What It Feels Like To Get Your Head Kicked In

Ever wondered what it feels like to get the absolute shit kicked out of you? Well, wonder know more...


It was my first night out after a cruciate ligament reconstruction. I'd spent most of the previous few months smoking bongs, doing repetitive exercises, ignoring visitors, coming to terms with the fact that I'd never play competitive football again and developing an eye twitch from playing Championship Manager. It was a lonely time, and I remember being quite overawed when I walked down town that night. It was probably the weed and lack of communication, and for some reason I wore my reading glasses and a hat. Anyway, I got drunk. It was a Sunday, late in 2001. Nearly a decade ago. The scar on my head still throbs like it was yesterday.

We'd been kicked out of The Harp after the Karaoke had finished and decided to go to Linner's house for a smoke. I popped into my Mum's on the way home to get my weed, and told my mates I'd see them in ten minutes. Walking towards the parade of shops that included a hairdressers, an offy and a corner shop, I heard a voice. It was my ex-missus. I hadn't seen her for six months so I stopped to have a fag and chat to her by the offy. I sparked a fag and we were basically going through the no hard feelings nonsense when a group of 8 lads came around the corner. I knew instantly that I was fucked. They weren't from Bridgnorth. They looked distinctly Telford on first glance, and two of them were carrying what appeared to be a bat and a wrought iron fire poker.

My first thought was to keep my ex away from it. My second was, if I had to leg it, I was fucked. My left knee was still a car crash of scar tissue inside. I told her to run to Linner's house, so she ran. So did I. They swarmed me straight away. I punched one in the face as I ran past, smacked another and legged it. I could feel them behind me. I had no power in my left thigh. Then I felt it. A fire poker smashed into the back of my head. I staggered on further and heard my ex scream. I must have fallen unconscious pretty soon afterwards.

After they had used me as a warm up, these cunts went to a block of flats and gouged someone’s eye out with the fire poker. The half-brother of one my assailants. A family feud.

I came to in a house I recognised. Saw a load of people I knew but hadn't been out with. I was covered in blood. My hair was full of it. I started to swear. "Owen, watch your fucking mouth, the kids are in bed." It was the Dad of one of my brother's ex-school mates. I was halfway up Queensway Drive, maybe 150 yards from where it had started. Apparently my mates had been at the top of Queensway, which is on a hill, heard the screaming, ran back down and chased them off. They'd hit my ex with a length of pipe. She reckons they hit me 10 times on the head with this bar as well as the kicks to the body. I don't know to this day how I wasn't brain damaged.

After going to hospital and being treated like another drunk from a fight and crudely stitched up - it looks like cracked glass - I was discharged and a mate was waiting for me outside. I went back to the spot to see if I could find my glasses when I got home. I couldn't. But I did see a paving slab that had been dragged to near where I lay. I knew it was the place because of the blood stain. They were going to drop it on my head.

After they had used me as a warm up, these cunts went to a block of flats and gouged someone’s eye out with the fire poker. The half-brother of one my assailants. A family feud.

I got £1500 compo for my injuries. They all got off with Community Service.

As I said. Cunts.

Follow Owen on Twitter, @owenblackhurst


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