Punching Tom Hanks: Dropkicking Gorillas and Pummeling Zombified Ex-Presidents---A Guide to Beating Up Anything (11 page)

A big weapon for Seagal is his mystique and badass reputation. Some forge their rep in the hard-fought fields of battle. Others by appearing in movies showing the hard-fought fields of battle. Seagal did it the second way. Over the years Seagal has managed to dispatch everyone from an actor portraying a Jamaican drug dealer, to a guy pretending to be a ninja assassin.

His actual real world fight credentials are impressive, too. He’s a master of aikido as well as a man who claims to be a police deputy in Louisiana. I don’t know why, when deciding to claim to be something, you wouldn’t aim higher—say, “captain of crime-killing” or “lieutenant of the U.S.A.” I suppose it’s to make it more believable, but I’m not sure the law enforcement position exists that I’d believe Seagal has held—secretly, mind you—for years, that we are only now hearing about after his ill-advised, reality show. His Wikipedia page also lists him as the founder of Steven Seagal Enterprises.
Who better,
I ask? Still, aikido is a real martial art and he is a worthy foe.

Seagal is dangerous and well schooled, but he’s slowed down quite a bit in recent years. I’m not sure I’ve seen him run on camera since the early ’90s and that was in slo-mo. It wasn’t shot that way, he just ran slowly. A stick-and-move approach with lots of in-and-out movement would work well with him. The key to this fight is range. Staying just out of range and forcing him to come to you. Even at his peak, he never utilized many kicks or high-flying tactics, mainly armlocks, wristlocks, and punches. Short-range stuff. So you’d be safe at a mid-range. However, that still leaves him an opportunity to get lucky with a stray shot that catches you as you are stepping back. That’s why I’d recommend dropping the “stick” and just moving.

This is where Seagal’s habit of employing a withering one-liner just prior to dispatching a foe, stops making him look super-cool and leads to his defeat. Here’s an example of one of his pre-fight, verbal jabs:

“I’m gonna take you to the bank … The blood bank!”

It kind of doesn’t make sense, but it has the word “blood” in it. I guess that works. Oddly, in the film
Hard to Kill,
he delivers this line to a corrupt politician whose catchphrase is: “You can take that to the bank.” However, the politician’s not even in the same room with him in the scene. He says it while watching the guy’s TV commercial. That seems like a waste. Maybe he just likes to hear them out loud, to see how they flow, and he later used it to the man’s face, in a scene that was cut from the film. Right?

Anyway, he will deliver his one-liner in his trademark low rumble of a voice. When he does, instead of rushing toward his fist with your chin out, begin stepping to your left, his right.

Then unleash your own one-liner, in answer to his: “Great, because I need to make a deposit. I’m gonna deposit my fist on your face!”

He’ll reply with:
“Your mouth is writing checks your ass can’t cash. That’s called fraud, where possible penalties kick in.
Side
kick … in.”

You’ll say:
“Actually, the bank’s closed for the holiday. It’s Punch-a-Ponytailed-Douchebag Day.”

SEAGAL:
“That’s not a nationally
recognized
holiday … and when I’m done with you, not even your own family will
recognize
you.”

YOU:
“You ever see that movie
Death Takes a Holiday
? Because that day ain’t today, and you’re gonna meet him.”

SEAGAL:
“Good. He’s first, then you’re next … and it’ll be your
neck
 … on the line. Hung out to dry, on that line … And there’ll be hell to pay.”

YOU:
“He doesn’t live in hell, you’re thinking of the Devil not Death. Now let me introduce you to the devil you don’t know (gesture to fist)… this is Harry.”

SEAGAL:
“
Not
nice to meet you Harry. They say idle hands are the devil’s playground … But playtime is over…”

At this point, you’ll notice Seagal is slightly winded from walking in a circle and delivering menacing lines for the past five minutes. Keep him going. This is how you wear him out. Low impact aerobics that he doesn’t realize he’s doing. He will not last.

