It's the little guy that'll give you the most trouble, at least in terms of yelling and screaming. The big guy might be a little more trouble physically, but it seems to me, over the years, that the little guy has a lot more to prove and you'll probably be pulling him out of the bar in a headlock if the conversation goes downhill, which it always does if the little guy wants everyone to think he's tough, and not little.
And so it happened like that last weekend. The fight happened, I ran inside and found two of our larger floor staff members carrying out a manlet who reminded me of a baby sleeping. He had been choked out on account of his temper tantrum, and placed tenderly in the gutter. He woke up immediately before that and hopped to his feet.
"I'm a marine, motherfucker!" he spat. He turned around to face us, ready to fight some more. One of the floor guys turned to him, ready to accommodate his request.
And I just had to laugh to myself at the scene that was playing out in front of me. The marine was 5"4 squaring off with a 6"5, 250 pound man. His bravado left him faster than a popped balloon when he saw what he was facing.
Of course, the yelling continued but the fighting did not.