punchout

I have discovered, in retelling the story of how a crazy man rushed at me on the street in New York and took a swing at my head, that my audience falls into two camps.

One camp expresses the appropriate level of horror and concern. "Oh my God!" they have said.

The other camp does the same, but then suggests fight techniques. "I would've just knocked him out," B. said. "It would've been instinct, and I would have popped him in the face." Dad asked, "Why didn't you put an elbow into his stomach?" Then he pantomimed the counterstrike I should have done, throwing his hips into the movement. Another person said I should have called the cops, or barring that, I should have enlisted another passerby to brawl with him until he was subdued.

I usually love my loved ones equally, but in this instance, I must admit, I love those of you who have rehearsed combat tactics more. Ka-POW!