It’s more like you’re the roided gym monkey who “does UFC training” three times a week with all the official branded gear. You mostly fight guys much smaller than you who can’t afford to train properly.

One night, you and your little buddies start a fight at the bar with an old, scrawny looking guy who you think you’re going to beat the shit out with ease.

He doesn’t seem to fight back much and you’re just laying into him with all you’ve got. Throwing haymakers into his block time and time again.

After hours of this ‘beat down’ you’re exhausted. You barely have the energy to throw another punch and your girlfriend is screaming at you to go home because she’s tired.

You start shouting that you’ve won and tell your little pal to finish the job and knock this bum out.

As you start to walk towards your car, you realise the old bum knows how to fight - he’s been rope-a-doping you all night, taking the hits and isn’t even winded.

As soon as you turn he knocks the shit out of your mate and starts coming for you and the rest of your buddies. You desperately scramble for your keys and speed off out of the car park shouting out the window that you could have won easily if you’d tried.

You never return to the bar. He keeps drinking there every night.