It has been 36 minutes since a gauntlet was thrown, and a challenge was accepted. Those with a supernatural fear of fish-borne intestinal maladies watched with anticipated glee. What idiotic gall, what disregard for basic health they cried. Surely man, you must be mad in the head. Back down, back down now, they pleaded. A price will be paid by this defiant gastronomical act of gumption.

A meal has turned into sport. Noon hour bravado that the lunchroom regulars hasn’t seen since last week meatloaf surprise. A lunchtime respite from a typical boorish finale of the public servant work week.

Ring. The. Bell.

These two combatants has squared off multiple times before. Both has shaken off the remnants of previous victories and losses. As soon as the sun dawned at 6:27 in the AM, today became and remained a new day. Playing the part of MAN, is a charming 31 year old male immigrant. Tuna fish salad sandwich will once again don the sash of FISH. (Odd Note: ‘Tuna fish’ is quite redundant as a description and or category. They are currently no known occurrences of Tuna beef, or Tuna chicken. May be region specific term.)

Here’s the back story for both sides, which may or may not influence the outcome.

Man: As noted above, 31 year old gentleman of known origin. Subject garnered years of superlative ingestion and digestion of a cornucopia of international foodstuffs. Coinciding with eating prowess is a periodically debilitating irritation of the lower bowels. Also referred to an acute upset tummy or ache of the ass (due in large part to refugee-like devotion to saving money and complete disdain of food wastage).

Fish: Week old dolphin-safe Tuna salad sandwich, made with a generous dollop of generic mayonnaise, chopped green onions, julienned carrots, a sprinkling of secret homemade concoction of spices finally sealed by two toasted multi grain slices of whole wheat. Noted to be delicious when first made and tasted. Stored in a container in a fridge with the exact temperature setting of ‘cold’.

No medical professionals were in attendance.

The confrontation started out without much fanfare. But a small crowd began to form and yells of support hurled toward both combatants. Man’s initial exuberance was slightly speedbumped by a grainy memory of a weekend marathon dumping session, loosely attributed to Man vs. Fish XII - Sushi Slaughters Man. With a metaphoric brush of the shoulders, the battle raged from this point. Emotionless, calculating as always, Fish sits and waits. Waiting for the fight to brought to its doorstep.

Fish baits man. Man bites. And bites again, and again.

A collective gasp followed by anxious silence. Dry, dead silence. All eyes on Man, searching for signs of the beast. Watery eyes, profuse sweating, uncontrolled bleeding from various orifices. The front line soldiers for the army of Diarrhea were held at bay. For those who came to the spectacle envisioning a display of bodily spasms and convulsions were sent home disappointed. As soon as it began, so it was done. Ten minutes has lapsed since the final morsel was masticated and swallowed, and still no signs of pain and Man maintains up right posture. There were no mad scrambles for nearest available lavatory or any potential excrement containing devices.

Today, Man triumphs over Fish, and his bacterial cohorts. This outcome sends a shock wave of fear for all inhabitants of cold storage. Your days are numbered. Toady, Man looked into a the beady eyes of the somewhat questionable edible, and with a quick sniff, boldly stated, “I will eat you today. I will risk a weekend of projectile vomiting to avoid wasting food.”

For another day, all is right in the world.