From the editor
Comfortable couch, freshly squeezed papaya juice, and the brilliant wonders of air-conditioning and television. Who could ask for a better evening?
There I am flipping through the 500 channels of uninteresting entertainment when suddenly, on the screen before me, a very large man is pummeling another very large man into submission.
They’re in a ring of some sort, make that a semi-cage. It’s a fence, chest-high, surrounding an octagonally shaped canvass floor. There’s a referee in there, but he seems to be busy trying to stay out of the way of fists, kicks, flying teeth, and blood spatter.
I couldn’t feel more unmanly if I put on a tutu and spoke British.
This is a blood sport. I remember my high school football coach bellowing, “Football is not a contact sport; it’s a collision sport!” Well then, ultimate fighting is nothing but a combat sport. And I’m using the word “sport” loosely. This sorry excuse for something athletically competitive is nothing but two brainless bovines trying to kill each other. Skill? Talent? Not there.
When they say an ultimate fighter was badly beaten-like former champ Chuck Liddell was a few weeks ago-they don’t mean he lost. They literally mean he was badly beaten. They also say it’s a sport that mixes martial arts and boxing, but Senator John McCain once deemed it “human cockfighting.”
McCain was right-about the cockfighting. There’s nothing humanizing about two oversized men trying to knock each other’s head off. Nonetheless, ultimate fighting seems to be punching into the mainstream. Celebrities are showing up for the fights and Liddell was recently on the cover of ESPN Magazine holding his 8-year-old son. This was, of course, before he was badly beaten.
I don’t understand the draw. If it’s gore you crave, go watch someone fry a cicada. If it’s the shock-factor you need, go watch someone eat a fried cicada. If you just need a fix of two people squabbling, take a peek into the Cubs dugout, or turn on “The View,” or call your accountant.
Sitting there unable-for some reason-to change the channel, my papaya juice losing its luster, I felt nearly inhuman watching the carnage. And I admit, two tough guys brawling while you’re sipping papaya juice has the uncanny ability to deflate one’s ego. A lot of men long to throw a haymaker, a justifiable-without-any-consequences-or-ramifications-or-reprisals haymaker.
But we’re sensible humans-most of us anyway.
So instead of punching the air and grunting like a faulty carburetor, it’s off with the A/C, goodbye papaya juice, hello cold beer, and in with the “Rocky” DVDs, where fighting is at its best-fictional.
Contact: bspencer@wjinc.com
