Friday, September 26, 2003

By Rick Ryckeley
Fayette County Fire & Emergency Services

The math test was hard, possibly the worst test that Old Miss Crabtree had ever given, and I wasn't doing so well. Something needs to happen, or I'm gonna flunk this test, I thought.

About that time it hit me. No; not the answer to question 23, but another spitball in the back of the head from my arch nemesis Down the Street Bully Brad. Miss Crabtree's fifth-grade class burst into laughter as the oh-so-familiar, warm, sticky goo of the spitball slipped off my neck and down the back of my shirt.

Down the Street Bully Brad just laughed and said in a sneer, "How'd ya like that one, Flash?" (Everyone calls me Flash 'cause I'm the fastest kid in the whole fifth grade.)

"Bradley McAlister, you come up here this instant! I'm sure Principal Baker will want to have a word with you," crowed Old Miss Crabtree. She looked really mad, as she stood up, pointing one of her long crooked fingers in the direction of Bully Brad and then down at her desk. He was going to get his this time. As Bully Brad passed my desk, he bumped into me and said, "I'll meet you down by the fight tree after school!"

The fight tree. Oh no, this could be bad," I thought. It's 1:30; maybe Principal Baker will keep him after school. When the bell rings, if I hurry, maybe I could make it home or at least make it past the fight tree, without getting pounded into the ground.

The fight tree was a huge magnolia tree in front of Old Man Hodges's house. It was strategically located halfway between school and home and was the perfect location for a fight. It was far enough from school that no teacher would interfere and stop the fight. A good thing if you were winning. The fight tree was close enough to our house that if we lost, we could still limp home to Mom and arrive before dinner. I'm afraid my upcoming fight with Down the Street Bully Brad would be one of those "limp home to Mom" ones.

At 2:30 the school bell rang, and I was out the door. All the kids from Flamingo Street usually met at the bike racks and walked home together. That way if the kids from Duke of Gloucester wanted to play us in a game of street football, we'd be ready. Today I was in a hurry, and from the size of the crowd following me home, everyone knew why. When I reached the fight tree, I turned around and looked back for a certain someone lurking around. Not seeing him, I let out a sigh of relief. That is, until I turned back around.

Out from behind the tree jumped Down the Street Bully Brad! He saw the surprised look on my face and sneered, "Ya think I'd miss this, Flash? I caught a ride with my big brother, and I'm gonna pound you!"

The large crowd that was following me let out a collective "Ooooooh" and formed a large circle around us. Goofy Steve danced around inside of the circle singing, "There's gonna be a fight. There's gonna be a fight. Bully Brad and Flash are gonna have a fight."

Bully Brad walked over to me, pounding his right fist into his left hand. This wasn't looking good for yours truly; I had to think of something fast. When Bully Brad got near and drew one of his huge arms back to hit me, I threw up my hands and yelled. "Wait! We can't fight yet. We haven't gone over the rules."

Stunned, Bully Brad stopped in mid-punch and said, "Rules? This is a street fight; there ain't no rules!"

Goofy Steve started dancing around the ring again, singing again, "You gotta have rules. You gotta have rules. If you're gonna fight Flash, you gotta have rules."

As Goofy danced his way around the circle, Bully Brad said, "Goofy, if you don't get out of here, you'll be next!" Another collective "Oooooh" reverberated through the crowd.

"Sure," I said, "There're always rules when you're in a fight. You can't rip shirts; Moms hate that. You can't kick, bite, or scratch. Only girls do that. And the most important rule of all, if you knock the other guy down on the ground, you can't jump on him and punch him in the face."

Bully Brad just said, "Sure," and then punched me in the stomach and in the back of the head, knocking me down to the ground. There I lay, on the ground, unable to breathe. Not because Bully Brad had knocked the breath out of me, but because now he was sitting on my chest. This was definitely against the rules.

I gasped, "You can't hit me in the face. It's against the rules!"

As he drew back his fist he sneered, "I told you, Flash; there ain't no rules in street fighting!" Then he punched me. I heard a muffled scream, a scream that came from me.

"What ya screaming for Flash? No one's gonna help you." He drew back for another punch, and I heard someone cry, "Do something! He's gonna hurt Flash!"

I know that voice. That's Candi, I thought. Then I heard a thud and another scream, but this time, it didn't come from me. Preston Weston had thrown the football he always carries as hard as he could and hit Bully Brad right square in the back!

Bully Brad fell off me, got up and yelled, "Not fair, this is our fight, Preston. You stay out of it!" He turned to hit me again and was tackled by none other than Bubba Hanks, the best tackler on the Flamingo Street Raiders street football team!

With that, Down the Street Bully Brad got up and limped off yelling, "I'll get you Flash! This ain't over yet."

Bubba helped me up and said, "You didn't think I was going to let him beat you up did you?" I had forgotten that Bubba walks slower than the rest of us. I'm sure glad he's my friend.

If you're in a fight against bad guys and you play by the rules, you can always count on your friends to help you out. We're playing by the rules in the ultimate schoolyard fight. So where are all of our friends now that we need help over in Iraq?

[Rick Ryckeley is employed by the Fayette County Department of Fire and Emergency Services. He can be reached at saferick@bellsouth.net.]

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