Punishing Life's Good Deeds

They say that no good deed goes unpunished, and after tonight, I am inclined to agree. Sunday night I took a comic home from the Funny Bone, and when I dropped him off, he mentioned he had no electric, or food. After watching him enter a dark apartment, knowing he was going to be sitting in the dark, and would have to find a soup kitchen the next day to eat, I felt compelled to help.
A small post on Facebook, a few direct emails and before I knew it, I had raised $350, and bought $50 worth of groceries. It made me feel good to help someone out, and bask in the kindness of others. I worked late and wanted to get my energy back from working 12 hours, so I strapped on my running shoes and headed out at 9:00 pm for a Price Hill run.

Now, I have not been taking very good care of myself, and one of the reasons was an Achilles injury that kept me sidelined most of the summer. But the doctor cleared me to finally get back on my feet and allowed me to run. So this run, being only the second one of the summer, was painful, and reminded me my endurance is only slightly greater than a fat guy climbing stairs. I was wheezing, coughing, trying to catch my breath, as I stumbled from block to block. Walking was part of the process of getting home.

I am approximately 1 mile from my condo, feeling I should stop and rest, when some kids are yelling from a dark corner in Dempsey Park. “Hey man, I want to axe you a question, slow down man. We need to axe you something.” With each statement, I kept running, trying to quicken my pace. But the more I tried to increase my pace, the  quicker their steps became.  Faster and faster, until eventually, I turned and saw 5 kids, around the ages of 15-17 running virtually at full speed right behind me. I don't really count the 13 year old in the total.

What happened next, I cannot explain. The vision of this confrontation played in my head before it happened, and I felt my actions were completely reactionary. I had been running in the street, but found myself running to the park railing when I saw the mob moving closer. I was afraid that they would get behind me somehow, and I didn't want to be surrounded on all sides. The railing helped keep them in a semi-circle where I could see most of them, and as I stopped to confront my pursuers, I knew someone was going to throw a punch. A quick survey of the crew gave me a pretty good indication who, out of the 6, was going throw the first blow. A kid, about 17, wearing a black pseudo-tuxedo shirt, with nappy hair. Taller and older than the rest, he seemed to have an agenda in his eyes.

After stopping, I turned and kept my back to the park railing, as they formed a semi-circle around me. When everyone was relatively still, a smaller member of the gang made a statement I don't remember, but I found myself saying, "OK, ask your question." The oldest one, standing just off my left shoulder winds back and throws a right hook toward my face. I knew this would be the guy to throw the punch, so I ducked under the sweeping blow. His fist barely grazing the top of my head, and I found myself lunging toward my attacker. My crouch gave me some pretty good momentum, as I instinctively lurched up, and toward him.  My fist connected with the bottom of his lower jaw and I could see his eyes get wider as it landed.  I don’t believe he expect a counter attack. My momentum was carrying me into him, and I was afraid both of us would crash to the ground, leaving an open invitation for the others to jump in with little risk.

In an attempt to control my balance, I threw a left elbow toward his head. We were too close to land a full on punch, and we were falling into the street. The elbow connected to the side of his head, and swept his ear. It was enough to slow my forward progress, but we were both still falling. I managed to get both hands on him, push off, and throw him into the street. The action was just enough to create some space for me to sprint away from the pack.
I was running full bore down the street, and some of the younger ones were trying to get in front of me to corner me again. I took a 90 degree, hard left turn, down some stairs. The stairs were narrow, and crumbling, and I struggled to keep my balance. But this evasive maneuver help me separate the pack a little. Two of the kids missed the stairs and ran past the stair opening. Two others must have lost their footing on the steps, and I could hear them crashing down the stairs behind me. That left the one person who took my punch and fell into the street. It was enough of a delay that he could avoid the hazards and see my running pathway.

I hit the bottom of the stairs and took off in a dead sprint into the park. The park was dark. Very dark, and I kept thinking if I let these punks catch up to me in this park, no one will find me until morning. But I knew that the District 3 police station was straight ahead, and that is where I was going. So my legs, which have never run a full sprint in over 3 years, found the energy, after 3.5 miles, to carry me longer and faster than I have run in a long time. My lungs burned with each breath, but my legs were filled with so much adrenaline I could have beaten Usain Bolt to the cop shop. Behind me, I kept hearing "kick his ass" and "get that mother f*&cker." But they seemed so far away I didn't feel that concerned. One comment I heard was "God damn, that f*#cker is fast."

