“As always, impressed with your assessments. The video I mentioned is below the comment but you may have to copy and paste it. Here are the disclaimers. I was 12” [12, what the hell did you eat—stray dogs? You look you’re your 18.] “fighting in the teen division. I had only been boxing legitimately for a month or so at the time and had only sparred once or twice. And I had also only just started wrestling so I say all that to say don’t judge the poor performance.”

[Yes, but the last time you saw your old man he was chasing some Dominican down the street with a machete, so you have genetics on your side,—get used to it and stop making excuses for why you looked like a brute brutalizing some other knucklehead…]

-O Hayes

I’m sorry Oliver, but I recall at this time, being a still virile face-chunker and seeing you clumsily shadow boxing in the gym and nodding to you as I spoke to Mister Jimmy Hines and saying, “Hey, Mister Jim, when that kid with the bowling ball for a head learns how to fight, could you like, have him spar Alex or Tony, or some other suicidal shit, rather than chase me around the ring flashing those Dracula fangs at me?”

Little did I know that one day you would track me down at a karate studio and say, “Hey, James, Alex beat me up really bad a few weeks ago—I mean I’ don’t even know how many weeks ago it was—and you’re a real crafty dude [as exhibited by my avoidance of ring time with the fucking Swedish Hawaiian mutant, Alex!] and I was hoping you could show me some of your stuff…”

And before I knew it a gunshot rang out—no—it was your mutated cranium shattering my jaw, and the karate guys were all gathering around saying stuff like, “Is James alive? Was that a punch? Should we call an ambulance?”

And I have to say to them, “Oh, it was just an accidental head butt, I’ll be fine as soon as I puke in—where is the bucket in this gym?"

Okay, Oliver, I have just downloaded this video after speaking to you on the eve of your kick-boxing sparring session with Sean, of the mutated soccer stud thighs, while you were what, picking up some Chinese chick suffering from an advanced case of jungle fever…

Well, it was a W—a win, ugly or not.

Congrats, and may the God of War bar your enemies from his blood-spattered hall...

Seriously, Oliver, this is why that Chinese babe has been stalking you—and once she finds out that you are one of the ten guys in America who has a nice dick and a three-digit IQ you’ll never get rid of her…

Is this how you used to mug those white faɡɡots outside of the comic book shop?

This video is primarily an indictment of point karate in a mixed context. Anyone who lifts their lead knee to kick just needs to eat a good right. Pin them to the canvas with a follow up hook.

Twelve years old?

Seriously?

The testosterone was already burning the hair off of your skull.

Below is Alex the Swedish Hawaiian Mutant hitting the heavy bag while Mister Frank Gilbert, manager of the Loch Raven Boxing Team—my coach and Oliver’s coach—goes over a weight class posting by the lockers. The heavy bags on the Y-frame were knocked out of the walls within a year of this video.

What you need to worry about against good kickers is this kind of power, delivered with less frequency and not in combination, but at greater range, and possibly against your legs.

Alex works as a mechanic around 60 hours a week to support his family, so has never had the luxury of just training for a fight and is currently coaching. Notice the brow ridge. If you stay in the pocket long enough to hit him and watch it bounce uselessly from his face, you get to taste the counter. When he was 17 he was #3 in the nation—but economics intrude.