The First Rule of Fight Club is: You Do Not Talk about Fight Club...
Last night I got my first taste of the madness known as Ultimate Fighting Championship (UFC). Let me back up...
Mr. MarthaWho and I just returned from a lovely getaway to a ski haus up North. The cozy A-Frame is owned by my high school best friends' husband's boss and he graciously lets them use it every year for a ski weekend. This year there were a dozen people including us. A dozen people from a dizzying array of occupations and ages and personalities. A dozen people of all ski-proficiency levels. A dozen people sharing one bathroom. Somehow it all worked out -- it's a beautiful thing when a group of strangers can get together and find common ground for a moment in time, and have a great time in the process.
The secret of course to keeping a dozen people in harmony for 48 hours is to let everyone go where the wind blows them. Saturday was one of those days -- one couple went to scout real estate in the area, one lone snowboarder headed up to the mountain, four people decided to stretch their quads on a cross country trail, the couple with the adorable three month old baby took a drive and ran to the grocery store, and my friend and I spent the day at the haus working on our scrapbooks and making dinner for the evening. We shared all of our respective tales from our adventures when we all reconvened for dinner -- even our beverages showed our different personal preferences as the beer, wine, whiskey, coconut rum, and smirnoff ice was a-flowing, and the apres ski scene was off to a kicking start.
I had known for a while that Saturday evening's itinerary was to include watching a fight on TV. There had been some drama and excitement about bringing satellite receivers and Tivo boxes from home and not knowing if they would work at someone else's house, much less on a TV that looked to be circa 1960. (for the record, it does work).
MarthaWho as it turns out, has a checkered history as a boxing fan. I'll spare the details since they are largely irrelevant to this story, and because I'm sure it is shockingly incongruous to the scrapbooking diva chef rep I've worked to attain in the last decade of my life. But suffice it to say, there was a time I felt the blood and sweat and heat of a match or two from a really good set of golden ringside seats. I had assumed this would be an HBO-style old school Boxing match. I was up for it.
As the pre-game festivites kicked off, I learned how wrong I was. This was not boxing - this was UFC fighting. The best consensus description of UFC was that it was a combination of wrestling, boxing, and street fighting, with a heavy emphasis on martial arts. I should pause here and say that my friend's husband is a smart, gentle guy with a recent black belt in (I think) Kempo, now tearing up the ranks in Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu as well. A few of the other guys at the haus were also at various levels of training in one, both, or other martial arts disciplines. I have to say it's an impressive group, and I have a high regard for martial arts training in general. So back to our indoor tailgate party.... it was centered around a years' worth of Tivo'd matches which our gracious host sped through and recapped in fast motion, stopping to re-play highlight matches from 2004 and 2005 to set the stage for the big event.
With the glaring exception of one match which even the guys in the room admitted was the "best ground fight of 2005" (it was a marvelous pas de deux between two very skilled martial arts warriors), the rest of the matches left me with my jaw on the floor. Shattering my context of the comfortably American boxing rules and setting, UFC is played out in "THE OCTAGON" which is a 8-sided ring surround on all sides not by forgiving rope, but by solid chain link fence. There are not very many rules and the ones that do exist are ambiguous-- you can't kick a guy when he's down (although, if you're the guy who's down, you are allowed to kick up at the other guy), you can't use your hands/fingers to grip the chain link for leverage (but you are allowed to use your feet/toes), and you can't kick the opponent in the groin (although apparently this is a recent development, as everyone in the room could remember a time when UFC was full of groin-kickin escapades).
As the evening wore on, and the live event began (which was FORTY DOLLARS on Pay Per View by the way... I could PPV Cinderella Man 11 times for that price to whet my mano a mano appetite. Jesus) I witnessed what a UFC fighter is allowed to do. Here are some highlights:
Where was the beautiful, centered, wax-on wax-off Martial Arts influence?? Where was the sportsmanlike conduct?? Where were the gentleman-ly rules?? Where was the referee or physician, or corner jockey who would stop a fight to close a wound or perform CPR?? The UFC fighters are nearly naked (just trunks and short thin fingerless gloves to protect their knuckles - no shoes, no headgear). This clothing-less status creates a very... slippery environment once the blood and sweat starts flowing, which is usually in the first 60 seconds. I watched in horror as Fighters in mid-card matches were forced to roll around in the blood of the previous fights. The guys in the room said that's because all the fighters are tested for HIV and other blood-bourne diseases, but I saw the two layers of gloves on every referee.
The near-nudity and sold-out Vegas spotlight location are about the only two things separating UFC fighting from your run of the mill street fighting. Most of the undercard fighters looked like frat boy thugs. There was nothing elegant or appealing about the spectacle whatsoever. I couldn't even look at the TV during a few of the matches when catastrophic injuries were ignored (my favorite was one guy who said to his trainer -- I can't see out of my left eye -- but the fight continued anyway until his head was an bloody stump and the winner was squawking his chicken dance above him...)
