My First KO in Peru
I scored my first KO in Peru last night. I had long thought it was inevitable but didn’t think it’d happen for such a stupid reason. Instead of an incident stemming from me walking with a Peruvian girl, it happened in a bar with a guy I’d been drinking with.
Mike’s last night is Friday so we spontaneously decided to go out drinking Thursday (last night). We went to a small dive on San Francisco. Eight tables are fit into a place no more than 1000 square feet, including the bar. The walls are decorated with interesting paintings and photos; the music is loud. I went to the bar while Mike grabbed a table. By the time I had a pitcher of pisco and Sprite, Mike made two friends who joined him at our table.
Jesús and José were their names – I think. Each was 21. They were cool at first. We all drank our pitcher and their beer. At some point, I told José how much I don’t like pisco (I don’t like pisco). He asked what I do like. Whiskey and vodka. He suggested we get a bottle of vodka. Mike and I agreed. Everybody chipped in for a fifth of Stoli and a two liter of Sprite. We got drunk.
Jesús commented on my size and used the subject as a transition to tell us about his karate. Jesús sat next to Mike on the other side of the table. So he was only annoying Mike with his karate talk while I talked to José. At one point, he showed Mike a karate move. After completing it, he held Mike’s wrist with his arm extended well out in front of his body, leaving Jesús in a significant position of leverage to move Mike’s upper body around at will. Mike is generally a nice guy without any macho insecurity issues. He doesn’t have anything to prove. He’s not the type to feel as if his manhood were insulted by a stunt like that. So Mike noted that it was a good move and laughed it off.
Towards the end of the Stoli bottle, Mike and José went outside to smoke. I was now seated next to Jesús on a stool with my back against the wall. He sat facing me on the same side of the table. His knees were almost touching mine, with nothing in between us.
Unfortunately, Jesús brought up his karate again. He explained how fighting in Peru is dangerous. Why? Because people jump in. Or they use weapons. I didn’t want to argue with him, but I said that’s not uncommon anywhere else in the world. He told me which karate belt he had earned (I don’t remember, but it wasn’t black). I tried to change the subject many times, but he asked me if I had any experience in fighting. I told him I used to box. Big mistake on my part. He didn’t dismiss boxing per se, but he took a tone of claiming karate as superior to boxing.
Like I said, I tried to change the subject. He broke down my defenses when he told me that he could beat me up. No bullshit. This Peruvian – twenty-one years old and weighing 160 pounds soaking wet – confidently claimed that he would get the best of me with his karate in a “street-fight.”
I didn’t argue but explained that this would be insulting in my country. Probably in Peru too. Then I started with my soapbox on the difference between fighting for free and fighting for money. Dudes who fight in bars and in the street generally ain’t shit compared to dudes who fight for money. Without addressing the subject of him vs. me, or the obvious weight difference, I recommended that if he wanted to fight for money then he should go for it. But MMA and boxing are the only sports where you can earn real money. Definitely not karate.
He brought up the “street-fight” again. I really fucked up this time. My big mistake: I showed him my right fist. I explained that, if this hits you – without a glove on it – it’s over. The idea of a “street-fight” is silly. The only guys who could take this kind of punch are professional fighters (guys who don’t fight for free and surely not in bars to prove they’re tough).
At this point, Jesús tried to show me some karate. I’m not sure if he meant to perform his move in the air without touching me, or if he meant to intimidate me. I am sure that he was drunk and didn’t mean to start what he started. The move was some flurry of his hands finished with an upward thrust of the elbow. The thrust of the elbow hit me. He hit me in my chin with his right elbow.
I reacted. My first punch was a right hook around his hands that hit him in the eye. Seated with my back against the wall, I didn’t have my legs under me so the punch only had the force of my arm. It was enough to back him off and up from his stool.
I leapt up and hit him with a straight right. I never remember these situations well so I don’t know exactly how many times I hit him. At least two, at most four. At least two include the right hook while seated and the straight right. The straight right may have been the first in a combo which would have been followed by a left hook and another straight right while he was going down. Even with heavy right hands and an accurate left, this combo takes less than a second. That’s why I don’t remember. Plus, I was drunk.
He went into a fetal position on the floor in the middle of the bar. A few guys stood up to keep me back. José, not outside anymore, was one of these guys. I explained to them that I didn’t want any trouble. I got hit first. I don’t want to fight anybody. I didn’t know the word for “chin,” but I clearly communicated what had happened. Somebody helped Jesús up onto a stool. He bent over between his knees and clutched his head. I left. I never saw his face to see if anything was broken or bloody.
