I had a fistful of drink tickets that I wouldn’t be using. So just before our set I went to the bar and got a bunch of bottles of Oland’s. I was giving beer away during the show, making people do silly things in return for an Oland’s.

There were a couple of really drunk guys at the front, bonking around and yelling while Colour TV played. One of them really wanted me to give him a beer. I’d been bantering back and forth with this guy for a while.

“BEER” he yelled.

“I don’t know,” I said into the microphone. “There’s this guy up at the front here, and he keeps opening his mouth up wide and pointing into it. I think he really wants someone to put something in his mouth, is there anyone here who can help him out?”

The guy leaned over the railing and snarled, “You’re a faggot.”

“Ooh,” I said. I looked at him, and then I looked at the full bottle of Oland’s I was holding. I reached out towards him with it. But instead of giving him the bottle, I splashed beer all over him and tried to dump it over his head.

From here my memory gets a bit blurry. Someone said they saw the guy spit on me. All I know is that I suddenly decided It Was On.

I threw down my guitar and went over the railing onto the dancefloor. The guy responded by tearing off his shirt, Incredible-Hulk-style. He was built like a Sherman tank.

It seemed like one second I was charging towards him, and the next second people were helping me up off the floor with my head ringing. I wasn’t knocked out exactly but there’s a gap of a few seconds. I don’t remember getting clocked, don’t remember seeing it coming. But it’s safe to say I got owned pretty hard.

I staggered around for a moment. Then I saw the stage and made for it. Sanctuary.

Turned around in time to see the guy shaking bouncers off each arm. In the end I think it took four or five of The Attic’s finest security staff to finally get him down the stairs and out the door.

Back on stage, I was seeing stars; or more accurately, scintillating pinpoints of coloured light that moved horizontally across my field of vision. Everyone was asking if I was OK. I was definitely feeling a bit subdued.

I picked my guitar up off the stage. “Let’s just play something,” I said. “Not the new song… I can’t remember the lyrics.”

So we ripped through “Will of Winter” back to back with “Ghost Voices.” A triumphant feeling started to come over me. Strangely so, considering the evidence of my rapidly swelling face.

I looked out into the crowd and said, “Is there anybody else out there who wants to fuck with me? …No? Good.”

And then we finished our set, and I went and got some ice for my head.

Ryan from The Attic was very apologetic. If anything I thought it reflected well on his bar that the security staff cleaned up so efficiently. I really don’t know what I was thinking when I went after the guy, I think I was planning to throw my arms around him and give him a big kiss. Jesus Christ, good thing that didn’t happen, mister tough-guy would’ve fed me my teeth for sure.

The best part was after the show when we were trying to figure out how to get our gear into the car. I got to say things like, “Sorry if I seem a little stunned… but I am a little stunned.”

Two days later my head still hurts. I was sure the left side of my face was going to swell up and turn purple all over, but really there’s just a small patch of broken blood vessels along the edge of my cheekbone where his knuckles must’ve collided.

All in the name of rock’n’roll.

5 thoughts on “clocked

  1. shit. I missed all this. Sorry to hear it Philip.

    If I’d still been there, I would obviously have kicked his ass. He wouldn’t like me when I get angry. Right? Right??

    On a less brutally violent note, I was also involved in something of a disagreement recently which involved large amounts of beer getting dumped on myself and my opponent. By “recently”, I mean last night. I still ooze the smell of booze.

    I hope your face grows back pretty.

  2. *Holy Shit* I can’t help but laugh….I can picture the whole thing….

    Reminds me of a house party last year.

    This girl grabbed a guys beer and started to shake it. He got really angry and pushed her up against a wall. I grabbed his shirt and yelled, “That’s a beer, she’s a woman. Is that anyway to get laid?” He just smirked and shurgged off…Then I turned to her and yelled at her. “You should know better than to mess with a man’s beer!”

    I could say the same to you Phil. Drunk men are likely to do anything for Free Beer…

    I’m sure you can find someone to help you take care of that ‘head’.


  3. “The risk of life fills me with an exaggerated rapture… A meeting of man to man, a duel, a danger into which I can throw myself head-foremost, attracts me, moves me, intoxicates me. I am crazy for it, I love it, I adore it.”

    – General Scobeleff

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