Continuing my trend of playing superhero, I took a few punches this evening while stepping in to break up a fight on the A train between a drunk construction worker and a homeless panhandler.

For reasons that weren’t entirely clear, the construction worker started swearing at the panhandler somewhere just below 42nd street; by the time we hit 34th street, they were chest to chest, screaming into each other’s faces. As the rest of the passengers pushed back towards the far ends of the car to avoid the confrontation, I slowly inched my way up to the two, just in case.

At some point, the construction worker just started swinging, and after a few shots to the face the homeless guy basically crumpled. As the construction guy reared back for another solid John Wayne, I stepped in from the side, grabbing his collar and opposite sleeve in a solid underhook. With the momentum of his cocking back to throw the punch, I was able to push him backwards several feet, then brace well enough that I could keep him (despite his larger size) a few feet away from the homeless guy. After a bit of flailing at me, the construction worker seemed to calm down enough that I could keep the two separated until we hit the next station, at which point the homeless guy booked it out of the car, and I followed suit. Don’t know what happened to the construction worker, though as several passengers that disembarked with me started relating what had happened to the station manager, I suspect he was pulled at the next stop.

Fortunately, the homeless guy got out with just a bloody lip and a black eye, and I left feeling no worse than at the end of kickboxing practice. As I headed up to the stairs, though, an older woman who had been on the car stopped me. “It was a wonderful thing you did back in that subway,” she said, continuing “I would have jumped in to help you myself, but I didn’t have anything heavy enough in my purse.”