Meet Me Behind the Bleachers

Yesterday, I saw my first boxing match.

I am in college at the moment. I live with six other people in what is called a “suite.” Anyway, there is a freindemosity (friendship+animosity) between two of the guys that live in my suite. They are opposites in a lot of ways. They don’t agree on politics, social problems, theological matters, and preference between dogs and cats.

One thing that they have in common is that they like to drink. Yesterday, drink they did. Now, previously all of our friends have joked around that these two should settle their differences in a boxing match. It was all jokes until yesterday when another buddy of mine brought boxing gloves.

The night was going fine. We were laughing, telling stories, and engaging in general camaraderie until we brought up politics. I read somewhere that you should never talk politics with your friends or lover, and I see why now.

Outta nowhere one of these guys straps on a pair of gloves and pounds them together. I’ve never been less intimidated in my life. However, before I knew it, the other guy has his gloves on too and they engage in what we call “throwing hands.”

The rest of us have to break it up because we don’t want to get a noise complaint (it was like midnight at this time). We sit them down and we continue our debauchery. It was too late, however.

There was something instinctual that followed. I think it’s because two men tried to prove their alpha status in front of other men that triggered the puffing of chests that proceeded.

Somehow, we got to talking about races. So, the next logical step was to go outside and race down the soccer field and bring the boxing gloves so we can have ourselves a boxing match. If you would like to know, I didn’t lose the race.

Anyway, the race was over and we had to find a place for the two guys that were going to box to, you know, box. We found the darkest part of the football field across campus, but before we did, we found a mob that wanted to watch. So there we were, behind the bleachers of the football field with around 12 people waiting in anticipation. We placed our bets and the fight was on.

So how did we know who won? Well, our inner professional wrestling fan showed, and we decided to make it a first blood match. As per usual, the first one to bleed, loses.

If it were up to me, both of them would have been chosen the loser of the match. But it was a first blood match, so even thought they both bled, they bled in order. If you’re wondering who won, it was the guy who liked cats.

Now, why do I need 500 words to tell you all this? I learned through this that we never stop being childish. Just because we have grown up doesn’t mean our problems have. We only inherit more “grown up problems” as we age, we don’t lose the problems we had as adolescents. We have gone from crying because we miss our moms to paying taxes… and crying because we miss our moms. The two guys who fought yesterday went from having a boxing match in pitch dark lighting to prepping for a college exam that might destroy their will to live. We live, we learn, but we don’t grow up.

We have another fight set for next Friday.


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