Jamie Garrett’s Story of a Fighter That Never Was – Himself
If we lived in a world where we still had to fight for our food, our shelter and our lives, maybe fighting would still be necessary. Nowadays, someone getting into a fight means they don't know how to "use their words" like a toddler.
I've never been in a fight. The two closest times came in my teenage years. Fight #1 almost came on the basketball court. I swung, missed the face and hit the shoulder. The fact that he didn't swing back shows he also had no interest in the fray. We both went back to our respective terrible basketball play and left the swinging to others.
Fight #2 was going to be a bloodbath. My smart mouth had angered the twitchy lunatic freshman year, and he was beyond angry when he saw me the next time. It was in the locker room before gym class. It was the perfect opportunity for him. No one would have come to my aid for a good 90-seconds, just long enough to do permanent damage. My only play was to out-lunatic him.
I got loud, flailed my arms around like a madman and did what any desperate man would do: lied. "I have no idea who told you I'd say such a thing" was my (surprising) winning line. We became fast friends. I haven't spoken with him since I moved across the country after that school year. I might still be on his hit list. This was before we had to worry about such things, so I didn't really keep track of his name.
There have been plenty of shouting matches over the years, and I can count a half-dozen or so times where I thought a fist or two might fly in anger. Each time, sanity (or a quick exit) prevailed. It's not like I run from fights. I just know my particular skill set is far from fisticuffs. That's fine, but find an MMA fighter that can do MY job well and I'll find someone that hasn't been in the MMA world long.
I'm a lover, not a fighter. If you ask anyone with personal knowledge of my love abilities they'll surely argue that there's nothing there, either. That's OK. I'm a talker. Maybe in a former life I was the snake oil salesman. How do I know? I just got you to read the worst, most boring autobiography of a fighter that never was.