New Years Eve

It was getting close to New Years eve, and I had recently flown from Seattle to SF to enjoy it with some friends. The plan was to start our night around the Union Square area. Before heading to the square we spent some time pre-gaming at our hotel room(s). I don’t recall much of what we put in our systems, but i’m sure we left the hotel “buzzin’.”

When we got to the square we found it blocked off. The Square was relatively crowded, and there were police officers blocking the entrance(s). We were bummed to find ourselves locked out.

After getting rejected at the gate I began to look for an alternate way into the square. I noticed a path through some bushes, and snuck right through. Immediately after I made it through the bushes an officer walked up to me and asked, “are you staying in, or are you staying out?” I replied, “I’m staying in.” Within a matter of seconds I turned and saw Shush “galloping” through the bushes. However, he got caught, and got me caught too.

I watched an officer grab Shush, and as I was watching a cop “slammed” me in my back. I tried to turn, only to feel another blow to my back. I turned again, same thing. Finally I turned around to watch the cops fist crunch against my face. Within no time I was being beaten by a mob of cops. Someone from the crowd shouted, “don’t do him like Rodney King!” My friends Heanan and Scho, who somehow made it in, tried to help. They were both thrown face down into the cement. I recall Scho oozing blood from his forehead. We were all thrown into the “paddy wagon.”

The paddy wagon was pretty much empty, with the exception of one or two guys. The problem that would help us and haunt us was that the cops were intending to fill it up. Shortly after settling into the pitch black truck I realized that I had a large “Bud” in my pants pocket. This problem took some teamwork to resolve. I turned back to back with Henan and Henan got the bag out of my pocket. He then turned back to back with Scho and Scho pulled the bud out of the bag, and passed it into Henan’s fingers. Then Henan turned his back to me in order for me to squat down and eat the bud out of his fingers.

About another 45 minutes passed by and we still hadn’t left for the station. We had gained a couple new “troops,” and Henan had to pee really bad. He was about to let it go when his vocal tone turned serious and he asked, “Phillips, will you pull it out?” It was reverse of the bud removal process only Henan wasn’t feeding me bud with his fingers, I was struggling to get Henan’s penis into mine. Sure enough he peed on the floor.

Back at the station we went through the usual process, “bend over, squat down, lift up your balls, spread your ass cheeks, cough three times,” etc. We were then placed in a holding tank. I remember one of the inmates looking for a light for the joint that he pulled out the side door of his shoe. The only one not to get bailed out before processing was Henan. After I got bailed out I sat with his mother and reassured her that we had not broken a law. We were all let off with diversions. The law agreed to let us off with our one “get out of jail free pass,” as long as we promised not to file a civil suit. Go Figure.

SF State Football

I was training hard during the Summer of 93. I got a free membership to an “upper class” gym through my uncle. I was 17, weighing 175, and my bench press max was 320. I was very inspired, and would get my cousins, as well as my uncle to hit the gym with me. I recall doing “deep” squats with 315 pounds, three sets of 15. I also remember running stairs. They were outside and connected two streets that were separated by a hill. I would sprint up them and jog down them over and over. Today, walking up once would wear me down.

After a couple months of training in Seattle I headed back to the Bay Area to start football camp for SF State. This would be my first year playing “college” football, and I was only 17 yrs old. Upon arrival at SF state I got in line with the rest of the players. The line was long and extended out of the Student health center. Inside we were treated like meat. The health staff measured us, weighed us, and frivolously examined our bodies. After that we were herded onto a bus. A number of hours later we reached CSU, Stanislaus. It was a California State University located in a “warmer” part of the state.

Our training camp schedule went as follows: breakfast, meeting, practice, weight training, showers, meeting, lunch, practice, showers, dinner, meeting, sleep. It was hard core. However, we got to indulge in a buffet three times a day, and were given an hour of free time before bed.

I excelled in this camp. I was the first freshman to go “heads up” with a senior in a drill. It was before we were supposed to be hitting, but it happened, anyway. He came at me and I didn’t back down. The head coach, who was known to sit back and observe, walked out to me and told me, “good job.”

After a couple weeks I began to get the attention of the seniors. I recall watching the films of one of our practices. The Offensive Coordinator pointed out how my “style” was more affective than one of the team captains’. The 1st string player would often times stop his feet, and “juke” his way around the side. I would put my head down and smash my way through. It wasn’t long before I was second string out of about 7 running backs.

