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Airlift's #1 Boxing Team
'Bundle' Bill Hamilton
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 canceled 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, canceled 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
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!