The nineties were relatively easy on America’s youth. A bachelor’s degree at a university promised unlimited success. The video game industry exploded with the launch of the Nintendo 64 and the Sony PlayStation. The U.S. earned a successful victory in Operation Desert Storm. Throughout the Clinton administration, adolescents knew there was life to be lived.

Somehow, this doesn’t explain why a kid named Josh Ramsey felt the need to keep throwing the ball at my head during a 4th grade recess baseball. 

Admittedly, I threw the first punch when we confronted on the mound. My right handed hook with a fully extended elbow felt justified through my constant warnings of “stop throwing at people’s heads, Josh.” I had never fought anyone before in my life, and to this day, I had never fought anyone again. By the time I had his head clutched between my legs in a pseudo choke hold, shouts from the other kids begged us to stop. As a result, I awarded the bout to myself via disqualification as Josh paid no mind to the often spoken rules of going after the genital region. 

The fight lasted a total of 45 seconds which can tread dangerously close to the time teachers can notice and diagnose a fight occurring. As the game continued, I managed one base hit and a fly-out. However, the opposing pitching continued to land high and inside on a suspiciously frequent basis. 

Typical Josh.  

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