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Big Ron’s Most Brutal Moment
Elmwood Tavern, about age 35

I had a T—shirt on so it was spring, summer or early fall.

My wife had been tending bar earlier and she got off work and we were sitting in there drinking.

The girl, Courtney reminded me very much of her [points to Casey] dark-haired girl, very well built.

[This triggers the full Big Ron suite of protective instincts.]

This guy has got a semi-muscular build, a guy that you wouldn’t think worked on it—his natural build, five-ten, stocky, muscular.

The Setting

You come through the front door and you got the bar thirty-forty feet long and he comes in and he’s got a semi-mullet hair style going on in the back.

The bar is headed toward the front door and we’re seated toward the back. He comes in and we’re sitting there with two other couples.

He starts fucking with the, patrons all kind of crude and rude shit. At this point I’m keeping an eye on what this guy is doing, but I’m largely minding my own business.

He sits down with this couple and one by one they are leaving the bar. It was late, after midnight and he’s working his way down the bar.

He comes down to the end of the bar. There was a friend of mine named Chris. This guy was a pussy. A blonde-haired, five-nine, five-ten and he was a bar acquaintance. Wasn’t no tough guy. He folded like a bag of chips when this guy started fucking with him. Chris stays there while this guy is calling him a “faggot” and a “pussy” sitting from me to you, calling him this to his face.

I’m waiting to see what Chris does. Of course the wife puts her two cents in. The woman won’t let the men play.

She told him—the wife speaks her mind, “You’re getting out of line.”

I’ve seen this building up. I figured I’m going to drink as much free beer as I can before this shit kicks off. Drink as much as you can before you get thrown out—especially if you’re drinking for free. The barmaid hadn’t said a thing.

My wife basically tells him he’s fucked up and he’s got to get the hell out of the bar. So this guy tells my wife that she’s a “whore.”

Kickoff time.

The bar is L-shaped, he’s sitting over on the long end of the bar.

I walk over from the short end of the L and I confronted him and said, “You know that’s my fuckin’ wife you’re callin’ a whore.’

He’s sitting, relaxed, cocky in my face and rolls around, facing the bar and I grab him by the right shoulder with my left hand and spun him around into my right hand.

You always save the right hand, fire a freebe like that. You save the sneaky shit for boxing. But with a freebe you get him have it.

His nose basically exploded. Shoulder

I didn’t hear nothing from them [Chris, the wife, the barmaid] his nose exploded. I opened the blood faucet.

He tilted head first onto the bar and I hit him with two more rights in the jaw.

His head basically bounces off the bar and he flies off the stool into the ground and there was blood all over the bar, dripping down. It looked like a fucking horror movie.

He fell to the ground. The two shots to the ground knocked him out.

I went back over to my seat and sat back down and started drinking my beer. A short time later—I would say twenty-thirty seconds—he gets up and says, “Who the fuck hit me,” and he picks up a bar stool—a piece-of-shit barstool like this one right here.

I told him, “It was me and you know it was me.”

I grabbed the barstool and say, “Give me that fuckin’ thing,” and rip it out of his hand.

I rip it away and grab him with the left hand.

I’ve got a hold of his shirt and start smacking him in the face with the right hands and the blood is squirting and splattering. The craziness had come—blood all dripping down the bar. He was down for the count, the second time.

He’s laying there and I’m sitting there and drinking my beer and Chris and the barmaid and my wife are screaming like a bunch of women.

I’m drinking.

He comes up for a third count. The bar is empty, the barmaid—who looks like her—points to Casey—built like a brick shit-house, nice shape, nice tits.

Don’t put that in the book. My wife might read it. Oh, fuck it, put it in.

She is screaming, the wife is screaming, even Chris is screaming like a fuckin’ woman—he was a bitch.

He up and he’s saying a bunch about who hit him and all and gets aggressive, so I grab him by his shirt sleeve with my left and hit him with a right hand and he drops down on the seat of his ass.

He’s sitting down in front of the bar and I reach down and hit him with the uppercut and break off his two front teeth—ripping into his face. There was all kinds of chaos. Te main thing I remember was the guy, Chris yelling like woman.

This guy I was beating was calling him a faggot and a bitch and all. He should have been laying a boot to his head. I was really disappointed in this guy. He was a fucking chunp.

The teeth, one of them split my index knuckle open and the other one.

[Shows between an inch and a half-inch curved scar on index knucle]

I know that both of them got broke, because I heard the police report from the establishment.

He got up and pulled out a cell phone and called 911. Lucy it was not a gun or a knife.

I told the wife, “We got to skedaddle or Big Daddy is going to be in jail.

I got out to the parking lot and realized the tooth was stuck in my knuckle, so I ripped it out and dropped it on the gravel lot, so it’s still probably there.

I threw the tooth down and hopped in the car and got home.

The barmaid was a good friend of ours and she said the cops showed up and he gets into a fight with them, goes and spits and bunch of blood at the cops and they tackle him to the ground, put the blood bag over his head and haul him off. .

The cops had been asking the barmaid who did this and after the spitting incident occurred they didn’t give a fuck and drug his ass away. So I got off scot free.

And that was the last fight I ever got into.

I had a tendency to get into fights growing up. Now I’m smart enough to know that middle aged white guys don’t need to be out there fighting on a street corner. At a certain point you have to grow up. But I do believe it’s important for people to learn to take care of their self. Taking care of yourself and being an asshole are different things.

Being a Bad Man in a Worse World

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