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Friday, 30 June 2017

Bitch Slap It

I worked in the federal prison system for more than half my life. It wasn't my dream career, but it payed the bills and has left me with a decent pension that should see me through quite nicely. I met a lot of real characters over the years. I got to know mobsters, hit men, sexual sadists and murderers. Some of them, I got to know quite well.

One guy I got to know quite well was a hit man. He wasn't exactly a noble character. But he had his own code and seemed true to it. He even went to authorities in later life and confessed to a murder just to get it off his chest. He was a guy who, if you caught him, pled guilty. He even pled guilty, as it turns out, when you didn't catch him. He was also hard as nails. 

One day, he admitted to me that he had "bitch slapped" another convict who really had it coming. This con had been picking on another inmate, and was spreading false rumours about him. The hit man decided that enough was enough, and whacked him with the back of his left hand, knocking him pretty much senseless. The "slapee" apparently had it coming and was not interested in saying who had tuned him up. He felt duly chastened and wanted to try to forget the whole thing. The hit man was upset only by the fact that he had broken his watch when he whacked the guy.

In the pen, and I suppose anywhere, getting bitch-slapped is quite a disturbing experience. Not only does it apparently hurt like hell, but it hurts your pride. Essentially, the guy slapping you is also telling you that you're not worth punching. A bitch slap will suffice.

I tell this story because you can pack quite a wallop with a back-handed slap. In fact, that's how Bobby Jones described the golf swing--a "back-handed strike with the left hand." I just posted a video today where Jordan Spieth essentially explained that this was how he struck the ball as well.

Last night I played in our Thursday Night league and, with a very abbreviated swing because of my back, was moving it out there pretty well in the estimation of one of my fellow players. He asked me how I was able to do this being as crippled as I obviously was, and given how short my swing was. I told him that I was just bitch-slapping that ball with my left hand.

I'm not sure he understood as well as he might have had he seen the con who'd been bitch-slapped. But, anyway, that's what I was doing. I was bitch-slapping that damned ball.