Philadelphia, PA. In an overcrowded bar, famous for it’s inordinate wait time to get a drink, Leslie Fox bravely took a punch meant for me. Mr. Fox had not intended to bravely take the punch, but take it he did, bravely.

The night had begun innocuously enough, a pre-game drink at my apartment, a story about the week’s failures and lifelong shortcomings. Nothing marked this as an evening for the annals. The cab ride to an unfamiliar bar was pleasant. Our mutual friend amused himself by cat calling girls in thigh high boots and taunting our patient cabby to up the volume on a remixed Michael Jackson hit. When we arrived, a harbinger of doom appeared. “Beware the ides of March,” said the couple exiting the club. Perhaps the warning was more along the lines of “you can’t move in there,” but it was equally as menacing.

Upon entering, Leslie and I knew we were sunk. Our friend, however, was in his element. Movement was limited to an ungraceful shuffle, and the floor quite literally bounced under the weight of the overweight patrons. The horror. The horror. As Les and I ducked off into a nook seeking shelter from the gyrating mass, our friend’s cousin, who bares the delightful moniker “Snot,” stood at the bar, cash out. Within a mere twenty minutes he had secured beverages for the lot. We shuffled through the ungodly collective to find our friend. Weak with the smell of people who’s only exercise was in this dance club, the decision was made to down our beverages and head somewhere, anywhere, else.

It was then that a large man dancing in a rowdy group turned to Les and accused him of spilling a drink on his shoes. Leslie calmly brushed off the man’s accusations, explaining it had been another guy who tipped his drink. I noticed the confrontation, and taking no notice of the tattoos and gangster apparel, decided to reason with the man. Let me take this opportunity to say that if you are going to wear a baseball cap, please remove the stickers and bend the brim. The “my cap is so fresh that it still has that for sale look” is really a poor fashion choice. At any rate, my gentle touch did not work as well as I’d thought. “It was another guy, just relax” I said. He kept up his antics. “Listen, the place is crowded and it wasn’t his fault anyway, so don’t bark at my boy” I continued. “What?” he asked. A warning bell that should have gone off did not and I repeated myself as I was growing sick of talking to this obnoxious tough guy. “I said don’t bark at my boy.” It was then that he asked who I was, expletive deleted, and touched my chin. I wasn’t sure what was happening as the gesture was markedly homosexual and awkward, but not intimidating. Stepping back he threw a punch. This is when Leslie bravely rose to the occasion and took a rather meek punch in the face that had been meant for me. The man veal had missed me and taken off Leslie’s glasses with a glancing blow.  At this point our friend also threw his hat into the ring and blocked a partial flail. As proof, yet again that I should speak to my optometrist, I didn’t see any of the above transpire. The big boy was ushered off by his friends as an obese tattooed girl from his entourage apologized to me for his behavior.

That’s it. The night continued, but without alarm. No shanking outside the bar. No drive-by. I simply took Les out for hot plate of tender mussels in a delicious chorizo garlic sauce at the Royal Tavern as my way of saying thanks for getting in the way of that punch with your face. We then followed that savory delight with cheese steaks at Pat’s, because there have been tremendous advances in pulmonary bypass surgery.

As we salvaged the night with our culinary exploits, Leslie imparted a few worldly tips. I feel it only fair that I share with the readership this modern Sun-Tzu’s strategy for managing such confrontations. “If some dude wants to fight about beer on his shoes, he is looking for a fight, so if you’re not, follow these simple steps. 1. Say it wasn’t me, but I’m sorry. 2. Use a nice tone of voice and give no orders. 3. If he continues, aim for the bridge of his nose.”