Don’t. Be. Daft. And stop watching Tulsa King.
I ran a training course some years ago, and one of the delegates was a lump of a bloke. Well over six feet tall, and broad with it.
Chatting with him over the breaks, found out he was an amateur boxer.
I asked him if he'd ever been pasted.
Once he said, outside a pub.
He said that, in his younger years, he'd been a horrible, gobby git, and would willingly use his abilities to cause trouble.
Until an afternoon in a shoithole boozer in Tipton
A little fella, quietly supping at the end of the bar, told big lad that he was growing tired of his yap, and to wind his neck in.
Gobby asked him what he was going to do about it, so the old fella offered to discuss it outside.
Gobby thought it was a bit unfair, as the other bloke looked like Andy Capp (shirt, tie, waistcoat, and a flat cap almost covering his eyes).
And he was a foot shorter, and 8 stone wringing wet.
Andy Capp knocked Gobby all over the place and, after smashing his nose in and dropping him again, asked if he'd had enough.
Gobby said so, so Andy Capp offered him a hanky for the blood, took him back in, and bought him a pint.
Gobby said he'd learned a valuable lesson that day. He said he could quite easily have been stabbed too, or had his head kicked in while down.