Tales of (False) Bravado

I don’t particularly enjoy coming up to a much larger person to challenge him to a fight.  In fact, I DO NOT ENJOY fighting at all.  That’s why I am content with watching boxing and mixed martial arts events on TV.  Besides, I broke my hand in 2008.  I certainly do not want to go through that hellish one-handed experience again.

Last night, my friends and I did a recap of the Pacquiao-Cotto fight, analyzed Mayweather, and discussed a bit on the UFC event scheduled next week.  They enjoyed the conversation and decided to extend an invitation to come and watch with them over at the nearby Outback Steakhouse in Libis next week, experience it daw. Anyway, little did I know that all this talk of fighting plus beer and isaw will have its effect on me.

Flashback to 1995.  I was on my way home from a similar event as mentioned previously.  I was quietly driving my car, listening to music…Then I hit a traffic jam.  No problem back then, I was in relaxation mode — totally inebriated.  After all, I was still a college kid and I just came from a fun event.

Then it happens, I feel a slight nudge on my car. WTF?  I go down and see a truck behind me.  The truck was a typical Isuzu Elf truck, the kind used in the gravel and sand business.  I check the car for damage and calmly approached the truck.  Never mind if the driver and his assistants were BIG, I was in a “courageous” state.  I let a flurry of fighting words out…End of story.  I am just glad I did not end up looking like a pretzel.

Fast forward to 2010’s isaw and beer evening.  It was time to go home.  After seeing my friends off, I wait for my ride.  Standing by a wide roadside, some crazy driver appeared wanting to run me over as he parked.  It was okay but he did something he should not have done.  He gave me “the crazy-I-want-to-fight-you-stare.”  I calmly approached the vehicle’s driver side — familiar scene.  I see the security guard get on the ready, trouble was brewing.  I had a bad day in the office and someone is going to get a crazy beating from me —familiar idea. I blurt out the most classic of Pinoy fighting words, “Tol, may problema ba tayo?” (Do we have a problem?)  I am just glad I did not end up looking like a pretzel, again.

Then there was the time I was looking for someone who seriously hurt a friend of mine and bravely entered a rice mill filled with kargadors…

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