Teacher Slams Boy Into Brick Wall

Okay, so I resorted to clickbait in the title. Did it work? I may know within 48 hours via pageviews. That number runs mostly in a tight range except for the few times I dabbled in politically-tinged musings.

The story—and we’re talking about a decade ago—is simple as these stories sometimes are. Some lads from a rival high school seemed intent on provoking a fight during halftime at our stadium. About half a dozen as I recall came over to the home side, squared off with some our lads, and before much of anything happened, a number of adults intervened and corralled the would-be brawlers. Teachers, admin, a parent too, and law enforcement.

And, yes, I helped in the intervention. I grabbed one of the visiting wannabes and physically pulled/pushed him away from the scene and forced him to the wall of our concession stand.

Now, were the last five steps of our little dance to be on video, it would show me at a walking pace approaching the wall with him pretty much under control—pretty much—and pressing him into the bricks with my full weight.

Was he passive? Not until his adrenaline slowed down a bit.

Did I slam him into the wall? Not hardly. I see the word slam and think a car hitting a tree at 40 or 50 mph or Hulk Hogan taking Randy Savage to the mat.

Did the bricks hurt? I’m sure they did.

Why did I do that? He didn’t have a shirt on, and he was sweating. Nothing really to get a good grip on.

Did I have a chokehold on him as one of my students has said several times? No, but my right forearm was high on the back of his neck until he gave into my weight. I had at least 60 pounds on him.

Did he say anything? Yes, but I’m not going to repeat any of that.

Did I say anything? Yes, I told him he was done. Several times.

By the way, there was a plainclothes officer leaning against the wall while I was manhandling—yes, that would be the word—this kid. I asked the officer, who was much bigger than I ever was or would be, if he wanted to step in. He answered, nope, I seemed to be doing just fine.

I escorted the would-be-ruffian to the main gate, several times warning him not to think about anything other than getting off campus. At the gate, I reminded him that he was a long way from home, in another county, and his best choice would be keep moving in the parking lot, get in his car, and get back to where he came from.

As it happens, I don’t watch the news, or so rarely do I that it’s easier just to say I don’t. In the morning, I scan the headlines from a variety of news sources and commentary sites. Sometimes I will read the opening paragraph. What is clear to me is that stories often trickle out over several days, and at some point nearly all disappear into the muck that is 24/7 news and commentary.

Of course, we live in a world now of video via phones—sometimes recording the full event, sometimes just a snippet.

Perhaps, I could have had my viral moment. Ten seconds or so that could rocket around the country, maybe even the world.

I could have been the brute, the beast, or a contender in the hot flash of video fame.

Maybe a million hits for an event that had none.