I quickly realized this was an opponent so quick and cagey, I might never land another good blow to his head. But blood trickled from his lips, so at least I had the satisfaction of having caught him once.

He was fast with his hands, too, but seemed to prefer laterally-arcing strikes. I wasn’t as quick, but his technique gave me time to slip or block most his blows.

I slipped one punch, then bobbed under another one. But as I came up from the bob, he dropped an axe kick right on top of my head.

Back in my pond hockey days, the neighbor kids called me Cement Head, for good reason. The kick hurt, but I’d bet his heel felt worse than my skull.

Still, it kind of pissed me off, anyway. I swept his planted foot and down he went.

He was agile as a fox and practically bounced off the ground; but I tackled him before he was halfway back to vertical.

I normally preferred a stand-up fight to grappling, but a striking contest was this guy’s forte`, and I was getting winded by then. I’d been working on my ground game, and probably had 25 pounds on Dreadlocks. I could grind him down with my weight advantage.

My instincts were solid and, in the octagon with a referee, I think I could have made him tap out within a few moves. But just as I was taking control, one of his comrades pepper-sprayed me in the face. Next thing I knew, more Blackshirts were on top of me, using elbows, knees, fingernails and teeth. My eyes stung like hell, and all I could see were colors and blurry shapes.

They did some damage, but they also put themselves in harm’s way. One by one, I groped around for their faces, then pummeled them until the survivors lost interest in our grappling match.

Police whistles and sirens sounded.

Still stinging half-blind, I limped away in the subsequent confusion and, once my vision cleared enough, reached my truck. I called work with a tall tale about food poisoning, then went home to lick my wounds.

The evening news ran a story that night about how violent racistsexisthomophobes attacked peaceful pro-choice demonstrators.

The video showed me disarming the courageous commie with the cattle prod. Then whoever was recording the footage got jostled around so that everything blurred.

The footage stabilized again during my wrestling match with multiple assailants.

Thankfully, the quality of the video was such that even people who knew me might not be able to tell it was Nick Polgar in the clip. I didn’t know if facial recognition software was good enough to identify me from the cruddy footage, but so far, so good.

Still, I hoped nobody from work watched this video. I needed to quit my current job before somebody matched me to this internet alter-ego; but there was still some tweaking I wanted to make sure got done on Domestic Dragonfly before I moved on. It was probably time to ask Diamond again about changing to a work-from-home arrangement

I watched a couple more clips, while remembering.

The next major fracas Hockey Man attended was on the university campus. Some quixotic students organized a demonstration for free speech.

That was the first time I showed up dressed for hockey. The helmet protected my skull; the pads softened the blows of enemy clubs; and I even brought an old hockey stick. All I was missing were skates. I went unshaven that day and wore shooting glasses behind the helmet’s clear visor.

Hundreds of Blackshirts mobbed the scene before the free-speech advocates could even get started and, reinforced by other university students and some faculty who probably taught them everything they knew about fascism, the Woke Warriors quickly began demonstrating just how much free speech and diversity of opinion was appreciated at institutes of higher learning.

I speared, slashed, and hooked quite a few Blackshirts with my stick before somebody broke it with a riot baton. I then used both pieces of the stick to whack them about the head and body.

I was pleasantly surprised that day: other guys showed up ready to fight Antifa, too. Some came prepared, like me. They wore baseball batting helmets, brought their own melee weapons, and even shields—purpose-built or improvised from garbage can lids.

We were badly outnumbered, but inspired Antifa to retreat by laying several of them out cold.

When it became obvious that the Blackshirts were losing the battle, the police finally moved in with riot gear to break it up. Some folks on our side got arrested, but most of us exfiltrated laughing and joking.

The local CBS affiliate reported that “white nationalists” attacked “anti-fascists” and random college students during a Neo-Nazi rally.

From then on, I was known as the Hockey Man.

People approached me while I retreated across campus to the lot where I had parked, most of them delivering a recruiting pitch for one organization or another.

I was pleased to have allies, but disappointed to encounter the lunacy that so many of them embraced. There was one actual National Socialist (or a Fed, LARPing as one), the usual LGBWTF enablers, feminists of both genders, eccentric visionaries with their own unique flavors of wishful thinking, and even an open borders advocate.

I didn’t see that last guy at the next riot, which predictably broke out when Antifa joined forces with La Raza to crash a “Build the Wall” rally at an inner city park.

By then the mayor and her police chief had figured out that this and future riots would not be one-sided milk runs for their useful idiots. Antifa’s intended victims were more and more inclined to defend themselves, and were showing up in greater numbers. The Antifa numerical advantage had plummeted from 10:1 to about 3:1, and they were getting stomped as a result. The mayor canceled the permit the morning of the demonstration, and ordered her police to arrest all racistsexisthomophobes who arrived despite that.

Most of us went, anyway, because we didn’t learn about the cancellation in time. We fought Antifa on our left flank and the police on our right. The cops buried the park under a cloud of tear gas, shot us with a water cannon, and moved in on foot behind riot shields, swinging riot batons.

It was a nasty brawl, but afterwards, I accomplished some useful networking.

Patriots and true right-wingers, who didn’t want to affiliate with the other would-be leaders in “the movement” sought out Hockey Man, deciding that I could be trusted when crap went sideways. Many listened to my ideas about effective group tactics in riot scenarios. Some of them even lingered after our tactical retreat from the melee for what turned out to be an unplanned After Action Review, whereupon we discussed lessons learned and how to conduct an effective operation, as a unit, next time.

I glanced at the time display on the phone. Almost time.

While I sat inside the internet cafe, pleasant weather surrendered to overcast skies. I stepped outside under the low-hanging, slate gray clouds and felt the sort of cold breeze which typically preceded a squall. The only thunderstorm in the area was predicted to pass by the city to the south. It appeared the weather forecasts were every bit as accurate as all reporting on network news.