A group of guys followed me to where I found Mike on the sidewalk outside. Surprisingly, they didn’t follow me with any intention of further violence. They wanted to hang out. I had a fan club now. Even more surprisingly, José was among them. Mike and I walked a few blocks (fan club following behind). We made a few turns while debating how to get out of downtown. Mike later said that he overheard that someone in the fan club was owed money by José, presenting another incentive for them to follow us.
Of all the fans, I decided to keep only José. We hopped in a cab. I bid goodbye to the group, reiterating that I didn’t want any trouble and Jesús hit me first. Mike, José, and I headed to a botellaria by my place. A botellaria is basically a liquor store with tables. Like a blue-collar tavern. We ordered beers and were immediately invited to a table of two guys in their forties and a woman in her early thirties. Mike talked to the woman while I talked to the old guys and prodded José into binge drinking.
At some point, I noticed the woman smiling and leaning towards Mike, engrossed in the conversation and dreamily staring at him. She was slightly overweight but cute. She seemed like an alcoholic barfly. I ordered my loyal wingman in English, “Tell her you have a girlfriend now!” Mike quickly worked into the conversation, in his strong English accent, “Yo tengo una enamorada.”
The barfly withdrew and sat back in her chair. I grabbed her hand under the table. She smiled. After a few minutes, she told the old guys to take a picture. I put my cheek against hers and we smiled. After the flash, I turned and kissed her. We made out. When the beer was gone, the old guys abruptly decided to go and insisted the barfly come with them. Probably for the better. I would feel even worse today if I had beaten that fatty up too. We all said goodbye.
Mike, José, and I left a little later. José wanted to keep drinking. Mike and I told him we were going to bed and he couldn’t come to our apartment. But have fun! Bye! After Mike left for his hostel, I changed into gym clothes. Around 3:30 am, still drunk, I ran a few sprints on my street. Then I ran a mile. I had adrenaline to burn off.
Reflections:
As always the day after I knock someone out, my right hand hurts like a bitch. I’ve been shaking people’s hands with my left. Also a common pain after knocking someone out, albeit an odd one, is an intense soreness in my right calf muscle. I’m walking with a limp. My theory is that, while I can do calf raises with heavy weight or high reps, jumping exercises, or play basketball, no activity provides the adrenaline rush like knocking someone out. I am right-handed; my straight right is my most powerful punch. The straight right starts in the right foot. The calf is the first major muscle that initiates the punch. My theory is that the added adrenaline enhances my mind-to-muscle connection and I contract the calf muscle in an explosion I can’t replicate in ordinary sports or weightlifting. My left calf and left hand don’t hurt at all.
I never look for trouble and really didn’t want to hit that kid. However, he was looking for it. I may have done society a favor – he probably won’t talk to people like that anymore. But I still need to live in this city. I don’t need to run into him again. Especially if he’s with his karate team.
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5 Responses to “My First KO in Peru”
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Good for you,
sounds like he needed it
I met lots of Karate kids like that. They think if they bought a few belts and can do the round house kick they are the shit. Fuck that. Karate has for the most part become a commercialized brain washing macho game. They learn just enough to get themselves in trouble.
So, good for you.
That was a funny story. Reminds me of the “Fist Foot Way” movie with that whole “your martial art sucks” BS and just sh*tty martial artists.
We call those kinds of schools that Jesus Karate Kid comes from “Commercial arts” and “Take-one’s-dough.” (get it?)
Anyway, there’s no superior martial art, only superior fighters. It’s not uncommon for the martial arts types in Peru to look for fights with another fighter, but they normally do it to improve themselves (b/c they compete), not because they have anything to prove, plus they normally invite you for a beer afterward.
I guess the moral of the story is that you know you’re prepared to take on any choro that comes your way now.
Just for fun here’s a site that might interest you:
http://www.bullshido.net/
I know those kind of people,the kind that speak too close to your face,dont have a sense of humour and well the type i always want to punch but never do.
He fucking deserved it if he was trying to impress you with some bullshit Karate move…in a bar no less!
Loser.
thanks everybody, for making me feel like i’m not a bully.
rachel – i am definitely not trying to clown karate in this post. guys like your husband and the ones on espn are pretty bad ass and i wouldn’t want anything to do with scrappin’ with them – friendly or otherwise. FUCK THAT!
colin
Nice blog, all round. But on the subject of ko’ing and sore right hands, I note that I have brtoken the first and fifth metacarpal bones of right and left hands respectively due to street brawling. This has led me to think about hitting with the heel of the palm for straight shots and slapping for hooks. But I have my doubts that even with training these blows will be effective — I wonder if you’ve ever tried them or have any thoughts about palm vs. fist . . .
Canadian Joe