Fraternity Fight Night

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Nice Move

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Once a semester, in the living room of the fraternity house, the soiled, ratty couches would be cleared out and soiled, ratty gymnastics mats would be rolled in. It was Fraternity Fight Night. As the sun began to set on the day of the sacred tradition, everybody, pledges and brothers, funneled in through the back door, wearing workout clothes and clutching cases of Busch Light and handles of Taaka vodka.

It was an important event to hold. Men aged 18 to 22 are the most angry, aggressive, and violent demographic in the world. Throw them into a competitive fraternity environment, and there’s bound to be some friction. Fight night was the only way to mitigate that friction.

First, we herded into the kitchen for kegstands and shotguns and pulls of Taaka. When everyone was nice and toasty, we circled up in the living room. The risk manager, Kevin, stood in the center in a referee shirt.

“Gentlemen, we gather here today for the most sacred of fraternity traditions,” Kevin announced. “Fraternity. Motherfucking. Fight Night.”

The crowd howled.

“You know the rules,” Kevin continued. “A brother with outstanding beef calls out another. Each grabs a pair of MMA gloves lying here in the center of the room, and fights until either he taps out or I blow the whistle. All hard feelings must be put aside upon exiting the ring, and everyone must be drunk before entering. Utterly, reprehensibly drunk. No nut shots, either.”

“Get on with it already you fucking chach!” someone called from the crowd.

Kevin cleared his throat, then continued.

“Beefs will be squashed. Dinners will be lost. And legends will be born. Now tell me… ARE YOU REEEADY TO RUUUMBLLEE!?”

The crowd screamed and jumped up and down.

Kevin blew the whistle.

Round 1: Frank versus Davis

The Beef: Frank made lewd comments about Davis’s hot sister.

This was a fight that always happened. Davis’s sister, Becky, was an absolute smoke. Blonde hair, fat ass, cheerleader. Someone would inevitably comment on Becky’s body, and Davis would call him out to defend the honor of his kin. This time it was Frank. While we were at a football game and Becky was being flung in the air on the sidelines, Frank said he wished he could be under her, pants off, when she fell back to the ground. That way, she would “land on this dick.”

The Matchup

5’8″, 175 lbs.
Strength: Taunting.
Weakness: Can’t fight for shit.
Signature Move: Bitch Slap

6’2″, 190 lbs.
Strengths: Jacked as fuck and known for whooping ass — a necessity when every man on the planet wants to stuff your little sister.
Weakness: When blinded by rage, he lacked awareness.
Signature Move: The “Becky Blast” — a violent haymaker served up only in defense of his sister.

The Bout

The whistle blows. Frank comes out swinging. Davis bobs and weaves, just toying with him. Then he unleashes the Becky Blast. Frank’s hands lower. Two more Becky Blasts. Pop pop. The whistle blows before things turn ugly.

Victor: Davis

Round 2: Pudge versus Balls

The Beef: Balls ate Pudge’s Bojangles chicken.

Pudge is a hefty fella, and when he’s gotta eat, he’s gotta eat. When he came back from the bars to find his Bojangles box full of nothing but naked bones, and Balls passed out on the sofa with grease on his face, it was on.

The Matchup

5’11”, 245 lbs.
Strengths: Size, Prone to being hangry
Weaknesses: Low speed, Fried chicken
Signature Move: The Snorlax

5’9″, 142 lbs.
Strengths: Abnormally large testicles, Agility
Weakness: Vastly outweighed
Signature Move: The Teabag

The Bout

Pudge comes in hot, red-faced and squinty-eyed, his fat arms jiggling with each missed jab. Balls strafes around him, tongue out, looking for an opening. He ducks down and drills Pudge right in the massive gut. Pudge laughs mockingly, completely unfazed. Then Balls sweeps the fat man’s right leg. Pudge hits the deck. Balls unzips his pants, whips out his bulbous nards and stands over Pudge. He slowly bends at the knees, savoring every second of The Teabag, when Pudge grabs his ankle and flings him to the ground. Pudge stands over Balls, arms outstretched, then slowly tips forward. “SNOOORLAAAAAXX!” he growls. Slam! Balls was smothered under mounds and mounds of cellulite. We wouldn’t even know he was under there if it weren’t for one foot sticking out.

Victor: Pudge

Round 3: Lucas versus Wameron

Beef: “Cuzz Wamero… hup… is a fugging fuck.”

There was no further explanation.

The Matchup

6’0″, 174 lbs.
Strengths: Athletic specimen, Former high school wrestler
Weakness: The drunkest in the room by far
Signature move: “Juss shut da fuggup an’ lemme kick hiss dick…”

5’10”, 174 lbs.
Strengths: “A oneness with all living organisms”
Weakness: Recently consumed two tabs of potent LSD
Signature move: Energy forcefield

The Bout

The whistle blows. Wameron is startled. He looks around with a puzzled look, unsure of where the whistling sound came from. Lucas says, “Come ‘ere ya lily bastard,” and stumbles towards him. Wameron starts rubbing his hands together while making a “Wrrrrrrr-wrrrrrr” sound. Lucas projectile vomits and falls over. A huge smile stretches across Wameron’s face. “Look, Mr. Klorfberg, it’s snowing!” He lays down in the spew and starts making a “snow angel.”

Victor: Unclear

Round 4: Failed Abortion Versus Captain

Beef: Pledge animosity

Failed Abortion was a pledge (he wouldn’t get a proper nickname until initiation) and Captain (the name he had to call the Pledge Master) would constantly single him out. Not only did pledges have the opportunity to call out brothers on Fight Night, they were encouraged to. Failed Abortion didn’t hesitate to point in Captain’s direction.


Failed Abortion
5’7″, 130 lbs.
Strength: Had absolutely nothing to lose
Weaknesses: Frail, Pledge, Regarded by many brothers to be a massive labia
Signature move: “You’ll see”

6’2″, 185 lbs.
Strengths: Intimidating, Luscious beard, Works out at least once a week
Weakness: Cocky
Signature move: The Ole 1-2

The Bout

The fight started off with some verbal harassment from Captain. “You think you’re fucking tough stepping to me, huh?” Failed Abortion just stood there. “Well… do ya?” Captain asked. No response. Captain laughed and turned to the crowd, “Seriously, who the fuck let this kid in here?” Then Captain charged him. In one fluid motion, the pledge took two steps up the wall, pushed off of it, and threw himself foot first into Captain’s chest. Captain fell to his back. The crowd gasped. Failed Abortion jumped on top for the ground and pound. He threw blow after blow until Ref Kevin pulled him off. The pledge stared at the rest of us, breathing heavily, every vein in his small face bulging. He had a look of bewilderment in his eyes, as if he wasn’t sure what had just happened. We stormed the mat and held him in the air.

Kevin was right. That night, a legend was born.


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