Even in the bloodiest of the boxing matches (reputable non Mike Tyson boxing matches), cuts are cleaned up, referees stop fights for mortal injuries, and victors are usually respectful of the loser. I was stunned that the articulate, bright, gregarious, and accomplished serious martial arts students in the room were so into this carnage. Their answers were surprising -- there was a prevailing sense in the room that most of these fighters are from humble backgrounds, lacking money and education, and do not have any other options in their lives than to fight in these matches... that this rise above meager surroundings was inspirational. I'm not sure I agree, and while I think this sentiment was perpetuated by a Spike TV reality series on the UFC, I can certainly respect the sentiment -- though I'd be lying if I said it didn't make me feel a bit sorry for the young thugs in the undercard matches -- they are literally risking their lives for 15 seconds of Spike TV fame. And what future? The guys indicated that UFC fighting is only recognized by the athletic commissions of a handful of states. It's apparently quite huge over in Japan (where there are even fewer rules).
Mr. MarthaWho and I just returned from a lovely getaway to a ski haus up North. The cozy A-Frame is owned by my high school best friends' husband's boss and he graciously lets them use it every year for a ski weekend. This year there were a dozen people including us. A dozen people from a dizzying array of occupations and ages and personalities. A dozen people of all ski-proficiency levels. A dozen people sharing one bathroom. Somehow it all worked out -- it's a beautiful thing when a group of strangers can get together and find common ground for a moment in time, and have a great time in the process.
The secret of course to keeping a dozen people in harmony for 48 hours is to let everyone go where the wind blows them. Saturday was one of those days -- one couple went to scout real estate in the area, one lone snowboarder headed up to the mountain, four people decided to stretch their quads on a cross country trail, the couple with the adorable three month old baby took a drive and ran to the grocery store, and my friend and I spent the day at the haus working on our scrapbooks and making dinner for the evening. We shared all of our respective tales from our adventures when we all reconvened for dinner -- even our beverages showed our different personal preferences as the beer, wine, whiskey, coconut rum, and smirnoff ice was a-flowing, and the apres ski scene was off to a kicking start.
I had known for a while that Saturday evening's itinerary was to include watching a fight on TV. There had been some drama and excitement about bringing satellite receivers and Tivo boxes from home and not knowing if they would work at someone else's house, much less on a TV that looked to be circa 1960. (for the record, it does work).
MarthaWho as it turns out, has a checkered history as a boxing fan. I'll spare the details since they are largely irrelevant to this story, and because I'm sure it is shockingly incongruous to the scrapbooking diva chef rep I've worked to attain in the last decade of my life. But suffice it to say, there was a time I felt the blood and sweat and heat of a match or two from a really good set of golden ringside seats. I had assumed this would be an HBO-style old school Boxing match. I was up for it.
As the pre-game festivites kicked off, I learned how wrong I was. This was not boxing - this was UFC fighting. The best consensus description of UFC was that it was a combination of wrestling, boxing, and street fighting, with a heavy emphasis on martial arts. I should pause here and say that my friend's husband is a smart, gentle guy with a recent black belt in (I think) Kempo, now tearing up the ranks in Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu as well. A few of the other guys at the haus were also at various levels of training in one, both, or other martial arts disciplines. I have to say it's an impressive group, and I have a high regard for martial arts training in general. So back to our indoor tailgate party.... it was centered around a years' worth of Tivo'd matches which our gracious host sped through and recapped in fast motion, stopping to re-play highlight matches from 2004 and 2005 to set the stage for the big event.
With the glaring exception of one match which even the guys in the room admitted was the "best ground fight of 2005" (it was a marvelous pas de deux between two very skilled martial arts warriors), the rest of the matches left me with my jaw on the floor. Shattering my context of the comfortably American boxing rules and setting, UFC is played out in "THE OCTAGON" which is a 8-sided ring surround on all sides not by forgiving rope, but by solid chain link fence. There are not very many rules and the ones that do exist are ambiguous-- you can't kick a guy when he's down (although, if you're the guy who's down, you are allowed to kick up at the other guy), you can't use your hands/fingers to grip the chain link for leverage (but you are allowed to use your feet/toes), and you can't kick the opponent in the groin (although apparently this is a recent development, as everyone in the room could remember a time when UFC was full of groin-kickin escapades).
As the evening wore on, and the live event began (which was FORTY DOLLARS on Pay Per View by the way... I could PPV Cinderella Man 11 times for that price to whet my mano a mano appetite. Jesus) I witnessed what a UFC fighter is allowed to do. Here are some highlights:
- The UFC fighter can sauna, take a laxative, puke, fast, whatever, to drop weight before the weigh in, and then take extraordinary measures to gain all of the weight back before the match. There was a fighter last night that gained 30 freakin' pounds between the weigh in and the match.WTF??? That's like another weight class entirely.