Eventually, I found some light at the end of the park, and quickly turned on my heels to confront any pursues. The only one was the kid I punched originally. He had a look of redemption in his eyes that was a little frightening, but it felt more like embarrassment than rage. Perhaps he was upset he got jacked in front of his friends by some old, white cracker. Whatever the case, I stopped, squared up, and said "You better make this one count." We locked eyes, realizing it was just him and I, he turned and ran into the darkness to meet his posse. I turned and ran to District 3 to report the incident.


When I reported what had just happened, the police officer said, "Oh, we had another guy report the same thing about 7 minutes ago." If that was the case, where were the cops? District 3 is at the end of the park.

I believe I was very lucky. The mob’s only intention was to inflict bodily harm on someone, and I was able to get out of the situation with nothing more than a throbbing hand, which actually feels very satisfying.

I am also glad this did happen to me, and the outcome was favorable. I cannot imagine how this would have turned out had I chosen to execute another option, or if someone else would have stumbled on these low life wanna be pieces of gangster shit!

Just Being Awesome!

It was a cold December and I was on a road trip with my good friend Dave to perform a week of stand-up comedy at in a Funny Bone Comedy Club near the east coast. After 10 hours in the car, we arrived at the club with only a couple of hours before the show - just enough time to get our bearings, check into the comedy condo, and wind down a bit before the crowd would begin to push through the doors looking for a place to get warm and enjoy some cocktails and laughs.

It was a Wednesday night and there was only one show scheduled. It was a small crowd that only filled the first two tiers of the club, but a crowd that came prepared to enjoy the art of live comedy. I was the MC and Dave was the middle act, supporting a headliner that I soon found out, was both arrogant and demanding. He gave me his intro and the facts he wanted me to mention. While I was introducing him on stage, I looked over to see him shaking his head in disapproval. As he shook my hand and I was turning over the stage, he leaned in and said “Not even close!”

I was bothered at first, and wondered what I forgot to say. The 20 second segment of the show played over and over in my mind, and I could not put my finger on why my introduction was met with such dissatisfaction. Luckily my confusion and concern was removed from my mind after the show as the wonderful club patrons treated us all like rock stars. We were all signing glasses and shirts, and shaking hands with people who said it was the best comedy show they had attended. It was awesome to be appreciated.

When all of the audience left and only comics and staff remained, the headliner let me know exactly where I had strayed with his introduction. Apparently, the introduction he provided was not just snippets of information from which I could use my poetic license to glean highlights and communicate them to the masses… Oh no… This was a script that was written to be performed in the exact fashion in which it was written. According to the headliner, each word was ‘given careful consideration and the order of each word, sentence, and phrase, was designed to show he was in demand and exceptionally brilliant’.

The rest of the week was what you would expect from a person who has an over-inflated view of themselves. As the MC, and a comic who was just one step up from an open mic-er, I was treated to limited conversation. a couple closed door meetings between Dave and ‘Mr. Ego’ – where he promised Dave some road shows with him. I was not to know because the headliner didn’t think “I was not ready.” This statement really didn’t bother me because he showed up at the club every night AFTER I performed my set, meaning HE NEVER SAW ME PERFORM!

After only the second show, this headliner involved the manager of the club to inform me the headliner didn’t think I was doing the MC job very well and she was letting me know I was getting fired for the week. Eventually this turned out to be false, after about an hour, and it was just a funny joke (to him). He was nice enough to “let me finish out the week” but was informed later I was in fact NOT in jeopardy of losing the job. I guess this was just one of the many methods he uses to prey on the weak subconscious all comics’ seem to process.

But this behavior taught me a valuable lesson in the art of stand-up comedy. Sometimes, it is not about being funny. Sometimes, it is about being able to push through the mental barrier of self-doubt, and insecurities and to believe you are great. I tried to put myself into his mind and wondered what it would be like to see yourself so positively.  To believe in yourself so strongly that you think every joke you write is hysterical must be exhilarating!! To possess such arrogance that all outside distractions are trivial, and any advice given by other comedians ‘must be created out of jealously and spite’ must be awesome! To be so rigid that you scoff at the methods of others, and dismiss their successes as a ‘blind squirrel finding an acorn’ must feel amazing! But I didn’t feel any of these things when I can see how they affect those around me.

So I don’t believe I will ever embrace the values shown to me by the headliner’s conceitedness. I choose instead to write better comedy, help my fellow comics, and enjoy the company of everyone around me. Because in the end, the goal is to entertain the masses, and when a joke falls flat, or our timing is off, and the laughs do not present themselves, our insecurity can be a powerful negative force that can lead to destruction of confidence. And while standing on stage with nothing but a microphone, one needs to feel as confident as possible. It’s a scary place to be. And ultimately it will be our friends and those around us that will put us back on the path that we, as comics, were meant to travel. And I shall enjoy the journey – and the company of those who travel it with me.