Wednesday, 15 July 2009

• Why Fight Clubs are a bad idea

  I guess you could say I was a pretty average teenager. I was moody, rebellious, and often pretty suggestible. I did all kinds of dumb things back then, things like blasting NWA outside of police stations (you know which song I'm referring to), trolling the city with a megaphone, and smoking pack after pack of cigarettes in Hooters. Of all these things, though, nothing was as dumb as when I started a fight club.
  
  

  
  

  
  As I said, I was a pretty suggestible guy. At the age of fifteen, I first saw Fight Club. Mesmerized by the astonishing nihilism and existentialism in the film--a philosophy most fifteen-year-old guys can get down with--I became obsessed with it. I watched it at least twice a month, every month. I learned every line. I would explain the mysteries of its ending to anyone who seemed even remotely interested. I became so deeply entrenched in Fight Club that the only option I had was to create my own.
  
  It started off in my basement once a week. A bunch of my friends would come over, we'd recite the rules of Fight Club, and we'd strap on boxing gloves and beat the everloving crap out of one another. Hits to the face were generally avoided, so it became more of a basement wrestling club than anything else (and no, 15-year-old guys don't see anything wrong with rolling around in each other's sweat while other guys watch; it's totally hetero).
  
  Eventually, word spread about the Fight Club. What started out as four of us grew to six, then ten. In the new batch of guys was Charlie, a Ginger with the temper of a Rottweiler. Charlie was ridiculously competitive in every aspect of his life, from academics to sports to girls (although we were all pretty sure he was in love with Mike, another friend). He was always a bit too enthusiastic about fight club, and was always the first guy with his shirt off and gloves on.
  
  

  
  Is it just me, or does fighting outdoors automatically break the First Rule of Fight Club?
  

  
  After a few weeks with ten or so guys, my friend Nick asked to join. Nick's a preppy kid from the wealthiest area of the city. He was a private school all-star, born and bred to manage a hedge fund or run a bank into the ground. Girls loved him, too. We never understood why he wanted to fight, but who were we to turn down a willing victim?
  
  Nick's first night in fight club came on a Saturday. For some reason, it was decided that he should fight Charlie. Looking back, I realize it may have been Charlie who suggested this pairing, but none of us was too concerned. After I recited the rules of fight club, Charlie and Nick moved to the center of the basement. Nick was definitely nervous as they waited to touch gloves, probably because Charlie had a demonic Ginger grin on his Ginger face, his eyes aglow with the fire of some unnatural evil.
  
  Instead of going in to tap gloves, Charlie, running forward, plowed into Nick's face with a right hook.All we heard next was Charlie laughing and Nick screaming.
  
  At the hospital we had to explain to Nick's mom that his jaw was dislocated because of an illegal move on Charlie's part. We tried so hard to get her to understand that banning fight club would punish the many for the transgressions of the Ginger. Sadly, she told our parents anyway.
  
  In retrospect, I'm glad she did. Fight clubs are a very good way to destroy your chances of ever getting girls. First off, you're spending one night of the weekend in a room full of sweaty guys, rubbing up against one another and wrestling on the floor. Second, you may get your face crushed in if someone like Charlie is allowed to join. We were lucky Nick's jaw wasn't broken, otherwise we would have had some major splainin' to do.
  
  That's my embarrassingly stupid 15-year-old idea of a good time. What's the dumbest thing you ever did as a teenager?
  

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