Fight: Everything You Ever Wanted to Know About Ass-Kicking but Were Afraid You'd Get Your Ass Kicked for Asking
Eugene S. Robinson
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
Crushing your enemies, driving them before you, and hearing the lamentations of their women? It doesn't get any better than this." –Eugene Robinson, ripping off John Milius
That's the sentiment that surges just below the surface of Eugene Robinson's Fight – an engrossing, intimate look into the all–absorbing world of fighting. Robinson – a former body–builder, one–time bouncer, and lifelong fight connoisseur – takes readers on a no–holds–barred plunge into what fighting is all about, and what fighters live for. If George Plimpton had muscles and had been choked out one too many times––this is the book he could have written.
When Robinson and his fellow fighters mix it up, they live completely for the moment: absorbed in the feel of muscles slippery with sweat; the metallic tang of blood mingling with saliva in the mouth; the sweet, firm thud of taped knuckles impacting flesh. They fight because it feels good. They fight because they want to win. And even if they get their asses kicked, they fight because they love fighting.
Fight is part encyclopedia, part panegyric to fighting in all its forms and glory. Robinson's narrative – told in his trademark tough–guy, stream–of–consciousness noir voice – punctuates this explanatory compendium of the fighting world. From wrestling, jiu–jitsu, boxing and muay thai to bar fighting, hand–to–hand combat, prison fighting and hockey fights, from the greatest movie fight scenes to how to throw the perfect left hook, Fight is a scene–by–scene tour of the bloody but beautiful underworld that is the art of fighting.
With his aficionado's enthusiasm and fast–paced, addictive voice, Robinson's Fight combines compelling text with beautiful photographs to create an illustrated book as edgy and interesting as it is gorgeous.
deliver before I delivered him the punishment that was going to deliver unto me a win. I didn’t do it because, as a Georgian named Time Allen I used to play rugby with once painstakingly explained to me, I was “a goddamned stupid son of a bitch.” I didn’t do it for any reasons that might have obscured the mechanical and material functioning of reality, because, you see, what happens to the side of the thigh when it is clear that the owner of that thigh will NOT take the precaution to save it
pay you back.” Did he? “Well, I would have …” World War II bites though and in 1940 he was gone. “They just picked you up off the street and carried you away. I was on a train from Antwerp to Hamburg. Hours on a train. And when I got to Hamburg they made me work on the trains. I was a fireman, which meant, then, shoveling coal into the engine. The work was okay but I was always hungry and I couldn’t sleep.” Nightmares? “Russians. They’d play music all night and sing. I eventually got a job
the same room with one before, you start to fucking ache. Yeah. It’s that good. SO YOU’RE BEING CHOKED: WHAT’S IT ALL ABOUT, ALFIE?!? Your first time? I mean the first time it happens will probably be remembered in the same way, that is, of course, if you can remember some, any, or even a small part of it afterward. There’ll be the sudden rush, the struggle (yours), and then the slow descent of cottony silence as the voices fade out and everything seems like you’re looking through the wrong
fight game there is—amateur wrestling, real pro wrestling, fake pro wrestling, real fake pro wrestling, ultimate fighting, kickboxing, boxing, real, fake, fixed, and otherwise. And his Rolodex of people he’s touched just goes on and on and on. Despite his dyspepsia. Despite his continued lack of interest in the vicissitudes of the business world that guides sports— in particular, fight sports—and finally, despite every single prevailing trend there is that’s connected to sports entertainment,
exchanging quick looks and in a blurt he tells me what you’ve already guessed at this point: it was him. Fill in the details for me. I mean, did the papers get it right? Yeah, basically. I was sleeping at the time—1:30 in the morning. I sleep in a loft and so I had to get out of the loft, put my clothes on, go downstairs, prop the outside door open, and go outside. I’m pretty easygoing. You know, I’m not a hard-on or nothing like that. I don’t get into fights usually. But he had played about