When Assault, Robbery and Destruction of Property are Perfectly Legal

Mad Dogs in Lisbon

This post covers one of the most shocking, vicious acts of senseless, unprovoked violence I’ve ever witnessed. I’m not sure I’ve ever felt so powerless. The mental scars of the incident are still fresh, weeks after it occurred.

Apologies in advance, this post is likely to be a little less lighthearted than usual, but I hope it helps provoke action to prevent this happening again. This isn’t a one off incident, it’s happening at the same place in Lisbon nearly every week. Some time soon it may not be a case of rabid, group assault, but manslaughter. This is why I write this post.


It’s a normal Friday night in Lisbon. I’ve been working late and joined up with about 10 friends an hour ago. It’s approximately 2 am and we’re out looking for somewhere to go dancing (Dina needs to dance!).

The previous night I’d discovered K Urban Beach Bar with a beautiful girl from Boston(who’s white, apparently this was important). It’s quite a sight, with pillars of light all across the sand, and a long wooden walkway to the entrance. A cool, seeming chill place to dance into the early hours. Thinking nothing of it, I recommend we go there and we make the 15–20 minute walk over from Pink Street to the bar.

Doesn’t it look pretty? (Photo courtesy of Paul Bernhart)

I’m first in line to get into the club, and I’m greeted by a member of security who asks:

“How many of there are you?”.
“About 10?”
“Sorry, it’s a private party, you have to go”.

Right, okay. So ignoring the fact that we weren’t asked for our names for the “private party” list, and how oddly the amount of us determines whether we can enter, I decide it’s not worth saying any more and decide to leave with the two people behind me.

I’ve dealt with security on a power trip far too many times, there’s very little to be done and it’s not worth any provocation.

I walk past my friends behind me and say “We’re not getting in, lets just go to the club we passed on the way here”

I wrongly assumed the tone of this conveyed the situation, and about a third of the way down the walkway away from the club, I look back and see my friends standing there for a second before people start getting pushed.

Tick,

Tick,

Tick.

Time slows to a crawl. Body’s sway back and fourth.

My heart drops, adrenaline explodes into my system. But this isn’t a cause for rage or madness on my behalf. This is a feeling I’m intimately familiar with. An otherworldly sharpness washes over me.

I’m expecting security to drag a few friends out.

I’m expecting to calm screaming friends.

I’m expecting to be a cool voice of reason in a heated situation.

And then it happens…

Eddie (who’s Colombian) is sucker punched by one of 5 members of “security” as he turns to face the people behind him. He goes down.

I start to jog towards the quickly erupting chaos.

Kyle takes a hook to the side of the head. He goes down. Mark is punched and rocked.

But the worst is yet to come.

Kib (who’s Kenyan) takes a roundhouse kick to the face.

He looks like he’s stepped on a bomb.

He stumbles for another second as I start to run towards him.

He glances around, trying to understand what’s happened, glances towards me, and takes a full force punch to the chin.

He’s out cold on his feet, and doesn’t remain there for long.

I’m now full charge, yell “GET BACK!” to Taryn who’s screaming, and I dive on Kib to soak up any further barrages.

He’s laying on his back, eyes glazed, with a swarm of 10 “security”, no, 10 mad dogs; sober, coordinated, clearly trained to fight by that head kick.

Encircling him.

Screaming at him.

I roll him into a recovery position and reassure him that it’s okay, we’re not moving until he’s ready and that they’re not going to hit him any more.

And they keep screaming and screaming.

“Get him the fuck out!”
“We can’t get people in, get him out of the way!”

You see, they’d knocked him out at the front of the queue to the club.

Perhaps if they were concerned about getting people into the club, they shouldn’t have done that?

Then the first big test begins.

I’m on the floor, trying my best to stay zen as fuck, and not only have I got friends in the vicinity screaming in fear and anger, I have a swarm of screaming savages surrounding me and my barely conscious friend.

These subhumans proceed to swoop past us, pushing us with their feet and throwing bottles of water in Kib’s face to try jolt him awake.

