Many years ago as a young NCO I was fortunate enough to be selected to
represent my wing in the (back then) annual VOLANT RODEO. Since then it's been
renamed AIRLIFT RODEO and has been cancelled several times due to wars,
conflicts, and then it went to a every two year event but over the last few
years, my personal favorite, cancelled due to 'increased Ops tempo'. As most of
you know it was to test your maintainers, aerial porters, sky cops, and
aircrews in numerous different categories. As an aircrew member we competed for
the best airdrop scores, ERO's, aerial refueling, on time take-offs/landings/
and navigation.
Well this one particular year up a Pope AFB we as an aircrew were shutout
completely; however our maintenance folks did quiet well and were awarded
several trophies. The maintenance colonel was justly proud of his folks and
wanted to take them all out for a celebratory drink Friday evening after the
awards ceremony. When you practice for several months with the same people, you
tend to become as close as operations and maintenance folks can become helping
out one another and 'partying' together. The colonel's little Friday evening
gathering put our planned dinner plans together on hold for a couple of hours.
Several of the maintainers girl friends and wives had made the three hour drive
up to Pope for our planned dinner arrangements and waited in the off-base motel
bar/lounge for their loved ones with our sad group of losers (me and the rest
of the aircrew). As the seven of us crew members and ten lovely ladies or so
waited we sipped our beers and kept checking our watches. Being as it was Happy
Hour and a local watering for many of the 82nd's finest young war
fighters, the place was packed to say the least.
At the next table over sat two of these young troops on their tall bar stools
and smallish round table. Their table was filled with about 8 or 10 small empty
drinking glasses complete with little umbrellas. Seeing as our table looked
like a 'target rich environment' to their alcohol impaired vision, they went on
the offensive. Each of them tried several times to get some of the ladies to
dance or engage in meaningful conversation. After being denied several times
for their efforts, I turned to them and said, 'Hey, these ladies are waiting on
their husbands and boyfriends and not interested in being picked up.'
At this point one of them said, 'Well I guess a b*@job is out of the question
then?' and laughed. For some reason I just didn't take that right (LOL), and
reached across the table and punched one of them in the chest. The punch was no
where near the quality of an Ironman-Mike-Tyson-in-his-prime punch, but it was
enough to knock one of them off balance. As he flayed his arms around while
falling backward on his bar stool, he managed to grab the round table and pull
it with him. This caused his drinking partner to fall backwards towards the
floor also.
I turned and walked back to my seat at the other table about six feet away
fully expecting to get my ass handed to me at any moment. As I sat back down I
looked in their direction, I saw two drunks wallowing around of the floor with
a two chairs, a table and bunch broken and empty glasses and little umbrellas
scattered around them. I said a little personal silent self-preservation prayer
to myself and scanned the room for emergency egress routes.
Suddenly, two big burly bouncers came running over and grabbed these two guys
up by the back of the shirts collars and headed towards the door, telling them
the whole way that no fighting was allowed and to not come back. It took me a
moment to figure out that to the bouncers, these two guys appeared to be
fighting and they never gave me a second thought.
The next day at the aircraft, the maintenance guys proceeded to use speed tape
and reflective tape to put a happy face on the noise of the aircraft and
proudly mark their accomplishments on the sides of the aircraft.
Back by the left-side troop door was taped the only accomplishment by the
aircrew.

I'm Ready for Tyson Anytime!