Several readers wrote to ask about "Outside of sports, I don't start altercations." I suppose that was a tease, so here's more detail: inside of sports, I start altercations.
Blessed with a body type that's been described on the basketball court as "a barely moving washing machine," I have never been the star of any team. I have, however, been the player most likely to be remembered. I'm a hack. A goon. An enforcer. The only advantage I have in athletics is a low center of gravity and freakishly strong thighs, and I use them to equalize the players with actual talent.
The greatest non-older-brother beating I ever took in my life was on a baseball diamond. It was not for the usual reason, that being me throwing to the wrong base or cutoff man. No, this was because I was a baserunner when there was a close play at home plate. "Finally, it's John's time to shine!" I thought as I plowed into the catcher. I hit him so hard, he flew several feet before his body started its descent toward the ground.
And he got up and beat the crap out of me. Oh, how he beat me. I remember lying on the ground with him straddling me, pummeling my face from all directions with a speed I could not even fathom. It was like he had four fists. He hit my eyes and nose and mouth and then worked the eyes again. I was seeing vibrant splotches of color where there was none. Stunned and hopelessly out of my league, I pretty much just lay there and took the beating until friends pulled him off me eight days later. Dignity torn and mangled, I hobbled off to the bench.
And then two innings later, there was another close play at the plate and I plowed into him again, just as hard. And he pummeled me even worse.
I'd like to say I did it out of courage, or sticking up for myself, or revenge, but the truth is I gave it no thought at all. I was as surprised as anyone. I found myself hitting him and thinking "Uh oh. This is really gonna cost me."
It's the price one pays for being me, I guess. The Hack Tax.