This a TRUE account of a fight I watched while out walking recently.
Sauntering along the riverbank, accompanied by my hound dog’s leisurely trot, I chanced upon a congregation of a dozen men, ranging in age from seventeen to thirty, assembled in a nearby field. Propping myself against an aged five-bar gate, I fixated my gaze on the enthralling spectacle unfolding before me.
At the heart of this gathering, an assemblage of onlookers encircled two young men, their torsos bared, locked in a bare-knuckle pugilistic duel. The oldest of the group assumed the role of arbiter, ensuring a semblance of fair play in this pugnacious affair – a fistic exchange, confined to boxing alone, with no room for kicks or bites. The contestants bore an ancient animosity, and this contest presented their sole opportunity to bring resolution to their enmity.
The pugilistic encounter commenced within a confined patch of gravel, it was to be one unbroken round where neither warrior retired to a corner, for there were none. The ferocity with which these men assaulted each other was savage, every blow landing with deadly intent and precision. Unrestrained, they traded punches for over twenty minutes, resolute in their refusal to submit. The shorter of the two briefly paused to wipe the blood from his countenance with a friends shirt repurposed as an improvised towel.
Their clash yielded a raw and intense symphony – the meaty thuds of fists meeting flesh resounded through the air, accompanied by sharp smacks and dull thuds, a testament to their immense exertion in this primal struggle. With each move, grunts and groans of exertion escaped their lips, bearing witness to the titanic effort invested in this raw confrontation.
As they circled the battleground, their sweat dispersed in all directions, while the scraping of their feet against the gravel added yet another layer to the auditory tapestry. The assembled crowd’s impassioned reactions mirrored the bout’s fierce tenacity, punctuating the ebb and flow of the combat with fervent cheers and gasps.
In those fleeting moments of silence, heavy breathing permeated the arena, heightening the anticipation of the next thunderous blow. Though both combatants strained to catch their breath between exchanges, there was no respite to be had – the battle raged on, offering scant room for evasion or escape.
The referee attempted to intervene as the contest neared its climax, imploring the fighters to reconcile and conclude the matter. Yet, one steadfastly refused, and both warriors persisted, impervious to the referee’s endeavours to cease the hostilities.
The duel reached its zenith in time, leaving both fighters bloodied but undaunted. Despite their exhaustion, they stood tall, settling their dispute in an age-old tradition of noble violence that transcended the bounds of time. As twilight descended, the assembly disbanded, vanishing into the cloak of night.
I had borne witness to an intimate community of wayfarers who settled their disputes fiercely amongst themselves, adhering to the customs of an era long past. In this spectacle of unbridled aggression, they fought with an ancient code of conduct and primal courage. Who was I to render judgment? The dance of fists and the symphony of pain and determination had unfolded before me, affording a fleeting glimpse into a world unfettered by the conventions of society.
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