When I was ten and my brother was seven, we would play a game called “Wolverine and the Wolf.” (For some reason all our games sounded like Aesop fables.) It wasn’t really a “game” so much as it was “a full physical fight.” We called it “Wolverine and the Wolf,” but a better name would have been “Child UFC.”* There were no rules except for one: The Wolverine (me) was “allowed to stand up.” Which meant the Wolf was not allowed to stand up, and thus had to crawl around on all fours. This meant that the older brother (me), who was already taller and hella fat, had the additional advantage of
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