From 1977 to 1979, I was sentenced to the government sponsored youth indoctrination camp known as U.L. Light Junior High in Barberton, Ohio.
The hypnotized called it grade 7 through 9.
I knew better. It was prison for kids.
Just like adult prisons, gangs and alliances quickly formed.
The little gang I was a part of consisted of Chris M, Rick I, some other kid I can’t remember and Pat C.
Pat was tall and lanky with long arms. So the other guys were teasing and calling him “Spiderman.”
I don’t remember how they came up with Spiderman… but it was intended to make fun of his lankiness and long arms.
Those guys had been calling him Spiderman all day. So I decided to try and get the approval of my peers by joining in and calling Pat “Spiderman.”
Pat immediately replied to me shouting, “Meet me after school in the park!”
That was the location where all the after school fights took place. Because it was far enough away from the school so no teachers could break it up.
You see, I was a short and scrawny kid. That’s exactly why Pat selected me to fight. Even though Chris, Rick and that other kid had been calling him “Spiderman” all day.
He picked a fight he knew he could win.
Turns out Pat’s long and lanky arms came in pretty handy.
He beat the hell outta me. I couldn’t even get close enough to get a punch in.
It was humiliating. EVERYBODY from school was there watching me get my ass kicked.
But I figured out a few things that day.
There were close to 100 kids watching on the sidelines.
Mere spectators.
“JAFO’s” as I used to call them when I was a cop.
But there were only two people in the arena.
And I was one of them.
And THAT has been the recurring theme throughout my entire life.
No matter how scared I am, I just keep getting in the arena.
And it often turns out exactly like my fight with Pat back in junior high.
I get my ass kicked while hundreds (now it’s THOUSANDS) stand on the sidelines watching.
And ya wanna know something?
After getting my ass kicked hundreds of times, it ain’t so bad anymore.
‘Cuz the few times that I win MORE than make up for all the ass kickings.
1,000 fold.
And I can tell you this:
I’ll choose being in the arena and getting my ass kicked any day over being just a spectator in the stands.
Spectators never get their ass kicked.
They also never enjoy the spoils of victory either.
And that’s sad.
When a person desires the spoils of victory… but chooses the safety of the stands instead of getting in the arena… something happens.
He dies a little bit inside.
And each time he allows his fears to keep him in the safety of the stands… he becomes less of a man.
And everybody knows it.
They can sense it. They can see the defeat in his eyes.
ESPECIALLY his family.
Some who don’t have the balls to get in the arena attempt to deal with their failure by tearing down the ones who DO get in the arena.
I pity them.
You see…
“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.”
Look, you don’t have to face your opponents in the arena all by yourself.
You can have ME by your side.
After decades in the arena, I’ve learned some things.
Things that can help you win.
And I’d love the opportunity to share them with you.
But I only reveal these secrets to those who have the guts to come down from the stands and get in the arena.
Click here to join me in the arena today…
All the best,
Doberman Dan
All the best,
Doberman Dan
