I’ve never been knocked out (I’ve passed out a few times due to medical conditioon, but that’s not funny)
But…
I came close when I was beaten up but a hairy French chick. (Ihave to mention that, she was really hairy.)
So the story goes, my friend wanted to introduce me to a local celebrity (by lower east village standards), the autuer of “War is Menstral Envy.” No, really.
Anyway we met up at the local bar, me, my friend filmmaker guy and hairy French chick (she really was.)
We chatted. Had a lovely time. Eventually the bars closed but what with our hearts being full of joy (or booze, it’s hard to tell sometimes) we headed of to an after hours club.
So I was walking and chating (no physical contant of any kind, we didn’t hold hand and I can’t recall any hot monkey sex on the curb of 2nd st) My friend and hursiut Frenchy were walking behind us.
All of a sudden the furry one ran up and pummelled me. I’m not a good fighter. She was. Every time I got up the little French monkey (I have the right to be rude, she beat me up!) she’d beat me down again. Oh and neither guys stopped her. Thanks a lot you big strong men.
I didn’t break any bones so now I think it’s funny.
And my bruises heald but I bet she’s still hairy. And irationly jealous. And worst of alll…French
I took my grandkids to a park a few years ago. Blake has just learned to walk and run and I was keeping a close eye on him, he like to run off. I turned away for a few seconds and looked back and saw him heading off towards someone walking a dog. I jump up and took off after him and made it about 5 steps. I am a shade under 6 feet tall. The chin up bar I found is about 5 feet, 10 inches off the ground. I hit the bar right about the hair line and went down in a heep. When I opened my eyes, a lady had just placed a bag of ice on my forhead and asked if I wanted an ambulance. I had been out about a minute. It scared the heck out of my grandkids, they were standing around me crying. It took me about an hour to get my bearings back and I was able to drive us home. Ended up with nice lump on my forhead for a week too.
Friends and I were skating at local elementary school (on a Saturday). The school has this covered walkway that runs across a cement slab from the school to the b-ball court. We would skate at top speed in and out of the support bars, slalom style, just asking to bang into a bar sooner or later, but we never did. But when we were stopped and I’m standing on my board I lift up my leg to slip off my shoe because I’ve got a pebble in it. And my board whips from under me, I go straight back, bang! into the bar and out cold. I wake up with about a dozen basketballers (and my friends) standing over me asking me if I’m ok. They heard the ringing of the steel bar from about 100 yards away.
I was doing a inward dive. You spring off the board backwards and flip forward. I didn’t spring back far enough and came back down on the board. I passed out very briefly and came to a bit disoriented as a friend was swimming up to rescue me.
I was walking through some (residential, non-automatic)sliding wooden doors and I caught my shoulder on one of them - a large gilt ornamental teapot fell from the ledge over the door and smashed to pieces on my head. I fell and hit my head again on a table as I went down. I regained consciousness in a pool of blood. Needed seven stitches in my scalp and I could hear the suture needle scratching against my skull as the nurse sewed me up.
It’s a miracle some of us are still alive. Darwin has failed us all.
Me? late teens or early twenties, hard to remember. Playing cards. Drinking way too much. I am talking and gesticulating the way drunkards do. I hit myself in the chin and knocked myself out. I fall back, chair and all. I woke up to the sound of my friends still playing cards up there. It was one of those games you can’t really play without all the cards, so God only knows how long they had been there just passing around without my cards, that I still had with me. I just rejoined the game.
Only once, when I was about seven years old. I was doing exactly what I shouldn’t have been doing - running at the local swimming pool. I slipped over and knocked myself out. I remember coming to with my father hanging over me and my brother asking “is he dead?”
The game is flag football. I’m the left inside linebacker. Joey Peterson is the right inside backer. The running play comes up the middle. I shed the lineman and crash the middle. Joey does the same from his side.
My jaw meets the top of Joey’s head as we run together at full speed.
Chirpy, chirpy.
The next thing I hear is, “He’s just fakin’ it.”
No, I’m not. I am knocked silly. Joey’s head is split open. My jaw hurts.
I can’t remember my locker combination…or how to even get out of the locker room, for that matter. Joey tells the school nurse he’s going to the doctor for some stitches. I mumble something like, “Leaving now, too, bye bye.”
I went to the Donut Shoppe and waited for the blurriness to clear up.
1978: I was in 4th grade. I am running as fast as I can on the playgroud at recess after a dodge ball. Tyronne Franklin is also running, presumably as fast as he can, after a loose basketball. I am watching the ball I’m running after. He is watching the ball he’s running after. We run into each other. I wake up a little while later, Tyronne, Mr. Houghton (4th grade teacher), and a couple of my friends are all standing over me. I can’t imagine I was out long, but they took me to the office, gave me some ice and sent me back to class. No harm, no foul.
