Flag Football Field: Fill & Download for Free

Ok Ok. “Have you ever picked a fight with the wrong person or vice versa?”High School. A higher classman who was larger than I thought I was an easy target. Picking on me daily. One day, he decided to come up behind me and grab me in a bear hug while I was at my locker.I was warned by my parents, fight in school, get it worse when you come home…but I had had enough.He thought it would be a good idea to pick me up from behind which is where things started to go wrong for him. I was still close enough to the lockers to bring my legs up and brace them in a bent fashion against said lockers.I kicked off the lockers as hard as I could. The hallway was about 9 feet across. Just as he slammed into the opposing wall I snapped my head backwards smashing the back of my skull into his nose bouncing his head off the wall at the same time.He, needless to say dropped me. I landed on my feet and walked back to my locker picking up my books. I heard a couple “Woah…”’s…I saw him heading away down the hall. I simply headed to class.Pretty sure I broke his nose. Never heard about it from school. He didnt ever bother me again.edit. Ok. so I’m getting upvotes. Weird. I’ll add another.I’m not a big guy. But I’ve done farm and ranch type work all my life so I have core strength. I weigh about 170 lbs but even at 46 I’m in great shape and have abbs. I also have some weird genetics. I had a friend with a gym test my fat to muscle ratio years ago and he thought his machine was broken said I had an almost unhealthy level of fat to muscle if I remember correctly? This is not some self aggrandising here just fact(s). A friend I did missionary work with called me “Farm boy strong…” he’s red headed and 6′4″ and I hung with him building multiple cinder block houses on multiple missionary trips. Guess that's core strength. So. I’ve always had fairly white collar jobs…insurance broker (still) Logistics company (sitting job, also currently) but I have a working hunting ranch I live on. Cut split and stack 3 cord a year to accent heat…build stuff move stuff make stuff fix heavy equipment all the time. You get it.Few years ago I was out at a bar with a client and my then business partner. Had a guy set my “danger antenne” to vibrating come up and talk to my client. He was sitting on a bar stool (client). Guy is leaning in to talk to him. Bar is very loud. Guy just does not “fit in” where we are, something is odd. Guy is about 6′2″ and wirey, sinu and muscles. (me 5′9″ tightly packed) I see my clients shake his head “no…” and he glances at me with a “HELP!” look… I step over and gently place a hand on the guys chest saying “He’s not interested man…” and he PROMPTLY hit me with a cross. I mean…BAM! No posturing no nothing. Apparently he rung my bell because the next thing I knew I have him on the floor in a guillotine choke. My legs going 1 way and his the other and I am LITERALLY trying to pick this guy up by his head…My business partner is standing over me going…”Dont break his neck, dont break his neck dont break his neck…” I come back to reality and realize that I am actually currently killing this guy and I am very very close to breaking his neck.This does not sit well with me, I have no desire to kill or maim anyone. I am totally peaceful until you corner me or hit me, or threaten those whom I care about. I let go. Security shows up and slams me up against the bar and helps the wiry guy up. He is going…>GAKKKK! GAKKKUTHHHH!!! GAKKKK!< holding his throat.Client stands up and tells security that wiry guy was in the process of picking his pocket and when I put my hand on him it bumped the guy so he felt the pick occuring, apparently a professional. I ask business partner what happened he goes…” Guy freaking hit you and you grabbed him by the back of the neck and THREW him face first into the floor using just your arm, it was crazy looking then you dove on top of him and started picking him up by his neck…” (I wrestled in high school guess that just kicked in.)Security picks up the now “Gacking” wiry pickpocket by the arms and begins escorting him towards the door while he continues to make some rather uncomfortable sounds still. I get a round of applause and a round of shots from the bartender. (We had been tipping VERY well which probably helped me not be ejected with the pickpocket and also probably got me a free round of shots.) Had a nice shiner for a few days but hey, badge of courage I guess.I get more upvotes I’ll add another “Bar fight”. ya’ll decide.Edit #2.Instead of another bar fight, I thought this was better.In elementary school I had a bully. 