twodoebs

So today I was with our little doggie Weber at our favorite Brooklyn dog park, Hillside Park. And I'm walkin' around talkin' to Paula on my phone, when--WHAM!--out of NOWHERE, I feel this blinding pain in my right temple.

So here's the deal--I played ice hockey and lacrosse in highschool; I was in a frat fight or two in college; I participated in full contact mixed martial arts when I lived in New Jersey . . . I've been hit in my head before. Hard.

But this . . . this knocked me RIGHT off my feet.

I assumed that I had been hit with a misthrown dog toy. As I got up, I expected to see a whole bunch of people running towards me. Or at least ONE person apologizing for hitting me with his dog toy. Or a dog. Or a dog TOY.

Nope. I didn't see any of that. The ground at hillside park is covered with woodchips, and as I looked around, all I saw was . . . woodchips. And a rock.

But I just couldn't imagine that this ROCK had anything to do with the throbbing I felt going through my head. The Brooklyn-Queens Expressway runs RIGHT alongside the park, so I started thinkin' that maybe some sort of debris flew off the highway and hit me.

Two women who were sitting nearby with their dogs started running over towards me. I asked them "did you see what happened?"

They both said that they hadn't seen anything except me falling to my knees. They asked if I was injured. I felt up to my head, expecting to feel blood dripping out of my head. But there wasn't any blood. None at all.

The women asked me what happened. I told them I didn't KNOW and for a second--as I looked around again for a perpetrator or a weapon--I started to wonder if anything DID happen. But the pain in my temple was a very clear reminder that I'd been hit with SOMETHING.

Up on a hill--maybe about fifteen feet away from me--there was this creepy lookin' dude wearing a leather jacket and a hooded sweatshirt. He was playing with a big, aggressive and mean lookin' dog. He immediately looked like the kind of person that sucks the fun out of the dog park . . . he's got a mean dog and wants to make sure all the little Westie owners know that his dog is a different bread.

And as I saw this guy, it dawned on me that he was throwing ROCKS for his dog to chase. Really . . . I closed my eyes and shook my head in disbelief, hoping that some sort of disorientation from my head trauma was to blame for me seeing what I was seeing and not that this guy was ACTUALLY throwing rocks.

You gotta understand . . . Hillside Park is big, but it's not THAT big. And on a Sunday afternoon, it's PACKED. There's people, and CHILDREN, and DOGS--lots and lots of dogs, who are running around every which way.

In law school, when they're talking about *intent* for criminal actions, they have an analogy that they love to teach. It says that if somebody fires a gun into a crowded theater, he's equally as liable for hitting somebody as he would be if he pointed the gun at a single person and tried to hit them. This was that.

So I go up to this guy. Really, I'm very polite at first.

"Excuse me, sir. Are you throwing ROCKS?"

"Yep."

"Uh . . . did you HIT me with one of those rocks?"

"Yeah, I think I did. I'm sorry about that."

"And you didn't think to come down and check to see if I was alright or let me know that you were the one who threw it?"

"I'm sorry."

"And I see you're STILL throwing rocks?"

"Yep."

"Are you out of your MIND? Stop throwing rocks!"

And this was what got me the most. He goes, "Well it was your fault. You should have been paying attention. You were talking on your cell phone."

And he walks away from me. And at this point what am *I* gonna do? I'm certainly not going to pick a fight with this guy.

So I walked away, too. And the two women who came up to me when I first got hit came back up to me. I told them what happened. As we're talking the d-hole picks up another rock and throws it.

So one of these ladies--who I'm gonna assume is one of the organizers of the dog park--goes over to talk to him. I'm guessin' she's thinkin' she's gonna just give him a piece of HER mind and that'll take care of that.

She talks to him for a while and then she comes back to where me and the other woman are standing. "I think he's on drugs," she says bluntly. "He didn't really acknowledge that throwing rocks is a bad idea and just kinda walked away."

So this woman takes out her cell phone and calls 911. I'm trying to tell her not to do that, saying that my injuries are really just limited to pain and swelling. When it's clear that she's calling the cops whether I want her to or not, I suggest that she call the local precinct instead of 911. But it's too late. She's now hell bent on gettin' this guy thrown out of the park.

So while we're waiting for the police to show up, I take out ICE and start following this guy around the park. And sure enough, I get VIDEO of this a-hole picking up rocks and throwing them. At PEOPLE.

And here come the cops. The ladies go running over to them. And, of COURSE, the first word out of the cops mouths is "Where's the guy that got hit?"

So I go over. I tell the cops no, I don't need an ambulance; no, I don't want the guy arrested; I just want him to stop throwing rocks.

"We think he's on DRUGS," shouts the woman who thought she was gonna fix the rock-thrower's wagon. The cop looks back at me and says "well, we won't arrest him . . . but if he gives me any TROUBLE, we're collaring him." The cop and his partner start walkin' towards the guy and reach into their pockets to take out their gloves, which always seems to be a sign that they're anticipating . . . well, using their hands.

So they talk to him for a while, a little out of my earshot. I go over to them--HONESTLY!--only because Weber's jumping up on one of the police officer's legs. And I hear the police saying "OK, well you've got to leave."

And the guy goes, "in a little bit . . . I've been here for a while."

And the cop says, "No. Now. And don't come back. And stop throwing rocks."

And the guy just shrugs. And the cop turns and looks at me and says "whada you want to do?"

So I said if he's not gonna leave, I guess you've gonna have to arrest him. And they did.

So that's the story of me getting hit in the head with a rock. It happened about six hours ago. I'm still in substantial pain. There's still swelling and I expect bruising. But I'm still alive--thank God!

- Cafe Lulu on Smith Street
- Lobo on Court Street
- SUR on Smith Street;
- Gravy on Smith Street (sadly--'cause we love them--but true).
- Cobble Grill
- Jolie (well they accept AMEX . . . and apparently CAN accept credit cards if you're friends with the owner . . . though just typing this is uncovering the memories of an uncomfortable exchange on a cold winters night. If doebtown still cares, he'll tell you the story)