"You're so out of shape, a girl could beat you up," the bartender sneered.
A girl?
Now I don't mind being insulted - or even ducking a beer bottle or two in defense of my good name. Plus, a healthy lawsuit settlement would be worth a few missing teeth, especially here in Hawaii.
But this put me over the edge. I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take it anymore.
This is no offense to women. In fact, I had an ex-girlfriend who threw a right cross that would have made Mike Tyson proud - especially when she had a snoot full of Jack Daniels.
No, this is a midlife crisis that I have to deal with on my own. At the age of 41, I am tired of getting sand kicked in my face.
The only problem is that I hate to exercise. And, gulp, this is painful to admit in public. But I have never won a bar fight.
My pugilistic past would make Peter McNeeley look like Muhammad Ali.
AT last count, my record was a dismal 0-20-1. The draw was a highlight, however. It was a 15-minute, knock-down, drag-out brawl with another sportswriter in Las Vegas about 10 years ago.
Get this: Four squad cars and a police helicopter showed up at the saloon parking lot because such a large crowd had gathered.
Cool, huh?
By then, we were both exhausted and hid under the same pool table until the cops left, but at least it's a good story.
Other than that, my nose has been broken so many times I lost count.
Once, I went snorkeling in Hanauma Bay, and every single fish fled to the open sea after seeing my nose sticking out from under the mask.
The tourists were extremely upset, and they threw their snorkels and underwater cameras at me as I fled in shame.
I had one boxing match in high school, but my cornerman threw in the towel - before the fight even started. Then they honored him for saving my life.
So here is my plan to get back into tip-top fighting shape.
Jogging or bicycling? Are you crazy? With all those cars out there - and people who drive like me? Forget it.
Join a health club? I tried it once, but disaster struck immediately.
First, I accidentally locked myself in the sauna and by the time they pried the door open, my face was shriveled like a prune. Then I dropped a barbell on my toe and fell backward against the giant wall mirror, which shattered into a million pieces.
Some guy with huge muscles who worked there tossed me out onto the street - without a refund even.
So, step one: I'll alter my diet.
No more super-sizing at McDonald's - and Jack In The Box monster tacos are out for now. Regular tacos will have to do. And I won't eat a large pizza right before going to sleep at night. A medium pie will have to be sufficient.
I'm also switching from Bud to Bud Light to cut down on my calorie intake and I will even walk up the escalator at Ala Moana Shopping Center, instead of just standing there. I will also cut down from seven cigars a day to three.
But here is the secret part of the plan: I met with Ken Shamrock and all of the Ultimate Fighters yesterday and I will be carefully taking notes at the Super Brawl tonight at the Blaisdell Arena.
These guys are the baddest of them all. Karate kicks. Punching. Wrestling. Submission holds.
I can hardly wait.
No one will ever say to me again: "Are you a man or a mouse? Squeak Up!"
And a girl beating me up? I say, hah. I mean, HAH!
In no time, I will be a lean, mean fighting machine.
As my hero John Wayne would say: No brag. Just fact.