Sizing Up the Enemy

Before commiting to battle, A wise warrior reviews the odds, Determines the likelyhood of success, And judges accordingly... In my younger, gang years, I at times deviated from this basic logic... Such as the time I and fellow member, Barry Bernstein (knicknamed "Noodles the Shiv") Not for his propensity to sit Shiva,, But for his propensity to be the first To introduce his gravity-knife, Into the melee, taking it to a whole new level, Generally one the opposition declined to accept, Well, we had been taken by two new "blind" dates to a movie on Long Island, and afterwards to a nearbly pizzeria, Our typical garb in those days was leather jackets, With cut off denim jacket adorned with chains and iron crosses, A sort of motorcycless Hells Angel's Wanna-Be, Well we were bothering no one, But a nearby table with 7 or 8 "greasers", Were taking great joy at insulting my long hair, Referencing me to some sort of Indian, With some "impolite" remarks about Barry's nose... We listened to this for a while, Until one remark set me off, Wisdom, odds, all went out the window, I removed my garrison belt, (We, the "Gors", required everyone to carry switchblades or gravity knives, with gattison belt buckles sharpened to razor status) I wrapped the belt around my hand, And slowly walked over to their table, Brain dead, perhaps, but a good Premonition of a Clint Eastwood movie, "You got something to say?" I spat out threateningly. They sat in shock, silent, "You wanna take me on?" Silence. Another moment of hard looks, by me. And they shuffled out, mumbling. I went back to my pizza... suddenly aware of my insanity... This there town, not mine... The nearest Gors were 25 miles away. There were no cell phones then. Slowly, a crowd was gathering outside, They had reinforcements they didn't even need, I saw pipes, chains, baseball bats, Trash cans, they were only short a Battleship... We were dead! At last, one of the girl's mothers pulled up in her stationwagon, to take us home, I suggested to Barry we walk slowly to the car, As though we were prepared to fight. We got into the station wagon just as Garbage cans, lids, and other projectiles flew our way... The mother said, "Gee, I wonder what's wrong with those kids?" I was never so happy to see a brain-dead parent before. It was the "Great Gors Escape" And this tale is unadorned.