2 grades ahead of me and much MUCH larger. Extremely athletic, tall and fast he was the terror and uncrowned king of flag football. No one could get his flags. He would do this SPIN move that made the flags flutter up and out of reach when you grabbed at them.He and I landed on the same flag football team. His name was Justin, I even remember his last name but I won't post it here for privacy reasons. I was literally TERRIFIED of him. Called me names and tried to make me look as weak and small as possible in front of as many classmates as he could. Would push me in the locker room into lockers and such. I had enough. I decided to take matters into my own hands. I was starting to get some shit from other kids also since I appeared weak I guess. We would meet in the gym before flag football after school. As everyone was walking in I was waiting for him, he walked in with his cronies. “Justin!” I call out to him and he looks at me funny. He was team captain. He comes over and says…”Yah?” I say, “Before we head out to play, stay after I want to talk to you about something before the game.” He goes…”Ummm ok.” in a questioning voice.After the pre games meeting everyone heads out and he walks over to me. “Lets wait till everyone is gone, I want to talk to you alone.” He again goes…”Um…ok.” still sounding confused.After everyone else has left out with some odd looks back at the 2 of us we are totally alone in a abandoned gymnasium.I look him dead in the eyes and I go…”Look man, you have been picking on me and giving me shit for months and look, if we are going to have a problem, let's just get it over with. I’ll stay after the game and after everyone leaves…we WILL fight…”Now, our field was on a very high elevated area with a long uphill walk to get there. After everyone was gone there would be total privacy. No help from anyone for either of us. Just him and me.He pauses for a few seconds and goes…”Man that took guts. Let's go play some football.”We walked out together and walked up the hill together in total silence. Everyone was waiting on him as he was the captain. He goes…”My man here is going to kick the ball off.”Some strange glances again as everyone on the entire team knew he had been riding me for months. I kicked the ever loving SHIT out of that football so far that they had to down it. He looked at me in amazement. I go…”I can do that every time if you want.” He just smiles and trots off. (I played soccer and I was GOOD at it. I had never had the chance to kick off before.)He never EVER gave me another problem and neither did anyone else from that group. A couple of other guys asked me what happened and I said “I told Justin I wanted to fight him after the game…” which was responded by “WHOOOOOOAH…” mostly. He would have owned me. I’d have been bloody and broken when he was done if we had fought, but Justin was a BULLY and most bullies are scared tiny little people deep down inside. Stand up to them and there is a good chance they will walk away with their tail between their legs, or you will get your nose pushed in, either way being week just draws more bullies jackles to the carion. Even if you get your butt kicked, you won't be a target anymore. Bullies dont like victims who fight back, or even offer to.

We were both 8th grade nonentities who ended up in classes together in 9th grade. He was big for his age, loud, insecure; I was reedy, artsy, oblivious. He started punching me on the bicep—the game called “flinches.” If you flinched, you got hit again. He had a trick using an extended knuckle that inflicted a deep bruise. He hit the bruise every single time. Starting at 8:30 in the morning until school let out, he hit that bruise.He also hung around me and my nerdy friends in the halls, delivering quick rabbit punches and making loud comments about me. I thought this was weird; he seemed over interested, over bearing and, when we ended up going out for flag football, overly in my face. But—he wasn’t the only one. I got put in a ring of guys and knocked over like a bean bag doll one afternoon, at the coach’s instigation. Skinny, reedy, artsy guys really should think twice about going out for football.That bruise. Months of it. When track season started, we found ourselves two of the faster kids. I had never been an athlete, never played—football was the first attempt—but suddenly I was fast. Faster than him. Faster than anyone. And he kept on hitting my arm, which ached. Then, running practice 220s, when out of sight of the coach at the far end of the field, he tripped me. Pushed me. Ran me off the track into the fence.I outran him the entire year, took the abuse, afraid the whole time he’d begin pounding my face. He’d never leave my side. When we got to high school I could put distance between us—there were 2,500 students. I immediately started hanging with the black, Asian, Hispanic and artsy kids, who were my natural cohort, these