I’ve owned a lot of MGB-GTs over the years. If I could ever love a car like a woman, that would be it. In the early 70s, I owned a red MG like the one in the above picture, wire wheels and all. Late one night, I was cruising home — well above the speed limit — on a winding country road. I was as sober as a judge. Suddenly, I lost control. The car swerved left, flew up an embankment, and flipped several times before coming to a rest in an upright position in a cow pasture. Why none of the wooden fenceposts I took out came through the windshield is beyond me. I saw them, and I distinctly remember watching the windshield pop away, with the open field of dirt and grass coming perilously close to my face as the car rolled. My skull banged into the unpadded headliner like a soccer ball bouncing wildly inside an old Whirlpool dryer.
When it was over, I climbed out of the now demolished vehicle and hobbled over to the single-lane road, hoping someone would come. It was probably close to midnight. Within minutes, I heard an approaching vehicle and as it neared me, I could see I was, quite literally, drenched in blood all the way down to my knees. With my feet planted firmly on the paved road, I stood my ground, waving my arms in the air. There was no way I was going to let that car get around me. Thank God, they stopped.
Did I think I was going to die? No, I don’t think so. Did I wonder if I was more injured than I felt? The thought probably crossed my mind. What I do know, though, is that I never lost consciousness and I never panicked or overreacted.
When I got to the hospital, I remember getting a head x-ray at some point. In what order, I can’t say, but it wasn’t until the emergency room doctor examined me that it was discovered what the source of all the blood was — a quarter-inch cut just above my right temple. I may have looked like I was near death, but I wasn’t. Of course, the doctor pulled a few shards of glass out of my scalp and I continued to do so for weeks and weeks after the accident. I was banged up quite a bit, but overall, I was in good shape. No concussion or any significant damage to speak of.
Oh, what I’d give to own another red MGB-GT…
But that’s not my point. I think it’s obvious to everyone that any type of cut to the head will produce a lot of blood, and in most cases, it looks worse than it usually is. That’s my point, and it’s the way I feel about George Zimmerman’s injuries the night of the shooting. He looked worse than he was and it wasn’t even close to how awful I looked the night of my wreck, and to be perfectly honest, the fear of death never crossed my mind. It did the next day, after I saw what was left of my car and I realized how close I came. Luck or God or something was on my side that fateful night and, to this very day, the experience is still quite vivid in my mind.
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Below are a series of photographs of George Zimmerman taken inside the Sanford Police Department the night of the shooting. While I agree there was some sort of scuffle, I do not feel it ever reached a level where it was life-threatening for anyone until the gun was introduced. At the same time, I understand that we all have different pain tolerances. There is also a problem with when to say when. By that, I mean I wouldn’t expect Zimmerman to be beaten to a bloody pulp before retaliating. However, at what point should a person say enough is enough? When is the line drawn?
Does this look like a man with a broken nose? Does the back of his scalp reflect someone whose head was bashed into a sidewalk over a dozen times, as he told Sean Hannity? Is this the face of a man who, moments earlier, was teetering on the edge of death?
These are some of the questions that will arise during the ‘Stand Your Ground’ hearing. While I don’t see the types of injuries Zimmerman said he sustained, what do you think? In my opinion, these pictures reflect what any normal person in Trayvon’s situation would have done on that night. He would have STOOD HIS GROUND and fought for his life. De hombre a hombre. Until the gun was fired.