It was an unusually warm winter's day in Buffalo a couple of
years back. It was after midnight and I was feeling quite amiable after a late
night steak dinner and a couple of glasses of scotch. I walked out the backdoor
through the kitchen to the parking lot, where I was attacked by some crazy guy,
weighing over 200lbs.
I was surprised, as he ran straight at me for a few paces,
wildly swinging furious overhead, right and left handed windmill punches. I had
no time to think about my training, I just reacted ranging out left 135 degrees
for about three paces, while I parried his punches. Thanks to my ranging
footwork none of the dozen shots landed. His burst of energy spent, I countered
with a running attack on the right triangle, right 45 degree line for about
three paces, as I attacked his guard with empty-handed one's and two's.
My adversary, having not trained footwork, crossed his legs
retreating backwards from my counter attack, lost balance, and fell over, striking
his head on the ground. I slid pinning his arm with my knee, as his body pinned
his other arm to the ground. A quick succession of empty hand slaps to the head
finished what he had started.
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