I won a bar fight in England and five years later got my clock cleaned pretty well for mouthing off about the World Series in a bar in Oakland. The Reds laid the wood on the A’s and, since I grew up near Cincy, I couldn’t keep my stupid trap shut. I’ll admit I had it coming, and I nursed a pretty decent-sized mouse under my right eye for about a week. Another time, at a music festival in Colorado, I challenged a biker twice my size for being a jerk to my wife. He would have killed me if it had gone to trading punches, but the men reading this will understand why I couldn’t back down.