It was the finals of the 4311th Pan-galactic Martial arts tournament. The humans, a first time entrant, had been massive underdogs, outclassed in size, speed, strength, durability, or reach in every match. Still, their young champion had done well, despite his perpetually-drunk old coach, up until the semi-finals. He had won the match, despite a shattered leg, but had been disallowed from competing in the final match for medical reasons.

The humans, of course, protested. They didn't want the match to just be handed to the Korgons for the 1337th time! The officials nodded somberly, and allowed the humans to submit a replacement competitor, provided he was already present.

The human's translator relayed this, and the various hangers-on, medical people, and media types started looking at each other. Who did they have that was even half as good? All of their other competitors had been defeated earlier in the tournament.

Then the coach staggered to his feet and spoke very quietly to the other humans before heading for the locker room. The judges looked to the translator, who cleared his throat before responding.

"He said that he will take his student's place in the finals."

The judges looked at each other debating barring the old drunk for his own health, but the Korgon judge simply nodded, "let the old drunk fight, we all know what the outcome will be anyway."

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The coach emerged from the locker room and entered the arena, dressed only in a pair of baggy pants and his epic mustache, its twin tails reaching halfway down his bare chest.

The Korgon champion snorted and flexed his impressively muscled form. In his estimation, he would win the match inside of moments against this drunken stick of an old man.

The coach simply bowed respectfully and assumed a fighting stance, still swaying drunkenly.

The first round ended in a draw the full fifteen minutes later, the Korgon champion never having landed a hit against the coach, who had simply swayed around every blow.

The second round also ended in a draw, the Korgon champion now breathing hard.

Both competitors were allowed a short break before the third and final round to drink and refresh themselves. The Korgon downed a pitcher of specially formulated energy drink, and stretched.

The coach drank another small cup of báijiŭ and resumed his stance.

The third round ended less than a minute later, the Korgon champion senseless on the ground.

When asked what kind of martial art he had used in the post-championship interviews, the old coach simply responded "Zuì Quán."

The translators choked on the unfamiliar word for a long while before the human's translator stepped in and provided the equivalent in galactic common: Drunken Boxing.