I had a saying: “Once a year, the Russians get Irish.” It was in reference to a yearly fight David and I would inevitably have but stopped after a really intense fight in 2009. It usually happened right around New Year’s, or shortly thereafter, but would always happen between December 20th and January 28th.
In this particular story, it actually happened on New Year’s Day of 2009. I had invited a bunch of people to a post-NYE gathering on January 1st of 2009 to meet up and have some post-hangover fun. Most people who know me will tell you I rarely do anything on New Year’s Eve, as it is the most hyped time of the year, and expectations are so high that you are more likely to be let down than even meet expectations.
So we are having a grand old time. PBR, BBQ, and shots. David comes in, and you can tell he is less-than-interested in playing our reindeer games. But I suspect Jenny gave him the “let’s go out” when DP probably wanted to do something like have Jenny help him fold clothes or color sort his ties by both color and pattern.
So we’re all getting after it, and I think some guys passed a note or something to Eloise or Jenny, and it turned into this hilariously-disgusting, back-and-forth passing of napkins with strangers from Jenny and Eloise to unsuspecting guys. We would write something like, “Hey, I have crabs, but I think you’re cute. Let’s get out of here…” and we would watch the guy’s faces as they read the napkins. You could literally watch their faces as they actually pondered next steps.
It actually got a lot grosser than that, but it was absolutely-disgusting genius flowing from our minds.
David… not so much.
So at some point, he decides he wants to leave. He goes and asks for the check, and I was like, “Hey, no need to do that man! You’re one person, we are like seven people who were clearly not done.” We are also pretty buzzed, so as soon as the check is dropped, it is like “party’s over,” and we move to drunk people doing math.
The side-note to this is my brother carried ridiculous amounts of cash in his pocket at all times. He was the king of “I’ll use my card, you give me cash.” So he would normally have a minimum of $200 in his pocket, but it was usually something like $500+.
So in my mind, I am like, “Leave a couple bucks, but don’t put everybody into drunk math mode and break the flow, or don’t leave anything at all and I will tell you how much you owe at a later date. But don’t go stopping a perfectly nice flow with a bunch of people because you want to go fold your underwear.” He saw it differently: Party’s over. I am using my card, and you all owe me money.
So fast forward, we agreed to disagree by basically getting in each other faces. Enough so that the bouncer is looking at us like these two dudes are about to get fisticuffs. I look at him, and I am like, “It’s my brother, back off we’re fine.” Nobody ever believed we are brothers. I’ll tell the IKEA story at some point, but since we are near New Year’s, I opted for this story.
So anyway, David had this move that sort of forced you to call his bluff… that kind of move. He would grab my shirt, make a fist, and do a flinch move. Problem was, I didn’t particularly like a 5’2” meathead grabbing my shirt, and I didn’t like people who threaten. I’ve subscribed to the line of thinking that goes something like this: “Don’t draw your gun unless you are prepared to use it.”
So somehow, we spill out into the street, and next thing you know we are going at it. Like, no-holds-barred MMA in the UES. The girls are screaming at us like some sort of Spike Lee movie where all hell breaks loose, and the guys are like, “WTF is going on between these two?”
We are just exchanging blows. I’m punching David, he’s trying to come in for the choke move, and we are just venting a year’s frustration on each other. The friends finally got us across the street and separated. David’s got a lumpy head. I’ve got a bloody lip, and we both go to our respective corners and head home.
Our friends are just looking at us both like, “Seriously, did that just happen?” Yes, it did.
So that night, the typical muscle aches and pains set in. I wake up the next morning, go to Hertz, and snag a rental car. About seven minutes later, David hops in the car, and we load up and head up to Hunter.
David’s got this huge lump on his head; my lip is all swollen and looking Botox-like. My friend in the back seat who was there last night is looking at us—I could see his face in the mirror with complete confusion as David and I just hop into a conversation about what tricks we wanted to work on and not even mention the fight that had happened not ten hours earlier outside of a, “You got me good,” as he pointed to the bump on his head… and that was that. We would talk about what set us both off at a later date, but that next morning, we were going riding and the previous night’s performance was not going to interfere with that.
That’s how it was with me and him. I know deep down the fight had very little to do with me or him. I think only I could draw out all the negativity and purging of the previous year, and we would vent our frustrations on each other in the only way two brothers knew how.
