My pugilistic career isn't a particularly storied one. I've been involved in a few scrapes and scraps, but I've only ever been in one real fight. It happened in grade five and, much like the reasons for why I punched a van, it was rather silly. My opponent took exception when I knocked his baseball cap off, so he tried to knock my head off in return. Unlike butterflies and bees, I didn't float and I didn't sting. Actually, it was more like two robins pecking each other over a worm. But after many punches (I'd like to think they were skilled, but who am I kidding? I was ten.) I emerged victorious and faced the cheers of several classmates--then I faced the wrath of my teacher who thought I knew better than to settle scores that way. Wait a minute! I was just defending myself! And that was what I was doing three years ago in Québec and most recently in Kerrisdale two weeks ago.

For those of you unfamiliar with pedestrian life in Québec, I'll fill you in. You know those little orange pylons that line the road from time to time?--they have more rights than you. Pedestrians are fair game in la belle province, regardless if you're in a crosswalk and in the middle of the road, as I was. So there I was, quite obviously crossing the road, but this van decides he couldn't wait five seconds for me to cross. He continued right at me, straddling the yellow line to pass. I thanked him for his courtesy with my middle finger and a well enunciated "tabernac". So he turned into me and struck my hand with his side view mirror. That's when I recoiled and landed a right cross to the back of the van. He kept driving--decision Dave, 1-0.

Well, I've had no challengers since, until two weeks ago. There I was, the undisputed champeen, walking near the library about to cross a lane, when this van zips through and nearly clips me. She didn't even stop, instead she flashed a weak smile and proceeded to turn onto W.42nd. So what else could I do? My belt was on the line. Whammo! A solid right to the body behind the side window. She kept driving--decision, Dave 2-0. Now, obviously I cannot make a career out of this. Heck, I couldn't even pull down 1/1000th of what Tyson pulled down recently. But I have to say, there was a certain satisfaction in belting those vans. Before they could get very far and feel like they had one over me, they heard the thunk from my hand hitting their vehicle. I got the final say for pedestrians everywhere who has been slighted by vehicular thugs. And I ain't giving them no rematches.

* * * * *

I've seen you licking your lips as you walk past me and I know what you're thinking, but you'll just have to wait. The beer is not ready yet. However, by way of an update, some of you have asked what happened to my cabin mate, Alex, since we originally brewed Rednose Premium Ale at Strathcona. Well, at the end of the summer in 1990, I returned to Vancouver and started what eventually became my storied career in academia, and Alex left for a climbing trip in California. That was the last time I ever saw Alex Fodgen at Strathcona. Tragically, he returned to Toronto and eventually got married. Then after rising in the ranks at Mountain Equipment Coop, he now lives pretty comfortably on Saltspring. The bastard. The Underground