Last December we ran an essay by longtime virgin, author and SI columnist Jeff Pearlman about journalist Brian Hickey, who was almost killed by a hit-and-run coward last Thanksgiving.
Hickey's brain was gone. His body was destroyed. Even if he miraculously popped out of his week-long coma, the odds of him living, walking or thinking the same were slim. Thankfully, everyone was wrong.
And Hickey lived to tell (and write) his remarkable journey from near-death to glorious, vengeful life. Which is most unfortunate for the person who ran him over:
I'd like to be all Buddhist about it and let the lesson center on how precious life truly is. How being a kindhearted person pays unimaginable dividends when push comes to near-death shove. And how karma will do the dirty work for me.
That's all true, but edited down for public consumption. I'm sure you can handle the raw answer to that question: The driver had better fucking hope the police catch him first, because if I do - and believe me I will - I'll string him up by his balls. Then, after kicking every last one of his teeth into the street, I'll ask him how he'll run away from assault charges now. I'll close with spitting in his fucking face as he cries, "Why did you do this to me?" The Jersey Curb Sandwich seems too harsh? Fine. Being the spiritual badass I am, I'll be content to just publicly humiliate him, day after day, for the cowardice of refusing to take accountability for his actions.
Dead Man Talking [Phillymag]