Just in from Baltimore:
I was born and raised outside of Baltimore, a suburb between D.C. and “Harm City.” I had a run in with the knock out game in 8th grade, back in 93′.
It usually starts with small talk, sometimes, “gimme a cigarette'” or “Lemme borrow a dollar.”
I was walking to a local hangout, an ice skating rink, and the route I chose put me in the wrong place at the wrong time. After being approached by a group of about 8-10 black high school kids (which I tried to avoid), out of nowhere I was hit in the jaw. Next thing I know, I’m on the ground being kicked by the group. I was able to escape without a severe beating and with all my possessions still in my pockets; robbery wasn’t the intent. There was no sense in calling the police, unless I wanted a little victim blaming as well.
The knockout game has been going on for a long time, but back then, it wasn’t labeled as such. Packs of black kids were just something one always had to look out for. If you’re not black, that is.
I grew up in a small rural area and never knew about this kind of activity.