Jail fight

You age more, and fight less. At least, that's the general rule. I haven't had a real knock down, drag out street brawl since 2012, when I turned the tables on 2 dudes harassing my daughter over her head scarf (after I checked them, they made the mistake of jumping on me). Barring a fracas here and there, working in the club especially, and not counting the innumerable whuppings my dojo teammates have given me, last Saturday broke the streak.

Enter Percy Boatner, 3rd of his name, known by most as "Shoog." Meeting him, I quickly got the impression that he was trying to live up to the bully persona, the namesake of former Death Row CEO, Mr. Knight. Truth be told, if it weren't for him being physically
imposing, dude would've been just another cornball. In one breath, he was a self-professed preacher, bragging that since he'd been locked in jail, he'd "led 3 people to Christ," and was banned from attending church service because the chaplain didn't want him telling the truth. In another breath, he was a "boss" who had all of the young gang-banging inmates under his wing. When he transferredto the same housing unit as me, his ambitionto be "Big Man on Campus" was inevitably going to make us bump heads.

Inmates in the unit call me "OG," I think moreso because of my gray hairs than anything else, but I did have some "respek" put on my name early when, after my 2nd day in, I stood up for a kid who was painfully and obviously autistic was being bullied by several other inmates. My intercession was brusque and included a menacing invite to anyone that had a problem with the youngster to "step into my cell." All declined.

Though I'd established myself as an Alpha, I stayed on relatively good terms with everybody and stayed aloof of the jailhouse status quo. Shoog and I regarded each other warily. I was equally unimpressed by his proselytizing and his thug pretense, all of which I interpreted as a facade of insecurity. I've seen it demonstrated a thousand times in jail and prison. After one of his displays, I teased him for "acting like the police" and he got upset, inviting me to his cell for a "talk" - where he attempted to browbeat and intimidate me. I laughed in his face, did an about face, and left him there flustered. A dètente passed between us for several weeks, during which he continued doing the most and bullying other inmates. He told one kid nicknamed "Trigger" to stop using it because it sounded too much like "nigger." When the (white) kid refused him, Shoog slapped him.

During the first weekend of April, jail staff shook down the unit looking for contraband and we were left locked in our cells for flimsy rule violations for 24 hours. We yelled back and forth to each other through doors and door vents..joking, laughing, and taking smack. Shoog, without a cellmate, took to ranting and preaching. I jokingly told him to go to bed, snapping on him with several "you're so old" jokes: your SSN# is only 4 digits..for example.

Clearly not having a sense of humor, Shoog began threatening me with a showdown in the morning. His opportunity came early, however, when our doors popped open for the nurse to dispense a daily round of medications. Now fact to face, I told Shoog to dispense with his threats and come to my cell where "I'm going to ruin your health." He came up the stairs, entered my cell where I was waiting, and started swinging. In the slow looping arc of his overhand right, time slowed. In my 40+ years on Earth, I've survived countless fisticuffs, a knife fight in a 7-11 parking lot, a crazy prison cellmate trying to stab me with a broken mirror, sucker punched (very, very hard) with brass knuckles, not to mention the infinite times I've been punched, kicked, choked, and body slammed trying to learn martial arts and combat sports. All of which came to bear inside of Suge's first punch...

That never connected.

I threw what I call my "stay sucka free" combo: a quick jab to Shoog's chin faster than his typical punch got to mine (courtesy of hours upon hours of training at Edge boxing), then a quick step back to let his punch miss and bait him into the sucka move of running forward. He bit and rushed me...and ran into a 2-3-2 combo. The last punch, a straight right to his chin, dropped him to one knee. I actually felt a tinge of pity as I let go of the next and last punch of the setup, a left hook to his eye socket that did to it what gentrification does for black businesses.

Most fights end up on the ground at some point, this one did too. Shoog launched himself into a tackle, a desperate survival mode move that is effective in a small cramped cell, and a predictable one I was ready for. I absorbed his tackle and caught his head with my left arm in a guillotine chokehold. I wrapped my legs around his left leg for leverage, squeezed, arched, and cranked the choke on his neck.

My mind drifted to the numerous times I'd gotten this or similar holds, I'd hear nothing but my teammates like Shane Cross, Thiago, Lumumba, Nick, and Sensei Marr chanting "Squeeze Taj...Squeeze!" I was snapped back to reality when I felt the wet and cold discomfort of spit and blood soaking my clothing on my left side - it was only then that I heard Shoog gurgling.