being the 60s. He didn’t make many friends who weren’t white, or many friends at all.After high school I didn’t come back for 35 years. At that reunion, he came up, large, mustached, and got in my face. I’d written an op-ed that appeared in the New York Times—”How I Learned to Fear the Cops”—and he was, surprise, a cop. He raged and pushed me back and back. There were other cops there, who also surrounded me, letting me know what they thought of me, but even they looked worried at this guy. I really thought he might flip. He was carrying.As I left, shaken, a current school official took me aside. “These guys were the B-minus students and that’s all they’ll ever be,” he said.The next reunion, 5 years later, he did it again. I broke it off—raised my voice—said I was here for a reunion and didn’t appreciate it. For me, it ruined the evening and for others it was alarming, I’m sure. Though many had my back and told me so.The last reunion, coming in the hyper partisan mood of 2015, gave me pause. I had a feeling he might do some shit. That he would flip and shoot me. I couldn’t shake it. Our high school is in the inner city, Long Beach, and this white violence professional had so far given indications of an uncontrollable rage. But friends prevailed, and I went. I made a decision, though, to leave the moment it got weird.As I approached the plain no-frills club where the reunion would be held, he leaped out from behind the entrance.He called my name. He wore a big smile. He wrapped his arms around me. Pumped my hand. Welcomed me, escorted me inside.I was surprised, relieved, but, strange to say, unable to lose my wariness. I spent the night knowing where he was every single moment and avoided any personal interaction.On the whole, I think I would have preferred a “flinchie.”

As an adult, I'm very (well, somewhat) ashamed of having done this, but I really don't think there was any other way to end the constant war.The high school I went to had the oldest rivalry in the state I grew up in. The week prior to the football game was mayhem, filled with bonfires, fights, and an all-out, nothing off limits prank war. Some quick examples: one year they burned their school name into our football field, so we let a herd of goats loose on theirs; they stole all the letters off the ornate wooden sign at ours, so we took their mascot statue and sunk it in their campus pond (they were pirates, so it was fitting); they stole our goal posts so we dyed their pool blue with a mix of Kool aid and Jell-O… it was insane.Anyways, my next door neighbors had a son that went to my school, but his gf went to the rival. During Spirit week, everyone decorated their cars with paint, flags, streamers, etc. My senior year, his gf and some of her friends started targeting me. Over the course of the week I had to deal with around 6dozen eggs, shaving foam, more tp than I care to estimate. After the first night, I started parking at the close end of the driveway instead of on the street (4cars in our fam at the time), but that night they egged all our cars, not just mine, and let the air out of all the tires. It went on for 4 nights straight, with me having to get up before sunrise to wash all the cars and use the air pump to refill the tires.Now, my father is very conservative and doesn't back vengeance in any way, but he was pissed. The eggs and foam ruined the paint on 3 of the cars, including his new caddy, so he told me quite clearly that as long as I didn't get caught, I could get payback.The night of the game came, and they won, as per the norm, so the gf and all her friends were at my neighbor's house partying. With all the music and whatnot, we could've set a nuke off and they wouldn't have heard it, but a couple of friends and I played ninja. With a combo of baloney slices, life savers, and nail polish remover, we turned her lovely little beemer into a polka dotted nightmare. For the uninitiated, baloney eats thru the clearcoat and the grease usually prevents it from being easily washed off; with the Lifesavers, it's lick em and stick em and if you try to remove them without disolving them, it takes the paint with it down to primer; and of course acetone will eat thru everything down to the metal and can be used quite effectively with a sponge brush.Her screaming woke us all up the next morning. While my dad didn't approve of some of the drawing and word choice, he gave me a discreet high five and said he had gotten his money's worth.Ironically, my first college roommate went to the rival school. We shared many laughs about the crazy antics of our class, and agreed to not damage one another's stuff. Before I moved to the SW, I made a point to go home every year for the game, so my kids would get to see where mom spent 4 amazing years.