Near the end of camp the running back in front of me got hurt. I was now scheduled to start in our opening day game against St. Mary’s. The coaches were flabbergasted. A 17yr old freshman was going to be their starting running back. There were only a couple other freshman that hadn’t been “red shirted.”

Back at Gator stadium we continued to practice. The week before our 1st game we had a scrimmage. My first carry was a success. It was a “dive,” up the middle, with the fullback lead blocking. I gained about 8 yards. However, my second carry didn’t go as well. It was a sweep around the left side. I exploded off the line, and carried the ball around the corner. I quickly gained about 6 yards. All that stood between me and the End Zone was a corner back. I decided to fake to the left and go right. My attempt failed. When I planted my foot to fake my ACL tore, and I fell to the ground. I was in a lot of pain.

Back in the medical “hut” the doctor examined my knee. The head coach was with me. When my coach asked for a status report, the doc shook his head. That meant I was out for the season. Later the head coach shed tears, and yelled at the rest of the team for not being as committed as me. I never saw it, but I guess news regarding my injury reached the SF paper. “Promising young running back from Novato, out for the season.”

Highway 1

I spent the second half of my 5th manic episode at Andrew and Wills’ house in Santa Rosa, CA. Their living/working quarters were part home, part recording studio. The place was always a mess, and my bed was a couch in the dingy garage.

I’ll never forget the state of the room that Andrew slept in. There were random art projects scattered about, some on the walls, some on the floor. His bed was a small futon. A flashing yellow road sign intermittently lit the room, and the room was partially flooded. However, he managed an event center, and I don’t recall him ever missing work. Sometimes he would share his Red Dog beer with me when he returned home from work.

People would come and go, some for business, some for pleasure. Several nights a week we would stay up late drinking, smoking, and playing music. I was manic and liked the setup. Andrew would get a little annoyed with Jesus related talk. One day I tried to make him loosen up by playing guitar and freestyling homosexual related lyrics to him. It didn’t help the matter. He was an extreme atheist, and I was a manic street preacher. Nevertheless, we managed to get along.

One night Andrew and I got the impulse to drive out to the beach. We wanted to play guitars around a fire. On the way out of the house Andrew grabbed some old acid that he had in the freezer. We made a pit stop on the way to the coast and acquired some free news papers to get the fire started with. At this point we dropped some acid, as well and a mixture of psych pills I happened to have on me.

By the time we got to the coast I was starting to feel the effects, and Andrew was passed out. The anti-psychotic that I still take to this day was strong enough to knock out a person on LSD. Impulsively I headed south on highway 1 for San Francisco. At that time in my life I was driving a nice mazda RX-7, and the cliffs and curvy roads sounded like a good time. It seemed like I was peeling out for an hour and a half straight.

Once in the city I gravitated to the Mission Dist. Andrew was still asleep. I woke him up and we headed for the BART station. By this time it was light out. We then hopped the toll gates and got onto the train to Oakland. Under the bay I used the BART like a surf board, standing in the door wells, crouched, and with my arms out. Andy sat and was drawing the scene in his sketch book. We took a short walk around Oakland and returned to SF. Somehow we make it back to Santa Rosa later that day.

The end of EBP

EBP, my 10th grade clan, broke up abruptly. On the last day of the year Nob’s mother, our main buyer, purchased us a keg of Lowenbrau. I think that was the only keg we scored that year. We usually ended up with “party balls.” Anyway, a few of us stayed up that night trying to put a dent in the keg. The rest of the troops were scheduled to trickle in the next day.

The next morning we were wasted and friends started to trickle in. We had to make a Safeway run in order to get cups. On our way out of Safeway one of the employees shouted, “you forgot your keys.” I turned to watch him toss them on to the floor, down the aisle, and into my hands. I gladly accepted them.

In the parking lot I searched for the Ford automobile. One of the keys said Festiva and there weren’t many cars in the lot. Within no time I was racing around the parking lot. I don’t think I even had a drivers permit at this time. After I got my fix I parked the car and left the keys on the dash. That would be my one and only official joy ride.

Back at the house the drink was back on. We drank and drank and drank. It was still early in the morning. It was before noon, and not even the whole tribe had shown up, before I passed out face down in the back yard.

