By Will Brantley

When I was in the sixth grade, there was a know-it-all kid in my class who had a whipping coming all year, until one morning after a little jawing back and forth, I met him halfway across the room and busted his lip. I landed one or two more punches and he caught me in my right eye before the teacher pulled us apart. It was tough to say who the winner was, but nonetheless, I tasted sweet satisfaction. Grabblin' has a similar outcome. With your forearm laced in bruises and scrapes after you've muscled a big, slimy cat from its dark hole to the river's surface, it's only fair to call the fight a draw, and yet you walk away grinning like a wild man.