Would it be wrong for this anti pugilist to admit he loves watching the toughest dudes on the planet pummel the bejesus out of each other? As it further confirms the contradictory nature of my personality, and my tendency to spend every penny I earn, and then some, no one should be surprised to hear I spent $620 to indulge my blood lust. More so because I stated as such in my previous journal. Never again should I question where my money goes when I am willing to throw such large sums of it towards something so unnecessary.
Unnecessary or not, a UFC show is an absolutely amazing spectacle. Having witnessed the full event from inside a sold out Acer Arena, I can understand how mixed martial arts is the fastest growing sport on the planet. I can also understand the appeal of watching Christians being torn apart by ferocious lions as collective blood lust swept me back in time to the frothing crowds of Rome's Colosseum. The intention of each fighter to render his opponent unconscious or unable to further defend himself would horrify pacifists or non Romans were those intentions not tempered by mutual respect amongst fighters and strict rules about the way damage can be inflicted. Sure, raining down elbows onto a bloody face while pinning the opponent to the mat is kosher as long as he is still able to avoid most of the carnage. Kicking a downed opponent is not on, as well as head butting, eye gouging or shots to the man jewels though.
After looking forward to this event for a long time before it was even announced, Trev and I, along with everyone else gathered it seemed, needed nothing more than the atmosphere to work ourselves up to a fine neighbour-bashing frenzy. Our corporate box seats evaporated into the ether leading us to doubt whether or not they ever existed. The shady scalper we brought the tickets off eventually came good with seats close enough to hear the clash of bodies, but too far away to catch a tooth or a spray of blood unfortunately.
The preliminary fights didn't disappoint with Chris 'Lights out' Lytle hyper extending his opponents knee so he required assistance to leave the octagon after the fight. Stephan 'The American Psycho' Bonnar wanted to fight on with a broken nose and a massive forehead gash that covered both fighters bodies and parts of the octagon with blood. The fight was only stopped because the human gravy was flowing into his eyes, increasing the chances of Krzysztof 'The Polish Experiment' Soszynski finding another way to drain more blood from his body.
A late call up for Australian Anthony 'The Hippo' Perosh did little to prepare him for his fight with Mirko Cro Cop, a cold and calculating Croatian heavy weight. Out sized and out classed, Perosh was made to look well out of his league as every attack with snuffed out with minimal effort by Cro Crop. Taking the fight to the ground, Cro Crop opened up the side of the Hippo's head with a brutal elbow that required a doctors intervention. Even though the blood was as copious as Stephan's, the fight was allowed to continue because it was not affecting his vision. Much to the relief of the crowd, the doctor eventually realised things were only going to get worse and called the fight off.
Thankfully, Geelong fighter George Sotiropoulos gave the crowds more to cheer for when he upset more fancied rival Joe 'Daddy' Stevenson. Gleefully, his underdog rating helped us net $108 from a $40 bet as well. More money was won on the last two fights, but that paled into comparison to the crowds reaction when everyone's favourite Wanderlei 'The Axe Murderer' Silva knocked bad boy Michael 'The Count' Bisping to the mat in the last 10 seconds of their fight. I have no idea what my body or mouth were doing but all exuberance was echoed by the 16,000 people going equally rabid.
By the time Cain Velasquez knocked out Antonio Minotauro Nogueira with a massive straight right that sounded like metal on wood, I had shouted my throat coarse and no further speech was possible. And like the passing of a hurricane, a quiet hush fell upon an exhausted crowd once the final fighter left the octagon victorious. We were left to soak up the afterglow of an orgy of violence, and everyone felt as satisfied as the heathen lions of ancient times. I long ago gave up questioning the motivations of humanity, yet I had to marvel at how involved I could get in such a brutal pass time. Without the parameters that define it, the UFC would be an old school theatre of bloodied gladiators and half eaten corpses. As it stands now though, the spectacle of the event speaks to our most basic and primitive of instincts to fight for survival and dominance. In a slightly more politically correct way than feeding Christians to the lions. Thank God Harry 'The Beef' Wellington doesn't have to fight anyone for his tofu or he would have been someone else's dinner a long time ago.
P.S. An interesting point for people who love coincidences. This is journal entry #110 about UFC110! Spooky, in a way that nothing of any relevance could be interpreted from it.