Shortly after I woke up I had to go pee. I did my business and then looked in the mirror. My eyebrow was gone. Somebody had also gotten to one of my armpits. My shock turned to rage. I went on a man hunt. I was throwing blows right and left. “Who did it,” i yelled. Finally Henan fessed up. Turns out it was He and Scho’s older brother. Scho’s older brother had left the party so all my rage was focused on Henan. We wrestled around and eventually smashed into a large glass window. At some point someone tried to knock me out with a large piece of wood by hitting me on the head from behind. Finally, the fight was broken up.

I ended up in a bedroom, laying on a bed. I was balling and one of my friends was trying to counsel me. Nob’s mom walked in, accompanied by Nob and some other members of the clan. She told me to chill out and I called her a bitch. Nob then jumped through the air an landed a good one on me. At that point my mother was called to pick me up. Soon after that I was escorted out of the house by my mom. I cried and yelled at my friends.

Back at home I dropped like a rock. When I awoke it was night time and everybody was asleep. My rage kicked back in. I grabbed an ax handle, my mom’s keys, and pushed my mom’s car part way down the street. Once I was far enough away from my parents ears I started up the car and b-lined it straight back to Nob’s house. Luckily my sister saw me from the other side of the street on her way home.

Back at Nob’s I searched for a way into the house. I got into the back yard and tried to open the sliding glass door. I was having no luck, or “good” luck I could say, when my dad showed up. He found me laying in the side yard of Nob’s house with an ax handle in my hand.

Yes, EBP broke up that day. I was the leader, and what turned out to be the glue. Some of the guys started a new gang, some stayed friends with me, and in the following year I was absorbed into a new group as well. The black eye went away, the armpit hair grew back, and I eventually appreciated the lack of eyebrow. I recall going golfing with a snazzy, blue-curled, drawn on eyebrow, later that month…

Justice League

One night, during my third manic episode, I found myself in Marin. I forget whose house I was at, but who ever it was they had to go to bed. It was a week night and I was itching to get into something exciting. I decided to call my friend Tom. When he answered I asked him if he wanted to go to “the city” with me and find the place to be. He told me he was down.

I picked him up and we we went strait to a club called Liquid. I knew it to be a hot spot; even on weekday nights. When we got to the scene it turned out to be pretty happening. We danced and mingled for a while, however i wasn’t fully satisfied. I wanted to find the “place” to be.

Eventually, I went out for a breath of fresh air and a breath of smoke. I walked up to the corner and back. On my way back I became drawn to a Latino man standing by the curb. Like a meeting channeled by the Gods I walked up to him and said, “where do I need to be?” He stared up and out to the stars and said, “Man, you need to go to Justice League.” I got the cross streets and Tom and I were off.

In front of Justice League was a mob. As I led us up to it the “sea of people” parted. It was like they didn’t even see me coming or notice us passing by them. They were all preoccupied with their cigarettes and conversations, but they moved. I walked straight through the mob and into the building.

Inside I was absolutely amazed. The venue was unique and there was a public enemy style of band on stage. I remember there was a large circle in front of the stage with people break dancing in the middle. Their moves were current and amazing. Then I realized that Tom wasn’t with me. I walked around and searched for him around the bar. No Tom. I then walked outside and found him squatting up against the wall of the building. I said to him, “aren’t you coming in?” He replied, “it’s passes only.” For a moment I felt the fear of not being able to get back in. Then the felling of the “channel” took back over. I told Tom, “If he asks again tell him I’m your pass.” We walked right in with no questions asked.

I led Tom to the dance circle. The circle was crowded, yet we had a few feet of space around us. It was like we were packing a force field. I got my fix on the “breakers” and went off to take a leak. When I went to exit the restroom I noticed the backstage door. I walked right in and sat down with the artists. Immediately a joint was passed to me. Tom peeked his head in the door, I said he’s my friend, and the joint was passed to him. We closed down the club, backstage. The force was definitely with me that night.

Wrong Number

I believe It was the fall of 99 when my friend Henan moved into my parents’ basement with me. The basement was acting as a temporary retreat for me after having another semester of school destroyed by another manic episode. It didn’t seem like Henan was living with me very long before a young woman called the house and had the “wrong number.’

I was in the basement totally zoned into a documentary on the history of the church when Henan came running down the stairs eager to tell me some news. It turned out that some young woman called my parents house and had the wrong number. Henan went on to tell me about how he gave her “the run around,” acting like he knew her, etc. She played into it, suggesting that they meet at a bar in Belltown.

I was somewhat entertained by his excitement, but when he asked me to accompany him to Belltown I declined. I was really into the documentary. After being begged for a while I put a tape into the VCR, pressed record, and we were off.

