War. Combat. Brawl. Fracas. These are all synonyms of the word ‘fight’, which I just happened to look up. Also, kerfuffle. Love the word but if someone happens to die in a kerfuffle it no longer can be called a kerfuffle. And what I’m about to describe involves brutality to its highest extent. Frequently occurring murders, in fact. The most vicious kerfuffle imaginable.
To quote some video game franchise, ‘war never changes’. A kerfuffle fifty years ago is a kerfuffle now. A slit jugular probably stings just as much then as it does now. The intensity of having to outrun an enemy hell-bent on your destruction remains just as palpable. However, we need to consider the fact that both hunter and hunted have grown over time. We only compare ourselves to our current counterparts. It’s always man of the 1980’s vs man of the 1980’s. It is a constraint brought upon by our greatest minds’ failures in creating a functional time machine. They always have a silly excuse ready like, ‘I’m trying to cure this disease,’ or ‘these machines aren’t going to build and/or improve themselves,’ or ‘I don’t have time for your inane requests!’
In this hypothetical world, let’s assume scientists had their priorities right. A time machine exists. There are no hitches whatsoever. It doesn’t take you back three days but forgets to change your position so you end up floating around in space. Nor does it disintegrate and recreate you with a giant beak or something. It’s a perfect time machine.
Trends in fitness have changed drastically over the last 50 years. Peak physical condition is a standard that varies with the times. The average man in the 1970s grew up at a time when people smoked 400 cigarettes a minute, only ate red meat, drank more whiskey than water, and started looking 50 when they were 12. This is not a dig on old people. It’s merely recognition of a different time. But also, whatever.
Contrast that with modern attitudes towards health and fitness. I myself have been guilty of throwing in a ball of cabbage into my cart at the grocery. Gyms – I am informed – have upgraded in leaps and bounds from the days when they had one semi-heavy weight and singular skipping rope. Every cigarette pack comes with a gruesome reminder of the fate that may befall their customers, thus weaning off any casual smokers. Overall, a much healthier world made even more evident by the general worldwide trend of an increasing human lifespan.
This is why I truly believe that I can beat the living daylights out of the 1970s James Bond – Roger Moore. To be clear, I am referring to peak Roger Moore. At the time when he was playing the debonair British spy; Bond James Bond. Obviously I am not suggesting fighting present-day deceased Roger Moore. He’s deceased. I’ve already won that fight. ‘Hey Roger you wanna fight? What’s that? Nothing? You can’t fight? You also can’t tell me that you can’t fight?’ He loses immediately is what I’m saying.
I understand that it is quite bold of me to say that I could not only stand up to a secret service agent but emerge victorious, but I would argue that it is not that difficult.
It is fully acknowledged by myself, my peers and even people who accidentally glance at me when I’m on a run, that I am not very fit. That is, by modern standards.
The other day I came across some football highlights from the 1970s. The decade that I have chosen to dissect. The game that I was watching was from a premier division game. These were top class athletes. But the way they played made them appear to be doing some sort of internet challenge where you make every movement in some degree of slow motion. I immediately dismissed this notion owing to the fact that the 1970s was not a decade known for their internet culture. A hellish period.
Apparently that speed of play was simply the norm for that time. I may be lagging behind by some margin here in 2020 but throw me back in 1972 I could kick it with the best. But only throw me back for that one specific sporting challenge, I never want to live in that time for longer than I have to.
But why specifically did I pick Roger Moore? Am I merely bullying a man who can’t fight back? No. Absolutely not. It is a sign or respect. I have picked Roger Moore because yes, I am fairly sure I could take him, but also because he played a renowned character known for his fisticuffs.
Also I’ve prepared a few quips.
Ahem.
‘They’ll be raking you off the moon when I’m done with ya, Bond!’
Cuz, Moonraker.
‘I’m gonna live and let you die, Bond!’
Fairly clear, Live and Let Die.
‘You’re an Octopussy?’
Not sure that’s appropriate.
Here is how I would take on the man with a license to kill. First, I run. Not too fast. Just fast enough to tire out this 40 year old man claiming to be in the prime of his life. I’d assume that period during which you play James Bond is your prime even if you are FORTY. Tire out 007. Then when he is gasping for air. Pick up a brick. Take him out. Try only to knock him out. He may be the cheesiest James Bond and possibly the gropiest but he is an icon I suppose. But, I can’t control what a brick may do. I doubt I’ve even held a brick in my hand before.
To recap. I am not very fit, I’ve never been in a fight before – not sure I mentioned that –, and I’ve never held a brick in my hand before. I am still 100% certain that I could take him on. And if I can do it, anyone can. As long as they did not live through the 1970s.
The Ipe Collection 