SEAGAL:
“They say the devil is in the details … The ‘they’ who said it? I murdered them. Now it’s your turn.”

YOU:
“That’s … all you came up with for ‘Death’?”

SEAGAL:
“I’m a little dizzy from walking like this … plus, some of the options I was brainstorming seemed too on the nose, you know? It’s a fine line.”

YOU:
“It is a fine line … and you just crossed it. Now I’m gonna cross you off my list. It’s like Santa’s naughty or nice list. Only mine’s called the ‘dead guy’ list—”

SEAGAL:
“What’s the other list? ‘dead guy or what’?”

YOU:
“It’s … ‘dead guy or nice,’ also. If it ain’t broke…”

That sound you hear? It’s Seagal’s exhausted body hitting the pavement. It’s also the sound of your name being etched into the history books … It was two distinct sounds, they just came back-to-back and it was hard to differentiate them.

HOW TO BEAT UP WORLD CHAMPION BOXER MANNY PACQUIAO:

An Interview with Manny’s Trainer Freddie Roach

Freddie Roach is the best boxing trainer in the world. He’s won a record four “trainer of the year” awards from the Boxing Writer’s Association of America, trained dozens of world champions, and is the man responsible for turning Manny Pacquiao into the flawless fighting machine he is today. I’ve trained at Freddie’s “Wild Card” boxing gym for many years. He was the referee for my first underground boxing match, a match he had the audacity to stop merely because my trainer, inexplicably, threw in the towel after the second time I was knocked down. Crazy … From that night on rather than fight at the shows, I became the ring announcer because—depending on who you ask—either no one had the guts to fight me, or I broke down in tears and begged Freddie not to ask me to fight again.

KEVIN:
Be honest. Do you think if I got myself into the best shape of my life—I’m talking no soda, no drinking all night, no more Cocoa Puffs for dinner (on weekdays)—I’d be able to defeat Manny Pacquaio?

FREDDIE:
No … Not a chance in hell.

KEVIN:
He’s 147 pounds, I’m 175 pounds. Isn’t that a huge advantage for me? Before you answer, let me just say, he is 147 pounds of solid muscle. I’m 175 pounds of
some
muscle and lots of fat. Now, you know who else has a lot of fat? The killer whale … I’m 30 pounds heavier than he is. Isn’t that an advantage?

FREDDIE:
And 30 pounds slower. No advantage.

KEVIN:
Okay, what about this? We know what Manny can do when he applies himself. He’s worked hard and turned himself into the best boxer on Earth. Now, conversely, I have never worked hard in my whole life, for more than two or three minutes. If I finally decided to apply myself, there’s no telling what I’m capable of, and more than that, we have no idea what my upper limits are. I could be special. So, having said that, do you think I could defeat Manny?

FREDDIE:
You couldn’t do it in your prime, you can’t do it now.

KEVIN:
What if when the fight started, Manny was asleep and didn’t know I was showing up, and I had a golf club and was wearing a catcher’s mask for protection? And I was on roller skates.

FREDDIE:
He’d still win.

KEVIN:
What if there were three of me, and Manny was a third of his actual size?

FREDDIE:
I think you need three more.

KEVIN:
What if I was in that giant robot suit from
Avatar
and Manny was pinned under a fallen tree. And he was reading a book. Let’s say … tree falls on him, he finds a book nearby, gets swept up in the story, so he doesn’t see me … Who wins?

FREDDIE:
There’s no miracle that’s gonna help you.

KEVIN:
Manny is the best boxer ever to fight at the Wild Card Gym, while I am easily, the worst. Wouldn’t that put us roughly on even terms? The fact that we embody opposite ends of the Wild Card spectrum like that? Like, black and white, good and evil, awesome at boxing and atrocious at boxing.

FREDDIE:
In your fantasy world, maybe.