We ended up at some “yuppie” style bar that was new to us. We ordered a couple drinks and waited with anticipation. Sure enough, about 15min later a young woman walked in by herself. At first she walked by and said nothing. Then she walked back and asked, “are one of you guys Henan?” Henan replied yes and she requested that he come to her. She then asked him if he’s good in bed and he said yes. She replied, “let’s go.” He then informed her that I was with him. She told him to bring me along and that she had a friend at her place.

We entered the apartment and began to talk. It turned out that the host was training to be a tattoo artist, and was also a pot dealer. Her guest seemed kinda like a punker, and I don’t really remember her story. After mingling for a little while the host suggested that her friend and i go out and grab some beer.

During our “beer run,” the punker chick and I talked, and stopped at a bar before heading back to the apartment. At the bar we sipped on a couple drinks and did a little making out. I remember crawling across the pool table, kissing her, and spewing some sort of sexual “smack” talk. She basically told me she was down to fuck. Then she got a page from the tattoo chick.

On the way back to the apartment the punk chick informed me that her friend had to do a drug deal, and that I should wait across the street where Henan and I met the friend. She told me that Henan was there and that she and her friend would come and get us after they were done. She then asked me to give her my beer so she could put it in the fridge to keep it cool. Big mistake.

Henan and I waited and waited. As much as an hour passed. We’d been ditched. We were both pissed, but i had a very specific sort of anger welling up inside me. I thought to myself, “that little cunt stole my beer.”

We walked back across the street to get the beer back, but the gate was locked. We decided to wait for someone else to enter, and follow them in. Sure enough some people entered the building and we sneaked in behind them.

When we got to her door we the first thing we did is gave a simple knock. No Answer. So we knocked again, and again. Finally, she replied, “whose there?” When we told her it was us she yelled at us and said, “face it, you’ve been had!” I yelled back, “I just want my beer!” She yelled back, “I don’t have your beer!” After some more yelling back and forth and banging on the door she let us in.

Inside the entry way the yelling continued. She seemed to be alone. I told her again, “I just want my beer.” She told me again that she didn’t have it, but I could clearly see one of my beers on her kitchen counter. I then told her, “bullshit. that’s one of my beers right there.” I then took a step forward. I was going to walk into her kitchen and look in the fridge.

She then grabbed the beer bottle from off counter, and lifted it up above her head like she was going to strike me. Reflexively, i punched her in the face. She dropped to a squatting position, leaning against the kitchen cabinets. I then gave her a couple light kicks to the body. At this point she was screaming for help.  I gave a quick look for the beer, then bolted. We stormed out her door.  We were disoriented and had forgotten where we had entered the building. We ran out the first pair of doors we saw, which happened to be a fire exit. The building lit up with lights and loud sounds as we ran to the car.

I don’t think I ever finished watching that documentary.

Mert

About three quarters into my stay in Bellingham I got word that there was going to be a “hippie-rave” style get together in the coastal hills of Sonoma County. My good friend and I decided we’d attend. After all, we needed a break from our shanty living situation. He opted to fly, and I opted to go Greyhound.

At the terminal in San Francisco I waited a couple hours for my friends to pick me up. I browsed the area a little, had a smoke, and returned to the terminal to sit and wait. I sat with nothing to do, and quickly became bored.

A short amount of time passed before I noticed an elderly man looking at me. I thought nothing of it, and went back to spacing out, and thinking about the night ahead of me. A few minutes later I noticed him looking at me again. The next thing I knew he got up and sat right next to me.

He introduced him self as Mert, and told me he was 90. He said, “look, I have no teeth,” and removed a crescent piece of chewed up-filler paper from his gums. Then he showed me his ID card. Sure enough he was 90.

He began to tell me about his life. I was fine with it. I’m the type of person who enjoys conversation with all kinds of people. After listening to for a while he told me that I have a good looking face, but he phrased it in a non shalant manor. However, a few minuets later he said it again. At that point the light on the situation turned rainbow in color.

He went on to compliment all parts of my body and told me a story about taking a Taxi, and how his first Gay experience was with the driver. He told me how in recent years he had paid to give oral in the Castro dist. of San Francisco. Then he propositioned me. He asked me if I would go to the men’s room and allow him to suck my nipples. Most people would have gotten up and left, but the voyeur in me wanted to stay. i simply told him, “hey now Mert. I don’t go that way.”

