The Fight Club

This is not my idea of volleyball. The beach is crowded, way too crowded, and mainly families, not a single attractive bikini in sight to make time bearable. I sip my tequila while waiting for my turn to play when my friends start to pick on one of the players they call ‘vampire’. Its hard not to notice his fangs. Naively, I thought it was a genetic defect. But soon I learn he got those implanted a few months ago. What the hell? The guy is almost 40, sounds a little too old to be playing vampire. He says he’ll take them out soon, and casually mentions “a couple of days ago, I was in a fight and I bit this pendejo in the arm, you should have seen him”.

That triggers something in my head, in the last couple of days I’ve heard a few of my new acquaintances mentioning getting in fights as a side comment. I have never, in my adult life, got in a fight. Not even a the pushing and yelling kind. Of course I’ve kicked some ass (and got mine kicked too) in a Tae Kwon Do or a Kun Tao dojo. But never out there in the real world.

And this guys, including Mr. Mexican vampire here, seem to do it routinely, with no noticeable negative effects in their life. I start to wonder if I don’t have it wrong. I wonder if this zero violence lifestyle is so abnormal, unbalanced and awkward as let’s say continuos sexual abstinence. Maybe our mammal instincts would be very satisfied if once in a while we got on casual fist fights with our peers. Nothing tragic, a bleeding nose, a black eye, the sound of your knuckles on someone’s cheekbone, the pain of a blow on the ribs. Once a month, perhaps, to release some steam and define more clearly your ranking on the pack... although in a city, these days is a virtual pack, but we still have one, we still compete and we still have alpha males. What if I’m missing out on one of the most important macho rituals?

Rather than just spit out my theory, I wonder if my friends had their own conclusions. So, I say, continuing Mr. Vampire’s story about biting someone’s arm:

- Funny, I don’t think I’d been in a real fight in my whole adult life.

The biggest response I get is one of my friends looking at me for a second and nodding politely. Everyone keeps on drinking their tequilas, watching the game and duly ignoring my comment. I persist.

- What about you? How long since you’ve been in a fight?

“I don’t know. 6 months” said one. “Two years” said another, proceeding to relate the story of the time he got ambushed by a jealous boyfriend and a couple of guys that beat the crap out of him... and then someone else started telling the story about using his belt buckle to whack the head of an opponent “it sounded like a bell! Ding, ding, ding!” I laugh, everyone laughs and I start to think if sometimes I think too much. My turn to play.

Puerto Vallarta. January 2, 2007.