KEVIN:
How do you see a fight between Manny and me playing out? You don’t think I can win, I get that. So, what are you saying, it’s a close twelve-round decision? Split decision, maybe?

FREDDIE:
No, I think it’ll be the fastest knockout of all-time. Which is five seconds. You’d be in the record books.

KEVIN:
Let’s go a different way for a second. Who is a Hall-of-Fame boxer who you believe could’ve beaten Manny?

FREDDIE:
Sugar Ray Leonard.

KEVIN:
Okay … Now, do you think I could’ve beaten Sugar Ray Leonard?

FREDDIE:
No.

KEVIN:
You’ve seen me fight here at the Wild Card, what would you say my strengths are?

FREDDIE:
You don’t have any. Weaknesses, we can go on for a long time …

KEVIN:
Which force of nature would you compare my left hook to? Avalanche? Tornado?

FREDDIE:
A butterfly.

KEVIN:
Thanks, Freddie.

So, there it is. A lot of different ways to interpret the above interview. Obviously Freddie and I don’t see 100 percent eye to eye on the fight, but overall we seem to be on the same page. As good as Manny is, as impressive as he’s been, we just don’t know how he’d react under the kind of heat I’d bring. As Freddie is a friend of mine, I could never fight his star pupil, so the world will have to be content never knowing the outcome of such a titanic clash of warriors.

HOW TO BEAT UP CLINT EASTWOOD?

Clint Eastwood is, of course, a creature brought to life after a bolt of lightning struck a saddle left to dry in the sun after whiskey was accidentally spilled on it. Lightning, which emerged from what just seconds prior had been a clear blue sky.

Clint Eastwood shares a few qualities with humans; he grew from a baby into a young man and after that, a full-grown man. Then—as opposed to humans who hit a mark around fifty years of age where they begin to regress, with manhood leaving them in a maelstrom of shrinking, softening, and faltering—Eastwood continued on an upward manhood trajectory; growing more craggy, fearsome, macho, and yes, more intimidating.

Eastwood at age seven.

Clint’s specialty is calling out “punks” and oftentimes “no good punks.” He has no tolerance for them in any way, whatsoever. A punk will send him into a violent furious rage, which you will be able to identify by a slight, extra intense narrowing of his already squinting eyes.

A
punk
can be defined as: a whiny teen; a harried businessman; an outlaw on the run; a woman; a dog following him for no reason; a biker from the ’70s; a biker from the ’80s; a guy in a Volvo trying to nab a parking spot; a young, wet-behind-the-ears know-it-all fresh from the academy who doesn’t know jack-shit about dick-all; a Native American; any kind of American; a biker from the ’90s; Jack Elam; someone trying to prevent Clint Eastwood from escaping from a prison; men with guns; men who dig; Kevin Costner; harried housewives; the former New York Ranger Adam Graves; a talking chimpanzee; a guy whipping a horse; people who cheat at cards; people who lollygag, gawk, or otherwise dawdle; renegade Indian chiefs; non-renegade Indian chiefs who are just doing their job; Tyne Daly; those who enjoy punk music; certain rappers; chiefs of police; weirdos; fat cats; actual cats; the sun; the moon; Elliot Gould; the diplodocus; anything with a prehensile tail; and on certain occasions, anyone who isn’t Clint Eastwood.

If you strike Clint Eastwood and he’s not impressed by it, he’ll do that thing where he gingerly rubs his chin with his thumb and forefinger on the spot you hit him, smirk, then glare, then calmly ask if, “That’s all you got?” Having this happen is a very, very bad sign for your chances. It will only give him more strength and power, while sapping your own. Whatever you do, don’t cry when this happens. Also, don’t let out a sad, barely perceptible moan. Don’t run. And don’t meet his gaze. He may also further crush your morale with a witheringly delivered “Quit playing around!” after you hit him square in the stomach with the best punch you’ve ever thrown. He’ll take the punch by not moving a single iota and giving zero indication he’s even aware you just hit him, and then spitting.