Dear Jonny, Ever Been Knocked Out?
Have you ever been knocked out? If so, by whom? If not, have you ever been close?
There have been a couple of occasions on which I took short pavement naps as a result of my head meeting concrete, but never has a punch or kick rendered me unconscious. The closest anyone has come? My good friend Aaron Kimball, the owner and operator of TCB boxing. Back when The Gypsy existed on Dickson street, our crew put on a series of mixed martial arts matches on the bar’s back patio. I, having been partying for many, many hours, was gloving fighters and drinking Jagerbombs. After the event, we broke down the cage and cleaned up. It was a hot, humid summer night and I was sweating profusely. About that time it struck me that rehydrating with twelve Mind Erasers was, for whatever reason, a good idea. It wasn’t. Shortly thereafter I decided to engage Aaron in an impromptu slapping contest. I did not win, and the force of his slap knocked me back onto the concrete, where my head decided to open while I rested a little. End result: a huge gash, lots of blood, several staples, many stitches, the emergency room doctor explaining to me (after some tests) that I had an abnormally thick skull, many laughs, no hard feelings, and one hell of a cool, swordfish/airplane-shaped scar. SEE BELOW.