Not really

The next five to ten seconds happen so quickly and brutally that you couldn't begin to describe what you saw. If questioned by the police you could testify with absolute certainty that the biker with the shaved head and heavily tattooed arms and shoulders threw the first punch, but after that your value as a witness is limited. Chris ducks under the punch, there is a sharp series of blows and the burly man falls to the ground bleeding from a broken nose. The three others close but two more fall almost instantly, one with a knee that looked distinctly wrong and another on his hands and knees wheezing like a asthmatic kid who has been **** to run a mile in the summer heat.

The last of the four charges Chris with a roar wrapping him in a great bear hug while from the crowd all around you sense more of the bikers closing fast to the scene of the one-sided fight. The concert security personnel are also pushing through the crowd in an attempt to add their muscle to the brawl and on stage the band has finally stopped playing as they begin to realize that something is not right in the audience. Before you can scream for help, the man grappling with Chris is twisted around and your mild mannered date has him in a **** hold that looks as hard and unyielding as the anger in Chris' eyes.

"Tell them to back down." He barks fiercely into the man's cauliflower ear. "I'll snap your fucking neck if they come any closer."

Just when you think that everything might be alright after all, a powerful hand latches onto your arm and you are jerked forward into the circle littered with writhing bodies. Your fashionable heels provide no footing at all and you feel your right ankle twist painfully as you stumble awkwardly.

"Let go of Mikey, pig." He snarls as he grabs your hair with his free hand and twists it fiercely making you forget momentarily the shooting pain from your ankle. "I'm willing to bet I can fuck up this pretty little toy of yours faster than you can mess with our boy there."

"I'm sorry Chris." You stammer wishing with all your heart that you had followed through with those self defense courses you had started one January as a new year's resolution. Somehow the idea of stomping on the man's booted instep and clawing at his eyes seems totally inadequate for your present predicament - this situation must have been covered in one of the advanced classes. You see close to three dozen men and women wearing the Snake-eyes colors watching attentively and perhaps half that number of park personnel all frozen in time-and-space by the apparent standoff.