Last night was the first time I gave mixed Martial arts a real chance. When it was becoming popular a number of years ago, I likened it to a soft core gay snuff porn. Men were writhing against each other on the ground, randomly punching the other in the face or on the side of the head while in a desperate embrace. It made me a bit uncomfortable to watch, like I was intruding on a lovers’ quarrel.
I had been raised with the standard “masculine” combat sports of boxing and wrestling (read: WWF, now WWE) where the fighters mostly stood at a distance from each other and physical contact was limited. Boxing is designed as a pretty clean sport itself, especially considering its origins. As an audience, we seek a bout where two men enter the ring with well padded gloves and high boots, prancing around one another looking to connect in short, quick succession with only his fist. We balk when the boxers lock arms, accusing one or both of being cowards. There are unwritten rules of pomp and decorum attached to the sport. Even in wrestling with greater amounts of physical contact, the types of holds are sanitary. It is about putting someone in a particular hold or performing a signature body slam. I am aware that American wrestling is scripted, but there is still a level of athleticism required and a high probability of real injury which allows for comparison.
Mixed martial arts is a beast entirely unto itself. After last night’s UFC bouts which culminated in the title match between Junior Dos Santos versus Cain Velasquez, I have a new understanding and true appreciation for a form of combat I initially snubbed. I sat on the edge of my seat for 3 hours in a Buffalo Wild Wings, half cringing as the blood begins to pour from a gladiator’s face while I stuff mine with another boneless chicken wing. MMA is the closest thing we have in modern times to the gladiator arenas of Roman times. It’s bloody and brutal, but you can’t look away.
The blood is what got to me. I’m not a squeamish person by any means. I continued to consume meat and fried potatoes throughout the fights, but I kept thinking “Ugh, look at all that blood.” There’s an amount of blood in boxing and wrestling, but it’s sanitized in a way. In boxing, it may be pouring from a fighter’s face, but they call fights if there’s too much. In wrestling, a wrestler may make a small cut prior to the fight so that he will bleed when he’s hit with a chair or a “head butt.” It’s controlled gore. In MMA, it’s something else entirely. White shorts turn pink as the two combatants roll around and writhe in one another’s blood with little to no concern that they are bleeding. Their faces are coated in a bright crimson as they continue to try to out maneuver and out punch the other, and they keep going until they are both a vampire’s wet dream.
The Dos Santos/Vasquez fight was particularly gruesome, Dos Santos’s failure to keep his hands up being a major factor. His face was a bulbous mess akin to a crimson colored elephant man. The victor looked mildly less afflicted with a gash across the bridge of his nose and a half-open right eye. Both fighters spent most of the five rounds tightly embraced, and covered in each other’s fluids. The striking thing about this fight, and MMA fights in general, is the lack of fear of being hit, of pain, of sacrificing one’s body for momentary victory. There is always the question as to why we are drawn to violent sports. I am certain there are literally thousands of papers dealing with our socio-psychological attraction to blood sports.
What initially turned me away from MMA is now what draws me to the sport. I see how there is a mastery of the brawl itself. It’s an illustration of humanity at one of its basest forms (which I say with utmost respect). MMA is not designed to be pretty or an art form, but more so designed for us to engage in pure confrontation. We gather in public places, and cringe and cheer in unison at the battle before us, respectful of the combatants and what they put themselves through for our entertainment. It takes a unique type of person to fight in such a manner, someone who is constantly taking on a different type of challenger and style of fighting in a way you don’t see with other forms of sports. The rules are limited, and each man is there to fight until the fight is over with little interference from anyone else unless there is absolute certainty a fighter cannot continue. It is an honest sport, and I think we’ve lost a lot of honesty in other sports. MMA doesn’t pretend to be anything more than what it is – two people in a ring and time where someone leaves a winner. I may be hooked

I had this relatively honest, and sincere introduction of myself … I went to preview it, and wordpress ate it.  I’m a little sad about that, especially since it claims to auto save the draft.  It’s a liar to me.  With that said, I can’t recreate what I wrote before and I will just say a friendly hello to you anonymous people out there in the world wide web (yes, I’m definitely dating myself – don’t make me reminisce about alta vista or prodigy or dial up).  

What you will find in the coming posts:

• Happy things
• Sad things
• Angry things
• Food things 
• Any things

I look forward to providing more useless content to the world.