He continued to bathe me in his gayness, telling stories, sizing me up, and re-propositioning the nipple offer. At times his gayness would peak out and he would say, “aye yay yay yay yay,” but the true peak of his words were yet to be experienced. He finally let it all out when he told me that he wanted to put me face up against a wall, while i “totally” let go, and suck my butt hole.

My friends finally arrived and Mert tried to give me his info. I introduced my friends to him and we went on our way. I’ve got to admit that Mert made my wait seem a lot shorter.

psychotic break

It was tough being washed up at my Parents’ house in Seattle after my sixth manic episode. I remember being depressed, and having messed up sleeping habits. I would race to look like I was up and ready when I heard my mom coming up the driveway from work. I would sneak 24oz cans of beer into the basement, pound them, and hide the evidence. A friend had turned me onto “whipits.” I recall buying cans of whipped cream, with my food stamp card, and casually getting high as I walked away from the store. I was also still into weed at this point in my life.

Three or four times a week I would drive across town to drink beer and smoke weed with my friends. One night my friend and I decided to rent a couple flicks. Before heading to the video store we hit the bong. I took a fat rip, and for some stupid reason I took another before heading out the door. I said to my friend, “are you ready to go battle the stage?”

At the video store things were fine at first. Then reality “tweeked” for a second. It seemed like time stopped, and everybody around me froze. I watched the clerks nudge back and forth like time and space got stuck for a second. Right then a voice showered over my spirit saying, “I’m giving you a second chance.”

Like a record player starting with it’s needle down, reality began to function once again. I engaged with it cautiously. My next memory is my friend saying, “let’s go.” We got into the car and went to exit the parking lot. An uncomfortable feeling began to well up inside me. I told my friend to take a right out of the parking lot, which was the opposite direction from the house. It was like I was trying to escape destiny. My friend brushed off my request and headed for the store across the street.

I have no memory of the short drive to the store. I was starting to panic. When the car stopped we I looked over at my friend and thought he was the Devil. I could see imperfections on his face that I normally wouldn’t notice. I said to him in an utter state of fear, “I forgive you. I forgive all of you.”

My comment didn’t phase him much. He asked me if i wanted anything from inside the store. I replied no. He then said, “How about a chocolate milk?” I said sure. He then got out of the car and started to walk away. Then he stopped, turned around, and threw the keys in the window. They landed on the seat and I thought for sure that they were the keys to Hades. I begun to pound on the windows, a cop drove by, and I tried to get his attention.

Finally I realized that I could get out of the car. I was so freaked that I had to realize that I could pull a handle and exit the vehicle. Outside I became extremely cold. All I wanted to do was walk to my parents house, which was across town, but I was too cold.

At this point I decided to take the vehicle. It wasn’t even my friends’ car. He was borrowing it from his sister, but I was desperate. Once inside my situation didn’t get any better. I headed out of the parking lot and down the street. The radio was messing with my mind. I heard ZZ Top singing the lyrics, “should I go to heaven?” I quickly turned the station only to hear Santana singing the lyrics, “don’t turn your back on me.” It’s safe to say I was having a “panic attack,” to say the least.

The next thing I knew an intense “ball of energy” popped into my stomach. I had thoughts of a book on Zen Sickness” that spoke of holding on to a certain state of mind for ten years, in order for things to become one. I decided against it and relaxed. The energy pocket burst and filled me.

Finally I reached a stop light. I turned off the car, bowed my head, and told myself that I would stay right there for eternity. Some time passed and I opened my eyes to find the light green. I turned on the car and zoomed up the street. I felt a little bit of hope slip in regarding making it home. I made it only around 100 yards before the life slipped out of me. What was going on was just too heavy. I remember saying to myself, “eternal peace… ecstacy…,” and then everything went black.

My foot must have went down instead of off of the gas pedal because the the car raced up the hill, off the road, and into a telephone poll. My next solid memory was waking up to a bus driver knocking on my window. To his left were two Mormons, wearing name tags that included the name Jesus Christ, in large letters. I had a concussion, and thought I went to hell, and was being judged.
I got out of the totaled car, to find a sparking telephone in the middle of the street. The Mormons and I discussed salvation. I started to walk home, but they convinced me to stay and wait for help. Finally, a female police officer showed up. She asked what had happened, and I told her I was Bi-Polar. She later asked if I would like her to call an ambulance. I was still so scared that I agreed.

