Citation (Varino @ 03/08/2012 17:25)

J'ai vu deux hommes se toucher les mains pendant 5 minutes
You really shouldn't be watching judo:
http://www.grantland.com/blog/the-triangle...e-watching-judoCitation
Her words fall on deaf ears. You throw on your bathrobe, storm down the stairs, and make your way to your neighbor’s driveway. As you approach, he comes out from underneath the hood of his car to reveal that he’s also in his bathrobe. “Hey, Darryl,” he says enthusiastically. “You here to help out? I’ll go get you a beer.”
“Cut the crap, Rusty,” you tell him. “You know why I’m here. It’s two in the morning. Turn that damn radio down or I’ll turn it down with your face.” Not exactly the best insult you could’ve come up with, but you’re more concerned with getting your message across than being creative. You continue, “And for the love of God, why are you working on that trashy Camaro anyway? The thing is a ’99 with 200,000 miles on it. If I took a dump in the glove box, it would probably go up in value.”
“Whoa, Darryl. I’ll turn the radio down just because I’m a decent guy. But where I’m from, insulting a man’s Camaro is grounds for an ass-whooping. And if an ass-whooping is what you’re looking for, you’ve come to the right place.”
Nothing else needs to be said because at this point it is quite clearly on. You both roll up your sleeves, put your fists up, and wait for the first move to be made. Then, after 30 seconds of posturing, you simultaneously go in for the kill.
One problem, though: Neither one of you has ever been in a fight, so what ensues is more of a 12-year-old girl hand-slapping fight than a brutal bear-knuckled brawl. Over the next 10 minutes, you and Rusty continue to slap hands, the top of both of your robes come undone, and you give each other a few bear hugs while unsuccessfully trying to tackle each other. Somewhere along the line, your wife yells at you to stop fighting as she runs toward you from your front yard. “Dammit, Karen,” you yell back, “I’m defending my family’s honor, so just stay back and let me handle this man-to-man!”
Every once in a while, one of you takes the other to the ground, but every time this happens, the guy who gets taken to the ground stops the fight by faking a serious injury. That same guy then makes a miraculous recovery as he stands back up and the fight starts back over from the top with some more hand-slapping. Finally, you catch Rusty off guard, wrap him up with a bear hug, and drop him to the ground on his back. You then immediately let go, stand over him, and emphatically say, “Suck on that, Rusty.”
With your head held high and a sense of victory overwhelming you, you put your arm around your wife, and as you walk back to your house you say, “I sure showed him, didn’t I, babe?”
“You did good, Darryl,” she says. “You did real good.”
This might be hard to believe, but the hypothetical and pathetic fight that I just described is remarkably similar to how the Olympic sport of judo works.