[Jeff Higgins]

Like Speeder says, most bar fights are pretty short. They get broken up either by the staff or by other patrons before they really get out of hand.

A good example was a day I found myself in a bar with a good buddy from work. He is 10 years older than me, so old enough to have served during the Vietnam War. He was in the Navy, not sure what his "real" job was, but he essentially boxed his way through his service commitment in both Navy and all services tournaments. When he got out he went semi-pro for awhile, then worked as a sparring partner at a boxing gym.

We hit it off pretty good when he learned I had boxed some Golden Gloves as a kid. He was still hitting the bags and training pretty hard, so he asked me to join him. He taught me more about boxing than I had learned in my entire time in Golden Gloves.

Back to that bar. It was in Eastern Washington cattle country. We had stopped for a beer after having spent the day assassinating ground squirrels and rock chucks. Anyway, there was a "cowboy" sitting in a chair, leaned back against the wall right at the entrance to the hallway that led to the little boys' room. This guy was about my size, maybe 6'1" and 240-250 pounds. My buddy was about 5'8", 150 pounds if that. So, wouldn't you know, but I had no trouble with this "cowboy". Every time my buddy went to the restroom, however, this guy kicked him in the shin with his cowboy boot. After about three or four times, my buddy offered to buy him a beer.

This guy was having none of it. "I come in here every weekend looking for a fight. Today is your lucky day." The guy got up and pushed my buddy, which was a huge mistake. Not because it made him mad, but because it gave him an excuse to take one step back with his right foot, getting planted in a boxing stance with no one the wiser. Certainly not this guy.

My buddy put a left hook into his ribs, which made him quack like a duck as he started to double over, right into a follow-up left hook to the side of his jaw. Lights out. Game over. That fast.

Until, unfortunately, some buddy of his rose to the occasion in an effort to help. He was approaching my buddy from behind, with intent, cocking his arm to plant one on the back of my buddy's head. I was sitting right there, so as I got up out of my chair I simply looked at my buddy and quietly said "duck". Must have been the look on my face, or my general demeanor at the moment, but for once in his life he actually listened to me.

The guy taking a swing at the back of his head missed, of course, and then stumbled forward. Right into a perfectly timed and aimed overhand right from me, right on the button. Same thing - lights out.

By now the bartender and a couple of bouncers had baseball bats in hand. The place had gone dead quiet. He looked at us and told us to get our asses up to the bar. We quickly obliged. He said in a loud enough voice "the cops are on their way nobody leaves". We thought we were toast. Then he said "nobody leaves because the next round is on the house, and y'all can thank these two right here!!"

Boy did we get a lot of hugs from the ladies and pats on the back and handshakes from the guys. Turns out this idiot and his buddy were well known, and had been causing trouble in the bar for way too long. So we had a few beers as the cops and medics arrived. The first guy was o.k., but "my" guy had a broken jaw. Not surprising, he was falling forward, right into it, totally unable to protect himself. That one I actually did feel kind of bad about, I hadn't meant to really hurt him like that.

The whole thing took about five seconds. Most of them, especially one on one, are over about that fast. Takes longer to tell the story...