Talking about a manly good time

My experience at fight club

By Cazzy Lewchuk, Staff Writer

After drinking four too many beers on Saturday night, I found myself desperately needing the restroom at the local bar. Searching around frantically, I ended up in the basement—conveniently located right next to the men’s room. Upon exiting the restroom, I discovered a crowd formed in a circle listening to a man reciting instructions in the centre. I politely stood off to the side and caught the very end of his speech “… if this is your first night at fight club, you have to fight.”

I was curious about this “fight club,” and excited to participate in what would be my first-ever fight. I raised my hand and entered the circle. Upon reflection, I realize this was due less to any desire to find meaning in my mundane, empty life, and more so to the four beers in my system. Nevertheless, the ringleader shook my hand and I waved to the cheering crowd.

“So, how long does this last? Do we kick each other until you shout for the time?” I asked.

He angrily informed me the fights last as long as necessary, as if I was supposed to already know this somehow. I then asked how many men I would be up against and how many other fights would be happening while we fought. He shouted at me some more, explaining it would be just me and an opponent, also informing me I was “not a beautiful and unique snowflake.” He seemed quite agitated for the leader of an organization. It’s possible he had some mental health problems, as I observed him talking to himself later on at the meeting.

A larger fellow volunteered to be my opponent. I raised my fists to begin, when the (now very angry) club leader told me to take my shirt and tie off. Three minutes later, the fight began. My opponent raised his fist and punched me square in the nose, knocking me down and breaking my glasses.

After the blackness, I attempted to get on my feet in revenge. I then fell backwards, limp, and the ringleader declared our fight over for some reason. Someone brought me a chair, and for the next hour I watched other men mindlessly beat each other senseless. There was an aura of pride and freedom coming from the crowd, and I felt it too. We were men, and we were alive. We were the “all-singing, all-dancing crap of the world,” as the leader put it.

The doctor later informed me I had a mild concussion and questioned why I would go to a “fight club.” I told him fight club was the best time I’ve ever had. I’ve told everyone I know about fight club, and I can’t wait to go back to fight club this weekend. Unfortunately, as of writing this, I’m still not clear on what the rules of fight club are, but I’m sure spreading the word of fight club’s power is encouraged.