I don’t want to move Kib until he feels sturdy enough to, but they’re screaming at me to get him out.

Every time that water is thrown in his face, I’m a hairs width away from exploding with white hot rage.

Unbridled, crotch shot, beating to a pulp, eye gouging fury.

I’ve never felt, and contained such anger.

But I knew that was exactly what these degenerates were looking for. There were 10 of them, just begging for an excuse to really jump in and stomp someone to a coma.

By the third lot of water thrown in his face, I knew I couldn’t take another.

I had to get him out. I yelled to Mark, and we threw one of Kib’s arms over each of our shoulders and carried him out.

We sit him down on a wall at the end of the walkway, and I run back over to make sure all of our friends have gotten back.

As I get towards the bar again, I notice Adi, who’s roughly 5”5’ and can’t be more than 120 lbs, is recording what’s happened, and the bouncer that threw the first pot shot is marching towards her.

He grabs her phone, hits her and throws her phone in the water, before marching off into the bar again.

Not realizing that he’s thrown her phone, I think he’s just taken in.

Perhaps stupidly, I walk towards another bouncer (that I’ve not seen frenziedly attacking people), and very reasonably ask if we can get her phone back.

We’ve all just been attacked, it’s the least they can do, right. I’m ignored.

Adi, who’s understandably unhappy about her phone, is yelling towards the one who hit her and walked off.

Another bouncer is marching toward her.

She’s not getting fucking hit again.

I step in front and say we should go.

I start getting pushed and I’m walking backwards along the walk. I’ve got my hands in the air saying we’re going.

One punch.

“Why are you punching me?”

Two.

“I’m leaving, why are you punching me?”

Three.

“Stop punching me 😑

Four.

“Stop punching me 😠

This was my second big test.

Eating four punches with my hands in the air sparks another tsunami of adrenaline.

He stops, I’ve walked the entire length of the walkway getting punched.

Once more, I’m a hairs-width from erupting with blind rage.

I turn around and Kib’s on the floor.

Three fucking savages have run past me whilst I was distracted by getting punched in the face, and have decided to choke out a still disoriented Kib, and then proceed to punch and kick him on the floor whilst he was unconscious.

I charge over yelling and get in the way. This time they dissipate and walk back to the bar, for the final time.

We call the police and an ambulance. Kib and Kyle go for a check up to make sure they’re okay.

I talk through with the police and not only find out that this happens regularly, but that there’s sweet fuck all they can do about it.

The court process takes 6–12 months to happen, and tourists very rarely have that time.

These monsters are able to do this once or twice a weekend.

The police, the Uber drivers, the online reviews all reflect this. And nothing is done about it.


But you could have just been drunk and boisterous, and not mentioning that?

Some of us had been drinking more than others.

Eddie also offered to pay the €250 per person price they jacked the entry frre up to, when essentially telling people to piss off.

Perhaps that was provocative.

But perhaps there’s more here.

Kyle posted this picture of his face to his Instagram after the event:

@mynameiskyleokay

He tagged K Urban Beach Bar in the picture and the next weekend someone messaged him with a story exactly the same as ours.

Coincidence?

Let’s look at Tripadvisor and Google Reviews:

See a pattern?
Hmmm… maybe
Lol, couldn’t help myself

So yeah, an out of the blue, apparently race driven attack, is something you can expect to see at K Urban Beach Bar. If you’re lucky enough, you may even be a part of one!

So why am I writing this shit if nothing will get done?

  1. If I can stop someone visiting this club, and potentially getting assaulted and killed, that’s my number one.
  2. To highlight what seems to be a massive race problem, not just at this bar but at many in Lisbon.
  3. It may be cathartic for me to write out.
  4. I have a troubled background, mixed up with lots of fighting, so perhaps this helps you understand more about me.

Hopefully the bulk of this post and the reviews have gone some way towards ticking off the first two points. The third is TBD when I finish this, at the moment it’s pretty stressful.

So the fourth point..

I want to do a little more to convey how difficult this is to write.