On the way out to the practice field during marching season, she stopped and bent over to tie her shoe. One of the percussionists, wearing the largest bass drum, and completely unable to see anything in the ten feet immediately in font of him, took her out just as she looked up.
I walked her to the nurse’s office and stayed with her until her dad got there to run her into the doc.
I had been in a karate class for about a year when my friend Sam decided he was going to join one too (a different one). I was like “cool! I can show you stuff!” and he was like “Cool!”
I was just learning how to spar (veeery basic stuff) and had bought some ratty equipment. He wanted to learn how to spar too. I said I couldn’t teach him but I liked sparring so we should try it out in my backyard.
I only had equipment for one, but he was much quicker and stronger than me so I decided I should have the helmet and he should have the gloves, because he was probably going to hit me.
Turns out that the essence of sparring comes in the “spar” part - hit quickly and, when learning, softly, and then get the heck out of the way. Learning to spar is best left to a black belt, who has been trained not to clobber a newbie. And the first thing a newbie should learn, before learning how to take a hit, is how to keep your eyes open and get out of the way.
But there we were, both newbies in our half gear, standing in my back yard, very geared up and ready to spar. Him a very muscular, tall young man and me a flabby older chick. Let’s go!
POOF First hit, full throttle, right to (or through) my temple. No holding back, no finesse, no “spar.” Just a punch to my temple, as hard as a geared-up young guy who is excited about martial arts can hit.
It was one of those situations where one minute I was facing one way and the next minute I was 10 yards away, facing another direction.
I told him I didn’t want to spar with him anymore. My head hurt for a week.
That’s crafty. My best friend at the time, about age 12, damn near killed himself because of ass. We were at Six Flags Great Adventure in NJ. We were walking to the car with my parents, and some hot chick bent over off to the side. He looked, and slammed into a pole full force. If his head hadn’t been at an ass-looking angle, he’d have broken his nose for sure.
I was about 4, and we were visiting my grandparents after church. I was chasing a cat, and *ran *right off the edge of the porch, a 5 foot drop. I came to in the bathroom, with Grandma shining a light in my eyes, and the rest of the family trying to crowd in around me, no small feat in a mobile home. To this day, cats are still trying to kill me, so I guess I didn’t learn my lesson.
One day, when my husband and I were first married (some 20+ years ago), we decided that it would be a great idea to have sex. We were drinking at the time, and we sat our beer mugs (those really heavy, thick, glass mugs) in the middle of one of the upper shelves on the waterbed headboard.
We had one of those really tall, wooden headboards, with all the shelves and whatnot.
We were having a grand time, until both of the mugs, simultaneously, fell off the headboard. They landed directly onto my forehead.
Needless to say, I was on bottom.
I was out for a minute or so, he said.
That was the end of the sex for the rest of that day, because I ended up with a wicked headache… also, because he couldn’t quit laughing long enough to do anything else!
I went to have a blood test for a lump in my neck as a young teenager (just a lump, if you’re interested). I really don’t like needles - i’m able to force myself to get vaccinated and everything, but the adrenaline leaving afterwards often give me tunnel vision, weakness and so on up to fainting. Not the kind of thing that makes you popular in high school.
Anyway, I went for the blood test. And I managed to convince myself it was ok, so they stuck the needle in and started taking blood. I got to the point where I thought I was actually quite happy - I could look at the blood going out of my arm and not feel bad at all. Finished that, cleaned up, all good.
So, i’m leaving the hospital, congratulating myself on not being a wuss. To get to the exit, you needed to walk along a hall and then turn right out of a door. Just as I was about to turn - I faint. Sadly, my momentum keeps me going, and I hit the wall. Bonk, i’m back in again, which from my perspective felt like walking along and then suddenly finding myself falling over with a headache. I hit the ground, and bonk, i’m out again for another minute.
At least I gave the people there something to laugh about. From their perspective it would have been walktripbonk “…Ahhh!” bonk.
Only an eejit breaks up a girl-fight. It’s like breaking up a cat-fight, only cats aren’t 100lb+ and don’t actually know to go for your balls.
Thirty years ago I was playing tennis-ball cricket one lunchtime when a catchable shot was hit between the fielder at mid-on and me (at mid-wicket). (Translation: from the batsman’s point of view I was at ten o’clock and the other fielder at eleven, and the ball was hit to half-past ten.) We both went for it, both kept our eyes on the ball, both forgot to call for it and both forgot to keep an eye on each other.
After lunch break was over, I complained about not getting a turn at bowling, only to be reminded that I had and, in fact, got two of the other side out. It then dawned on me that I was probably concussed. :smack:
I’ve never been KOd, but one time I was at a panel at a con and raised my hand during the Q&A – and something popped in my shoulder and my arm got locked half-upright for a moment until I managed to shift position and pop it back to normal. It lasted long enough for everybody to know I was in some kind of distress (and I never did get to ask whatever question I had in mind, and don’t think I would have remembered it even if I had), but not to the point of calling for first aid or anything.
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