- The UFC fighter can (and in fact is encouraged) to repeatedly punch the opponent in the head. There was more cauliflower in the OCTAGON than in the produce section at the supermarket.
- When a wound is opened and blood is gushing, the UFC fighter is encouraged to continue punching the opponent -- preferably on the open wound itself, to make the bleeding worse.
- The UFC fighter can strangle the opponent until the opponent blacks out.
- The UFC fighter can lift the opponent and drop him on his head.
- The UFC fighter can straddle his opponent and use any part of him as a punching bag (except the groin of course). I think this is called the "Pound and Ground"...
- The UFC victor is apparently encouraged to perform his own special "touchdown-esque" victory dance mocking his opponent.
Where was the beautiful, centered, wax-on wax-off Martial Arts influence?? Where was the sportsmanlike conduct?? Where were the gentleman-ly rules?? Where was the referee or physician, or corner jockey who would stop a fight to close a wound or perform CPR?? The UFC fighters are nearly naked (just trunks and short thin fingerless gloves to protect their knuckles - no shoes, no headgear). This clothing-less status creates a very... slippery environment once the blood and sweat starts flowing, which is usually in the first 60 seconds. I watched in horror as Fighters in mid-card matches were forced to roll around in the blood of the previous fights. The guys in the room said that's because all the fighters are tested for HIV and other blood-bourne diseases, but I saw the two layers of gloves on every referee.
The near-nudity and sold-out Vegas spotlight location are about the only two things separating UFC fighting from your run of the mill street fighting. Most of the undercard fighters looked like frat boy thugs. There was nothing elegant or appealing about the spectacle whatsoever. I couldn't even look at the TV during a few of the matches when catastrophic injuries were ignored (my favorite was one guy who said to his trainer -- I can't see out of my left eye -- but the fight continued anyway until his head was an bloody stump and the winner was squawking his chicken dance above him...)
Even in the bloodiest of the boxing matches (reputable non Mike Tyson boxing matches), cuts are cleaned up, referees stop fights for mortal injuries, and victors are usually respectful of the loser. I was stunned that the articulate, bright, gregarious, and accomplished serious martial arts students in the room were so into this carnage. Their answers were surprising -- there was a prevailing sense in the room that most of these fighters are from humble backgrounds, lacking money and education, and do not have any other options in their lives than to fight in these matches... that this rise above meager surroundings was inspirational. I'm not sure I agree, and while I think this sentiment was perpetuated by a Spike TV reality series on the UFC, I can certainly respect the sentiment -- though I'd be lying if I said it didn't make me feel a bit sorry for the young thugs in the undercard matches -- they are literally risking their lives for 15 seconds of Spike TV fame. And what future? The guys indicated that UFC fighting is only recognized by the athletic commissions of a handful of states. It's apparently quite huge over in Japan (where there are even fewer rules).
It also could be the fact that it was a PPV event -- to be fair, perhaps the non-PPV, or the non-televised events are more sophisticated. There must be a producer who pulls the strings to make sure there is blood and gore and mutilation to appease us working stiffs who are paying $40 to watch. Gotta give us our money's worth. It's sad to imagine that this is what America is craving right now.
It's funny, because I can kind of see the potential of what this UFC stuff could be -- if it were truly as the guys describe it -- like the one really good 2005 match they showed us. Something very heavy on the martial arts front, between two mature fighters who show a sportsmanly concern for each other's well being after they deliver a righteous rocking.
I would offer the following suggestions to the UFC commison, Spike TV and any other person or party involved in bringing this unneeded violence to America's youth (and the thirtysomething scene as well):
More martial arts artistry and less thug fighting.
More referee intervention when medical attention is obviously needed.
A modified Zamboni with a 100 degree Lysol power spray between matches.
Maybe then I'll reconsider my fan-hood.
For now I'll stick with scrapbooking.
*it was a great weekend! thanks, Mr. and Mrs. B (and Mr. B's boss)!
posted by Martha Who? | 4:26 PM
1 Comments:
MW, you have completed satiated my curiosity in UFC. It has been on my radar soley because I @ one time was, much like yourself, a fan of boxing. I recall PPV-ing Leonard Duran: Uno Mas nearly 15 years ago, as well as several other prominent matches of the latter greats, Buster Douglas, Tyson and the like.
It might be worth it to note that this rise in popularity of bloodsport is roughly analogous as relative to a Roman timeline, thus furthering our connections to the dead empire and ensuing analogies to the culture and decline of the present empire. Wink wink, nudge nudge.
Good entry.
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