Same here. Almost all of mine ended with nut-kicks, but then, I was outnumbered in 2 of them, so I considered it fair game to fight dirty.
There's one that happened in college, but I often forget about it, because I was so drunk that I don't remember it, and only know about it secondhand--so I don't really consider it a fight. It was actually a drunken brawl. I woke up in a shower with a bloodstained t-shirt, and none of the blood was mine. That's a freaky thing to wake up to in a college dorm, when you're still drunk, possibly sick, and have a pain in your skull you can't attribute to the alcohol (vodka, beer, whiskey, etc.).
From what I have pieced together from 4 people, it went like this:
My girlfriend invited me to go out that night, and she brings along her little rat-******* friend (a sniveling little punk of a guy I never liked, b/c he had a snotty attitude, and looked/talked down on everyone) at this sports bar (I'm sure you met his type in college, too) on the corner in downtown Athens (forget the place).
I'd already gotten a buzz from drinking vodka with my Scottish roomate (rotary scholar) and his Irish friend. (I lived in the foriegn students dorm---hottest chicks on campus). Anyways, I invite my firends to go with me. They do. We're downtown, drinking, having fun, and the little sniveling punk of a guy is playing pool. He and some dude start sharing words (I heard from the Scots/Irish connection he bumped into him while brushing past and messed up the dude's shot on the neighboring table). The confrontation turns to a fight right there. Well, the dude is twice the sniveling punk's size (says the soon-to-be-ex-girlfriend). And so the sniveling punk gets rocked quickly. But the big dude doesn't let up. He knocks him down, mounts him, and starts bashing his face in. My soon-to-be-ex-girlfriend tells me to go help. But I'm drunk, I know it, and even though I'm strong--it's not my fight. I only remember one thing from that night, and it's saying, slurred, "it's not my fight." But she keeps on complaining, and apparently got me involved (although, in her defense, my roomate says the big dude took the beating too far), and I walked over (stumbled), told the guy to let up, he'd done enough, and he gets up and apparently socks me in the face. I stumbled back into the wall, and my face hit the brick wall, cutting it up some. This part I believe to be true, because its always been true when someone hits me in a way that I know they're trying to hurt me intentionally---I go ****ing nuts with manaical rage. I've always had a wicked temper when I get pushed too far. My roomate says I charge him, deck him, throw him down, mount him, and start pounding on his face, all in a quarter of a second, which is where the blood in my shirt must have come from, b/c the cuts on my face turn out more like burns than anything (and left scars which I hoped would be permanent:D, 'cuz scars are wicked, but healed up fine:().
So anyways, my roomate and his friend yank me off of this guy after I'd f'd him up, KO'd him, whatever (I honestly don't know). They drag me outside, and my girlfriend is dragging her sniveling little punk friend. At this point, she actually starts yelling at me, screaming "What took you so long, you *******! Look at his face!!!" Which my friends tell me is much worse off than mine, but probably not as bad as the big dude's.
I'm still amped and drunk, but I can still call someone on BS then, because I apparently broke up with her on the spot, and told her exactly she could do to the sniveling little punk who couldn't defend himself when he picked fights with people bigger than him.
It was funny finding this out the next day--the break-up part, that is. I mean, I wake up in the shower fully clothed, sitting in running water, with blood on my shirt, with a massive hangover, still drunk, possibly sick, and ask my roomate: "What the hell happened last night". He says: "You got ****ed, beat the hell out of some guy, and broke up with your girlfriend."
Some night. Anyways, this turned out to be a scary experience, because I realized two days from then, when the alcohol finally wore off after the world's biggest hangover, that I could have gotten arrested, kicked out of school, and possibly seriously injured. Plus, since I didn't recall the whole event--only maybe a minute of that night in total, I don't know what the dude I beat up looks like, so maybe I could be walking around campus one night after work, or between classes, and I could get jumped by him and a couple of his buddies, and seriously beaten or killed. That was frightening.
Anyways, I still stand by my decision to break up with my then-girlfriend, despite the fact she was pretty hot. But I still like to imagine what would have happened had I not spoken to my roomate first, then showed up at her place like nothing had happened after having publicly insulted her and breaking up with her. That would have been priceless. Painful, but priceless.
I had no martial arts experience, and wouldn't for another couple of years. I also quit drinking in public, and have never been even close to getting drunk ever since. Although I enjoy a shot of whiskey or two now and then at home.
Bad experiences can sometimes breed good habits.
I can't even imagine myself getting into another fight again outside of a tournament or sparring session. Take away alcohol, and I'd be willing to bet that 90% of all fights in the world would disappear.