British Colonial India and how it relates to cock-punching contests.

Sept 10, 2010

I don't play bar games, I never really have. I don't play pool, darts, foosball, or any kind of drinking games (quarters, dice, etcetera). I'm not saying that I've never in my life played a game of pool or darts – of course I have, but I don't regularly, and I'm pretty terrible at all of them (barely competent at foosball, I suppose, but awful at the rest).

My customers often don't believe me. "You work in a bar – you MUST be a pool shark!" Nope, really, I'm not. And it's strange – people will occasionally get seriously insulted when I decline to play a pick-up game with them, or on the rare occasions when I'm slow and bored enough to actually play, they accuse me of throwing the game, losing on purpose. "But someone told me that you play games…" is an accusation that I dread – I'm not ashamed of being a gamer, far from it, but it's no fun explaining that I play miniature wargames to some drunken stranger. I usually end up sighing, shrugging, and saying "Yes, it's like Dungeons and Dragons with little metal figurines" – it's the path of least resistance.

There's this one fellow, Steve, who is an obsessively competitive gamer. BARgamer, not wargamer – pool, darts, quarters, betting on sports on TV, etcetera. He's one of the guys who got all insulted when I first declined to play pool with him, despite my protestations of disinterest and poor skill. Initially, he thought that I was refusing because he didn't offer to play for money, and when I continued to decline, he continued to raise the stakes ("OK, we'll play a game for $5. No? How about 10$? NO? Still holding out? How about 20? 50? Geez, man, you must be really sure of yourself – but I'm better than you think, how about we make it a MAN's bet – a game for a HUNDRED dollars!!") I had to go fetch the bartender and a couple of our regulars, members of our pool league team, to convince him that I really don't play pool! Despite all that I still think that for months he half-thought that we were all messing with him, secretly hiding my mad pool skillz for some mysterious unknown reason.

I don't really know Steve well – he's one of many people in Fairbanks who's in town for a few days, then works up north or in the bush for a few weeks. But he's loud and enthusiastic, broadly genial, and a good tipper. If he wasn't such a sports ("SPOOOOORTS!!!") guy, I'd like him – as it is, I affably tolerate him, and ignore him when he gets too… Steve-ish. And now, because of the whole "pool" debacle, we have sort of a running gag where every time he sees me, he jokingly asks me to play a game of pool, and I always reply – "Not tonight – maybe next time!"

The other night Steve was at the bar with some friends – a group of loud, obnoxious, friendly, competitive guys. They inevitably started wrestling and cup-checking each other, so I approached them and asked them to calm down. More specifically, I said "Come on, guys, take it outside or take it down a notch." Steve and his buddy break their embrace/wrestling hold and look over at me. They're both having a grand old time, laughing, and Steve says "Hey, Alex, it's cool, it's cool, we're not hurting anybody – we're just having a cock punching contest!", and he turns and punches his buddy in the crotch!

Much to my surprise, the buddy laughs, hops back and, still laughing, lunges at Steve, trying to punch him in the junk, too! A retaliatory cock-punch. A *friendly* retaliatory cock-punch. Astounding.

(This is an aspect of jock behavior that I just don't understand. If you walk up to me and punch me, you better be ready for a hostile reaction. I'm aware that sports teams & hard working manly men may see that sort of thing as friendly horseplay, I've witnessed the phenomenon often enough, but I don't feel that way myself. Please don't hit me, ever, unless you really mean it. And for this they call me "uptight"…)

So I step between the two of them – I shudder to think of where the one-upsmanship and following arms race would have led us all to. They pause, not sure where I'm going with this, not wanting to fight me or get kicked out, but also not wanting to give up their fun. "Dude, come on, can't you just let us do our thing? We're old friends, we don't get to see each other very often, this is like a tradition for us!"

A light bulb turns on in my head. I muster my best British Professor impression


"Gentlemen," I say, "let me tell you a story about British Colonial India."

They both stop, utterly disarmed. I do so enjoy confusing the customers…

"Long ago, there was a tradition in India called ‘Suttee', where when a man died, they would burn the widow on the funeral pyre along with her husband. When the British Empire conquered India, they put a stop to the practice."

Steve and his buddy are both hanging with me, confused but curious – they both look like they're waiting to hear the punch line of a joke.

"Well, the some of the local officials sent a delegation to talk to the British Governor, asking him to allow them to continue their practice of suttee. ‘Can't you just leave us alone?' they said, ‘This is our tradition!'

The Governor replied, ‘In England we also have traditions. One of ours concerns men who kill widows – we hang them as murderers. So, if you must carry out your tradition, fine. Build your funeral pyres and carry out your tradition. And next to your funeral pyres we will build gallows, and carry out our tradition."

I pause for a long moment.

"So, OK, we all on the same page now, fellas?"

The two guys look bewildered, disappointed, still waiting for the punch line. I just stand there for a minute, eyebrows raised, waiting for an answer.

Eventually, Steve says "I don't get it."

I sigh elaborately. "OK, how's this – you two go ahead and have your tradition, you do your thing – have your cock-punching contest. Then I'll do *MY* thing – my bouncer thing." I look Steve in the eyes and smile as I say this, to let him know this is still friendly, but that I'm not entirely kidding.

Steve shakes his head and laughs, "OK man, I get it, I get it, no problem!" Still smiling and laughing, he and the buddy sit down. They both act fairly civilized for the rest of the evening, and Steve gave me a high-five when he left later that night.

And that's how I was able to connect British Colonia India to a cock-punching contest in a little bar in Fairbanks Alaska.