasn't smiling now.

'I'm going to make this very clear,' he said slowly. 'If I let you up again, and you come back at me, I'm going to pull down your pants and (rape) you up the (backside).'

I don't think I need to tell you that at that moment, my days of gay bashing came to an end." *Note--The writer later went on to become a Golden Gloves champ and American Kickboxing champ, and later an enforcer for the Boston Irish mob. So once a scrub is not always a scrub...*

Uhhhh....
I dont know how I feel about that. Its certainly nice to know he got his @ss beat but he's still a scumbag, Scrub or not.

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One hit, see blood.

It's not enough to just not get hit

It is debatable whether or not he IS a scumbag. It is clear that he WAS a scumbag, but he says as much in the first paragraph when he refers to himself and his buddy as "gutless dirtbags."

I just always get a kick out of any story where bullies get their comeuppance. Particularly bigoted bullies.

Now the term "Hey, that Kung-Fu is just gay" gets totally different sound. "Sure, but we still kick your (explicative) with one hand on the back!".

Plus, a kung-fu guy who successfully counters a waist tackle with a knee-to-head... I could swear Grandmaster Z was seen smiling at the place!

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"Fawning, but proud!" - (at least sometimes, in rare cases)
"Killing them all didn't make it any better..." - "Are you a freak or something ???" - Max Payne
"Theft is a crime, even in Iraq." - Me.

Nik, the guy tackling was also a KF guy, though only for a few months.

The reason I still list the winners as semi-scrubs is because of the knee to the nose takedown defense, the knees on shoulders pinning technique, and the hands on shoulders throwing technique.

As you should all know by now, I train with KF practitioners, and have friends that train various CMA's in PA, RI, and MD. I respect CMA's, even if I don't swallow everything espoused by some CMA practitioners.

My buddy Tommy (one of the CMA practitioners I know) is from the once all-Irish Philly Suburb of Collingdale.

His dad, Big Tom, tells a similar story of how he and his buddies went down to a gay bar by the docks and waited for a few guys to come out so they could beat them up (this was back in the '50's, when being gay was still pretty hush-hush, so they really didn't know much about gay men other than the fact that they were somehow different). They pushed this one guy around for a minute when a bunch of other guys came out of the bar.

At this point in the story, Big Tom relates that "bodybuilding was poular in the gay community some time before it was popular in the mainstream. In short--these guys were BIG. They were also pissed. They proceeded to beat the snot out of us. the cops showed up and just sat across the street laughing at us. They knew why we were there and decided to let us get taught a lesson. Eventually they broke it up and brought us home with a warning that if we ever went down there again they weren't gonna come get us. That night we learned that you can call somebody a fairy, or a (bundle of sticks), or whatever, but it doesn't make them any weaker. When those dudes were beating on us, we realized that a gay man is still a man."

I still remember that story every time I've felt like calling someone out that I don't know. No matter what your assumptions, you just never know what you are getting into.

Moved to appropriate forum.

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"You must eat bitter before you can taste sweet"- Iron & Silk
"I see no virtue where I smell no sweat"
"Arm yourself because no one else here will save you" - Chris Cornell

“	Originally Posted By: DragonballZ 'I'm going to make this very clear,' he said slowly. 'If I let you up again, and you come back at me, I'm going to pull down your pants and (rape) you up the (backside).'	”

...Man! The worst thing was he couldn't do anything about it if he would of attacked him again...

I understand why he gave up after that, cause getting my a$$ handed to me then, getting up the a$$ right after you lost is kinda...sick

“	I understand why he gave up after that, cause getting my a$$ handed to me then, getting up the a$$ right after you lost is kinda...sick	”

LOL... that's called "adding insult to injury"...

Peace-
Cam

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Rock On!
Cam
"Raise up your mind....."

There was no reason to be "fair" to him, since he was the guy doing the assault. No reason to be sorry for him that "he couldn't do anything". Do you think that the victim of an assault has to be friendly with the assaulter and give him a "chance" to finish

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"Fawning, but proud!" - (at least sometimes, in rare cases)
"Killing them all didn't make it any better..." - "Are you a freak or something ???" - Max Payne
"Theft is a crime, even in Iraq." - Me.

Well that's what differentiates humans from scumbags. They give people a chance even when 'eye for an eye' would dictate otherwise.

Damn, that's a messed up story. Glad to hear he got a wake up call. Would've been a lot more serious if this happened in Hawaii. Dudes over there are like 6'4", 280-300 lbs. I actually seen a group of white dudes get seriously pounded right in front of my car. A friend of mine and myself were cruising Waikiki, there's a spot where all the "Mahu's" go to. We were at a stoplight, and the white dudes started talking sh!t, low and behold, they got dirty cracks. All I said to my friend was, "roll up your windows, and don't say a word". Makes me laugh just thinking about it. LOL........

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It's all about the nitty gritty.......

The book is a great read.

It is not al abouty streetfighting, and in fact stretfights play a very minor role in the overall story.

The unfortunate thing about this incident is that while it may have served as a wake up call regarding "gay bashing," it did not serve as a wake up call regarding thuggery. That came years later and under miuch more dire circumstances...