I’ve been an angry person before, and I moved past that. But reliving this in intimate detail has adrenaline raging through my system.

My largest issue is that I’ve got a past deeply intertwined with fighting.

Since the age of 8, and until my early twenties, fighting had been a regular go-to for resolving issues with those that wanted to bully or push around me, my family or my friends.

As I got older, this was often tied to drinking (not because I would start fights, but because I’d be around drunk people that had something to prove).

This actually got to the point where I had to chose to stop drinking, for almost a year whilst I was 22 to sort my shit out. I needed to stop resorting to violence when it was such an easily presented option.

So what’s my point?

Well, 10–15 years of getting in 50–100 fights, combined with 4 years of MMA training 5–10 hours a week, have actually made me very good at it.

And that’s a problem.

As I relive this experience, my mind keeps racing back to elaborate vision of attacking back.

There are few things that make my blood boil like bullies, and I cannot deny the sense of satisfaction I would feel to really hurt those scumbags, and use their own language to show them they can’t just go around mass assaulting people without repercussion.

Again, I’ve been an angry person, and I don’t want to be one again.

So along with the appalling injustice of this event, there’s an issue that is really sticking with me.

I’m pissed that these arseholes keep dragging my mind back to anger.

Post Traumatic Stress

I keep experiencing PTS which manifests as moments of white hot rage towards them.

I wake up in the middle of the night, and within seconds my brain returns to the event.

Adrenaline floods my system and now, because of them, I’m stuck awake for at least the next 45 minutes.

I wake up in the morning, I’m happy, I jump in the shower and my mind wonders back, and I’m angry again.

I keep cycling through the night, where instead of standing there getting punched in the face, I lose it and knock some cunts out.

I keep running through elaborate revenge fantasies.

That pisses me off.

They’ve made me angry, and they don’t give a fuck, this is just what they do for fun.

A few days after this was at the Aquarium (my happy place), grabbed my tickets and went to enter.

There’s a very friends security guy there just checking people have their tickets.

My stomach twists and I feel a strange unease.

These fucking bastards have rooted a subconscious worry within me.

That pisses me off.

I loved Lisbon until that happened, and now I don’t, and I know that they’re not representative of many in Lisbon, but still, it’s affected me.

That pisses me off.

And I’m not the only one. At least four other friends that where there have told me they’ve had post traumatic stress, manifesting as uncontrolled crying, rage fantasies, dark thoughts, or wanting to just scream all the time.

But I’m Happy 😁

Anyway, despite occasional flashes of rage, I couldn’t be more happy about how I handled this.

I stayed calm and collected during the whole ordeal.

I believe I prevented several friends getting hurt more severely.

I resisted the unspeakably strong urge to knock some cunts out — there were too many of them, and putting down 2 or 3 of them would have been just the excuse the others were looking for to jump me, and hurt / kill my friends.

It’s funny, a week or so before, I’d looked after a close friend who’d arguably gotten too drunk after dealing with some really shitty news.

I happily put aside whatever I was doing to make sure she was okay for a few hours. And after that, a couple of people said something along these lines to me:

“You’re the most patient man I’ve ever met”

Fuck.

No.

I could look after a friend in need all day for a week and not have my patience exhausted.

But this ordeal, this fucking pushed me.

This really ran out my patience.

I’m so rarely tested to that extent. Tempted to lash out and controlling myself not to, even in the face of such a heated, unjust, dangerous situation.


Anyway, if you want to do something amazing to try and prevent this from happening again, please consider sharing it with your friends, especially those living in, or with connections in Portugal.

If you want to boost it on Medium, whack that claps button 5–10 times.

I honestly do worry that someone will be killed by these mad dogs, and as nothing is going to happen legally speaking, I figure the most I can do is put this out there.

Perhaps it’s seen by people that would otherwise visit this club, and they reconsider.

Well this has been pretty morbid to write. If you want your spirits lifted, try watch this dude control like 20 pets. It made me cry (in the best way).

Show your support

Clapping shows how much you appreciated Connor McCreesh’s story.