Heroes and knuckle sandwiches. Boozers beat back thugs from bar

With Marion Jones and company using more chemicals than your average factory farm, and the reputation of the Olympic Games more soiled than a pair of underpants after a ride on the tilt-a-whirl— your average sports fan clearly has to look further afield than the Citius, Altius, Fortius set for a sofa-sprawling and cheese doodle vicarious existence.

In The Shark Book, we chronicled sporting endeavors that were truly heroic, such as a member of the Russian Airforce who made a drunken wager that his head could withstand the force of a brick—in exchange for, off all things, a ‘box of vodka’ and when said brick could not be found, tested his cranium’s density (as if such proof was really required) by smashing successive beer bottles against it. Suffice it to say, physics won out (but only after a protracted battle, and 23 bottles shattered against the man's skull by 'friends'), leaving the party guests to utter ‘oh, my, it’s getting late’, vamoosing before the cops could arrive to find the guy sprawled out unconscious.

In a South West London pub, a team of barflies, all ‘heroes who should deserve an award’, according to the landlord, beat back a group of masked thugs who tried to rob them at gunpoint (full story here). Using whatever tools they had at their disposal—a lingering bitterness at their miserable existence, ashtrays, glasses, chairs and even bottles of champagne, the regulars sent the brigands packing. “The gang tried to intimidate us”, noted the landlord, “but the regulars said this was their place and they just weren’t having it.” One drinker, who did not want to be named, noted “They got what was coming to them."