Damage Case: A True Story by John Nagle

I am in my room, listening to the themes from Superman, The Untouchables, and the celebration theme from Rocky. These swirling orchestral pieces of movie magic are what I listen to when I’m really depressed. They make me feel strong, powerful and invincible. Unfortunately, today they aren’t helping.

I have been going to shows regularly since I was fifteen. In my eight years as a live music fan, I’ve rarely had a bad experience. I’ve found people to be accommodating, friendly, generous and warm. One of my fondest memories is when I saw Iced Earth five years ago. I was a little nervous about the crowd and asked if the pit was going to be intense. Five seconds later, I feel a firm grip on my shoulder. A hulking, heavily-tattooed, bald biker was standing behind me. He looked me in the eye and said:

“Brother, if anyone fucks with you, they are dead.”

There have been tense moments along the way, but I’ve never felt threatened by anyone. Most idiots at concerts have had too much to drink and can simply be ignored. They can be belligerent but are all talk. I never expected last night’s incident to happen, which is why I’m so shaken up.

Last night I went to see Motorhead at Ram’s Head Live. Ram’s Head is not a new venue for me. I go there so often that I know the entire security team. I feel extremely safe and know that I’m protected. Since it was Motorhead, I knew there would be a violent mosh pit, so I decided to sit in the balcony. The balcony is the best place in the entire venue because you have an unobstructed view of the entire floor. My friend, Country, usually ropes off a spot for handicapped people so people don’t get in our way.

I was having a really good time. Motorhead was obscenely, ridiculously, soul-crushingly loud. I had a full view of the pit and enjoyed the mayhem, knowing that I was safe on the balcony. The interesting thing was that even though the pit was violent, the crowd was just having fun. This wasn’t like a Limp Bizkit concert, where the linebacker who goes into the pit annihilates everyone. These guys were just burning off the aggression. I watched two kids completely destroy each other, and when Lemmy finished the song, they hugged.

I was on the balcony with another guy in a wheelchair, and we were both metal-thrashing mad. Everything I’d heard about Motorhead was true, and the night was going off without a hitch. Midway through the set, a drunk stumbled over to us, tripped over the rope and nearly fell on us. I was immediately put on edge. The other guy left before the encore, and the drunk went into his spot. People were telling him to move, because it was for people in wheelchairs. He became strident and refused to move. I was getting really nervous. A security guard eventually told him to move, but he refused to back down. The security guard tightened the rope around me, which made a decent spot for the guy. The guard said that since the band was playing their last song, he could stay in that spot.

Motorhead started to play “Overkill,” and the guy got in my face asking me if I was in his way the whole night. He was totally wasted and looking for trouble. I tried to ignore him and watch the band, since they were playing my favorite song. The guy got so close to me that I could smell the stale beer on his breath and asked:

“What? You too good to answer questions?”

“Shut up and leave me alone,” I replied.

“Well I guess you are a Republican asshole then.”

“I guess so.”

The guy flipped me off, and I was through turning the other cheek.

“You are a piece of shit,” I said.

“So are you man, you uptight asshole.”

He flipped me off again, and I responded with the tried and true two fingered salute. I told him to fuck off, and he actually went away. It was like a million other incidents I’ve had with drunken people at concerts, and I thought it was the end. I relaxed and enjoyed the show.

Halfway through the song, I felt something creep up behind me. The guy came back and was screaming in my ear. After he screamed in my ear, he knocked my hat off my head. Before I even had a chance to process what was happening, I felt a sharp pain on my left cheek. The guy punched me in the face. I was so shocked that I didn’t know what to do. Fortunately for me, Country saw what happened and took the guy out. Everyone on the balcony was appalled by what happened. Two guys picked up my hat and my headphones and gave them back. A security guard took me out of the building and asked if I was hurt.

My head was swimming, but a quick systems check told me that nothing was broken. My cheek was stinging, so I asked if I was bruised. The guard told me that it was just a bump. He asked me if I wanted to press charges, but I was so disoriented that I didn’t have an answer. I knew I had to talk to my dad.

I got my dad on the phone and told him what happened. He told me that he would be there in 20 minutes. He talked to Country, who told my dad that I should press charges. As a lawyer, my dad agreed. I was happy to. I gave my statement to the cops, who informed me that the guy claimed that I took a swing at him.

Let’s look at the stats. I am five feet tall and weigh 85 pounds. This guy was at least 5’6 and, judging by the size of his gut, I’d say 250 pounds. Why would I take a swing at a guy who is significantly larger than I am? I am even shorter because I was sitting in my chair. It boggles my mind.

I went home with a bump on the cheek and bruised pride. I never thought I’d see someone actually assault a disabled person, let alone that it would be me. I can verbally spar with the best of them, but when it comes to physical altercations, I am absolutely defenseless. Even worse, the guy hit me from behind. If he was a real man, he would have come at me straight on.

By writing this blog, I am not asking for pity in any way. However, I have never been more upset in my life. I’ve met so many cool people at shows, and I love going to them more than anything in the world. To be humiliated while doing something I love is absolutely devastating. I’m trying to remain positive, but it’s really hard. I’m not OK.


(John Nagle is a friend of mine from college. He has Cerebral Palsy and is an awesome writer and all-around rock guru. I am appalled that anyone would treat him (or anyone) this way -- not just because he's physically disabled, but because he's such a nice person. This guy obviously lost his marbles that night...)