There is a slight, one-inch scar on the pointer finger of my right hand. There is a crescent-shaped indentation underneath my right eye. There are a couple of other dings and scratches elsewhere on my body, all of them reminders of some pretty nasty bar brawls in which I was involved.
Back in the day, I was that guy. I was “love-to- fight” guy, as described by Jim Rome. Put a couple of drinks in me, say the wrong thing (or at least let me think you said the wrong thing) and It. Was. On.
Sure, I won some of these fights. But more often, I was on the losing side.
Still, I appreciate a nice bar brawl. I enjoy the raised voices. The adrenaline. The creative name-calling. The inevitable questioning of “Do you know who I am?” The sloppy first punch that usually lands on some innocent bystander’s ear. The never-quick-enough breaking up of the fight. The end of the night when former adversaries are now bosom buddies.
Bar brawls are always entertaining.
In fact, if God didn’t want us bar brawling, he would not have invented Irish pubs.
Then I read the details of Mack’s most-infamous brawl.
“The incidents came to light after a February 1992 brawl with then-professional baseball player Ron Gant at an Atlanta bar called Calico Jack’s. A waitress testified that Mack, who had been heavily drinking beer and Jagermeister shots all night, took the first swing at Gant. Mack testified he couldn’t remember how much beer he drank, but said he had only one liquor shot — of tequila.
Gant claims a drunken Mack repeatedly bumped into him, precipitating a fight. Mack claims Gant attacked him for no reason.
During the melee, Gant head-locked Mack. Mack testified that he couldn’t breath. So he starting striking and grabbing the ball player’s crotch. At a certain point, the club’s bouncers got involved and Mack broke his ankle. He sued Gant, who was held liable. But a jury awarded no damages.”
Mack grabbed the dude’s crotch? Weak.
Mack broke his ankle afterwards? Idiotic.
He sued the guy afterwards? Dude, turn in your man-card.
You didn’t even have to be a witness to this fight and you know what happened…
A very drunk Connie Mack spotted Ron Gant, then a decent, recognizable baseball player.
Mack likely approached Gant and said, “Hey, you’re Gon Rant, I mean Go Rant. I mean Gonorrhea.”
Gant likelygave Mack the brush-off, “Hey dude…” and then turned back to the cleat-chasing Georgia Tech co-ed he was scoping that night.
This, of course, pissed off Mack. “Do you know who I am?” I’m Monnie Cack, I mean Connie Mack. My grandfattthhheeerrr owned a baseball once. I mean, a baseball team…”
Mack, at this point out of energy from trying to complete a sentence, stumbled into Gant, who probably attacked Gant’s elbow with his chin. Gant promptly put Mack in an LAPD chokehold, which, yes, caused Mack to have trouble breathing.
At this point, the bouncers at the bar came over and asked Gant to please stop killing the young frat guy. Gant lets go of Mack and in the process of Mack promising that Gant and the Bouncers and the Waitress and the Guy On the Stool would all regret this moment, he probably tripped over himself, breaking his ankle and adding injury to insult.
No doubt this is exactly the way it happened. The incident should have ended there and then. Yet, Mack decided to sue Gant.
If the trial lawyers haven’t decided who they are supporting in this race, that should be all they need to hear.
But, from one brawler to another, Connie, you just don’t grab another dude’s package.