Jujitsu is never about brute force, war, or violence. You cannot "win" or master an opponent with physical strength, you win with adjustment. A choke can render someone unconscious in a matter of seconds. If the choke is applied sloppily or an opponent is both pretty strong and desperate with adrenaline, they can survive and even escape. The Jujitsu I learned adjusts for that circumstance as well. My teammate/training partner/coach (for whom I was pretty much a crash test dummy for years) Eric Koble, who I'm sure is not at all human, trained me to not just secure a D'arce, triangle, Peruvian necktie, anaconda, mata-leao, or guillotine choke. He trained me to secure and hold it for tortuously long periods of time. If an opponent weathers the early storm, they will succumb to the unrelenting flood.

Shoog was strong, desperate, and embarrassed, all ingredients for survival and even triumph. But I only squeezed harder. He had floated in the cellblock, and into my cell, on a cloud of hubris. He was being taught by a tall, skinny (and well trained) dude that that cloud was toxic. Four more seconds and Shoog went limp. I swept him over and we fell off my cellmate's bunk onto the floor. Now I sat on him with a mounted guillotine.

In the fall, Shoog bumped his head which awakened him, he started punching me with one hand and digging his fingernails into my back with the other. So, I squeezed again until he went limp. I let him go and got up...and felt an immediate sense of remorse. Shoog was laid out, snoring/snorting as his body fought for consciousness, but there was no triumph really. As far as I was concerned he never had a chance.

I leaned over and smacked him lightly. He came to with a start and reached a hand up. I helped him up and told him to walk out. Shoog left the cell and raised his hands in triumph, his right eye grossly swollen shut, blood streaming out of it and his nose. Someone laughed and told him to put his hands down...he shouted profanity back. From downstairs he yelled at me that I only beat him because I sucker punched him. I laughed and told him I was going to beat him everyday, starting tomorrow.

Instead of going back to his own cell and licking his wounds, Shoog made a beeline to the nurse and officers, who were oblivious to the fight. They noticed his injuries and pulled him out of the unit. Ten minutes later, they called for my cellmate to explain what happened. Ten minutes after that, they came for me. The deputy immediately told me they knew what happened because they had seen the video replay. Turns out the surveillance camera not only has a clear line of sight into my cell, there's a good zoom. Then the deputy gave me the twist: Shoog had written a statement claiming my cellie and I jumped and assaulted him, but the video said otherwise. Then he asked me if I wanted to press charges against Shoog for false witnessing and assault, since in his eyes, I was the victim given he entered my cell. I laughingly declined. They ordered me back to my cell sans any sanctions.

News of the incident spread like a viral video, in fact, the video was seen by several staff throughout the jail. They either called into or stopped by my cell with comments about it. The next day, it was the talk of the unit. One of deputies stood in the middle of the unit to give an anti-bullying PSA. I found out later that Shoog had moved from unit to unit and left a lot of bad blood in his wake, including with quite a few deputies, who now applauded his comeuppance. There were high fives and "Good Jobs" all around. Several inmates asked me to teach them moves, but in all honesty, I haven't felt the need to drink the Koolaid.

Ultimately Shoog and I are two Black men caught up in a slavery spin-off of American incarceration who turned their pain, anger, and despair against each other. I thought of my own burden, I am here because of false allegations, and because I'm punishing myself (still, I guess) for having fallen in love for all the right reasons, with the wrong person - a broken one who betrayed me. That's what Shoog encountered when he ran into my cell, an albatross around my own neck that blinded and choked him.

Days later, someone showed me a picture they said was their cousin; she had facial injuries not unlike Shoog's. Dude told me she was married and her husband was in jail for giving her those injuries in a brutal beating. I realized I was looking karma in the face when he told me Shoog was that husband. The photo had been used as evidence against him. After that Saturday, they took him to the hospital, he has a fractured orbital bone. The following Monday, they took him to court to be sentenced for the assault (he got jail time, probation, and stipulated mental health treatment). I could only imagine what those in the courtroom thought as he stood there visibly battered, with his eye bulging and still shut.

Dude took his picture and replaced it with a handshake. "You're appreciated Brotha," he said and walked away.

The unit has been a little more peaceful in Shoog's absence, not necessarily more quiet. The fight's still talked about and I'm pointed at in awe. My case is slowly moving along in my favor, but the weight of my albatross, I still feel hanging. I have to admit...it's swinging on my neck a little more lightly now.