At he hospital they put me through through the works. They cut my pants off, put a catheter in me, stuck a finger in my butt, gave me x-rays, etc. I stayed the night and somehow didn’t get put into the psych ward. I have never been as scared as I was that night.

baptism at the mall

I had been manic for a couple months and was staying at a friends house in Santa Rosa, CA. One morning he got up to go to work and I decided to go with him. My friend worked at the Mall. We got off the bus and he walked into Sears, where he worked, and I walked into Macy’s. i was sporting large, black, “jive turkey” style shades, and a stalking hat.

I walked by the make-up islands and noticed two, young make up artists. They had no clients so I took a seat in the empty chair. I said, “I would like to have my make-up done.” They replied, “You have to pay to have your make-up done.” I went on to tell them that they have the power to give me a free make-up job, and that I need It done because I’m an entertainer.

About 15 minutes later I had a nice, even amount of make-up on my face, and one of the young ladies’ phone number. I asked her if could add some extra eye liner and she handed me some. I then began to draw on my face. I remember drawing a big tear just below the corner of my eye.

Now I was all geared up. With my new look, including lipstick, “jive turkey” shades, and a stalking hat I felt unstoppable. I would flash my crazy make up from behind my shades while spinning around and slapping people five. Young kids were the most intrigued, and a small pack of them began to follow me. The kids weren’t the only followers. I looked up to the second level of the mall to find that security guards were keeping a close eye.

Eventually I ended up in the center of the mall where there was a large fountain. A Hispanic couple sat on the side of it with their new born baby. After sitting next to them and adoring their child I decided that It was time for a baptism. I gave the parents a questioning look, and the father nodded. I then reached into the fountain, wet my fingers, and touched the forehead of the baby. I believe I said some sort of blessing or prayer to myself. The baptism was complete.

I then got up and left the mall. The security guards followed me all the way out to the sidewalk. As I walked down the street towards the town square two teenage girls said, “there’s that crazy guy.” I smiled and continued on my way. There was another large fountain in the town square. I walked up on the side of it and stepped in. I found myself up to my waist. One fountain was squirting up a thick stream right up to microphone height. I stepped up to it and began to sing. I remember belting out some Bob Marley. I sung the lyrics, “because I feel like bombing a church; now that you know the preacher is lying.”

Later that night my friends and I met up at a local dive bar. We sipped on whiskey and reminisced. I told them about my day, they appreciated my make-up, and we laughed.

My first big fight

Living next door to my school when I was young was nice. It gave me easy access to a large play area. During the summer there were little league games held at the back, upper level of the school. Me, being a little leaguer myself, would gravitate to the games.

One day I found myself up at the field in an difficult situation. A group of boys from one of the cross town schools decided to pick on me. One of them, who i believe was in the grade ahead of me “called me out.” He had all sorts of boys supporting him and heckling me. Some of these boys were two or more grades above me.

Sure enough I backed down. They followed me all the way across the school and down a street, calling me names, etc. I even passed up my house because I didn’t want them to know where I lived. They eventually stopped, turned around, and headed back to the school. I sat alone, timid, and shaken to my bones. I felt pretty much like a “chump.”

After standing for a while a change of mind welled up from within my being. I decided to go back and stand up for myself. I walked all the way back to the field and told the kid, “I accept.” Of Course I was still feeling kinda scared and timid, and we were close to the stands where the parents were. Sure enough they called me on my desire to fight in that spot. They said, “You just want to fight here so the parents will save you.” They requested to move the mob to behind one of the school buildings. I reluctantly accepted.

Around this time two older boys from my side of town saw the uneven “back up” situation, and told me they would “coach,” and support me. They filled my mind with all sorts of boxing related strategies. All this wisdom was about to go out the other ear.

The circle formed and into the ring I went. This fight would set the tone for several others that I had growing up. Intense and Fierce. I walked right up to the kid and punched him in the face. Immediately, I got him in a head lock. I dragged him back and forth across the ring. Then I threw him on the ground and straddled his chest/stomach region. With both hands I choked him till his face begun to turn blue. The older kids from his side and my “coaches” rushed in and broke up the fight. I remember one of my coaches saying, “you fight dirty.”

This was not the end however. One of his older friends called me out. Within seconds I repeated the same process. Punch to the face, head lock, followed by a choking on the ground. I totally wasted these guys, both, in a few minuets. An even older friend of theirs tried to call me out, but it was a totally wack proposal. This guy seemed like he was in High School. My coaches backed him off.