A Regular Guy's Mixed Martial Arts Diary
Place: Plymouth Memorial Hall
Event: Untamed 14
As is the case with most cultural phenomena, I’m a little late to the party on Mixed Martial Arts. I’m not saying I’ve never watched it, but I haven’t exactly followed it, either. To this point, MMA fighting has just been something I flip to when NESN starts the incessant promo-ing of “Sox Appeal”; a minor distraction.
I know two things about MMA. 1) Millions of Americans find it entertaining. 2) Dozens of Americans are trying to stop those millions from ever being entertained by it again.
A sport that’s both fun to watch and might be banned? That was all I needed to know, and I was there. Me, my cousin Phil and my brothers Bill and Jim. Phil was the leader of this expedition, since his son Matt has started fighting competitively. (And to the list of things that make you realize you’re getting old you can add “Nephew competes in blood sport”.)
A little research ahead of time taught me that, like anything in American culture that becomes popular, MMA is getting the inevitable backlash. When millions of us find something entertaining, then it takes no time for someone to come along and say that, by God, something must be done to stop it. With the tone of righteous indignation and twerpy concern that’s the native tongue of these self-appointed moral buttinskis, the anti-MMA crusaders are railing against “human cockfighting.” Like one politician who said, “We allow no cockfighting in cages in Sioux Falls, we don't allow dogs to fight in cages, but we do allow human beings to fight in cages at the moment and something is wrong.”
So I found myself left with a choice: I could respect the MMA guys as David Hume would have, by acknowledging their God-given free will to climb into the ring as they see fit, or side with some South Dakota politician and compare them to the family Schnauzer and your next appetizer at Hooters. I chose to cast my lot with the free will crowd and grab a ticket.
Plus I had questions to answer. Is MMA as great as people make it out to be? Is it the decline of civilization? Do I need to be protected from it? Should I just stay home and wait for the premiere of “Sox Appeal”?
Beforehand.Phil, Bill, Jimbo and I meet at the bar in the Chinese restaurant around the corner. It’s a safe bet that everyone there is going to the fights as well, since we’re the only ones in the place without steroidy Popeye forearms, giant HGH heads and barbed-wire neck tattoos. (Even the guys had them >rimshot<.) Not to be intimidated by a tough crowd, I get my gameface on by putting extra hot mustard on my boneless spare ribs. Bring it on.
Pre-fight.Plymouth Hall holds about 1,500 people, and it’s a sellout. The first thing you notice is that this is the last public event in America without any kind of a security screening. If you terrorists were hoping to intimidate the MMA crowd, you lose. Get a job, Osama.
The crowd is 70% male, 29% extremely hot female, and 1% other. There are three girls sitting in the row in front of us sporting low riders and thongs. Among the 1% “others” are the two kids I spot down front who can’t be more than 12, and I’m reminded of the family meeting we held to decide if my 11 year old can watch “Talledega Nights”
The MC of the event is a 30-something bald guy who looks like Baboo, the Pakistani restaurant owner from “Seinfeld.” He begins the night by explaining how they’ll be raising money for Muscular Dystrophy and hands the mic to a guy with MD who starts, in halted speech, to talk about the devastating effects of the disease. The crowd isn’t settled in yet and it’s difficult to hear, so there’s a lot of talking. To which Baboo grabs the mic and yells “Shut the fuck UP!!!” It’s that kind of catering to the paying customer that’s putting MMA at the top of the sports world. Eventually the poor soul with MD seems to be finished, so everyone gives him respectful, heartfelt applause. Soooo, he resumes talking. By now it’s becoming as uncomfortable as a bad Oscar speech, until eventually he finishes, but we’re afraid to clap again. Baboo tries to inject some energy into the crowd by screaming “You ain’t ready for SHIT!!!” apparently forgetting that he just told us to STFU. You just know Larry Lucchino would do this if he they‘d let him.
Fight No. 1. The first bout is flyweight amateurs. I’ve asked Phil to explain the rules to me like I’m a foreigner watching my first football game, so he’s my MMA mentor. The Batman to my Robin, minus the gay subtext. He says you can tell the amateur bouts because they wear soccer-like shin guards; the MMA equivalent of the “Trainee” hats McDonald’s workers wear. There’s no scoreboard, no scorecard, so there’s no chance of catching a name. All I can do is remember the fighters by look-alikes. This bout is Jonathan Silverman vs. Sid from “Toy Story.” It’s a minute and a half of solid fighting until the bout is stopped. Baboo declares the winner, but names the wrong guy. Michael Buffer he isn’t.
Fight 2. They introduce the ring girl. Implants, hair of a blonde color that doesn’t exist in nature (the inside of a twinkie maybe?) and shorts that a scrawny four year old couldn’t squeeze into. Devina is her name, and she owns the crowd. Someone bids $50 to MD just for the job of helping her in and out of the ring. Jimbo suggests they sell the rope she keeps stepping over. This fight is John Cusack from “Say Anything” vs. Emilio Estevez, and it occurs to me that either these guys all look like 80’s movie icons or I have got to update my pop culture references.
Fight 3. The fighters enter the hall with members of their…gym? Club? School? Dojo? I decide to go with “dojo.” Matt’s dojo is The Boneyard, and he walks a member to the ring. To a man, they all look like regular guys, not the rooster-brained dupes the anti-MMA fussypants would have you believe. They look like the typical guys you’d see hanging at Mary Ann’s on a Thursday night, except less prone to senseless violence. Baboo introduces the referee to which everyone responds, “They have a referee?” Andrew McCarthy beats Judd Nelson by triangle choke submission.
Fight 6. 230+ pounders. Bill comes up with the best gambling rule I’ve ever heard: “always bet against manboobs.” Ogre beats Biff Tannen by pinning him to the ground. Jimbo used to pull the same maneuver on me, except Ogre doesn’t dangle a big, viscous loogie in Biff’s face. Devina has changed into a belly shirt. She’s got a stomach you could scrub laundry on and a butt crack you could slide a debit card through. No word if they’re auctioning off her last outfit.
Fight 7. The chick in front of Jimbo hands him something. In the biggest longshot of the night, it’s one of those religious pamphlets you always get pushed on you in downtown Boston. I start perusing it to see if there’s anything in there like “For God so loved the world that he gave His only begotten Son so that others may dole out submission arm bars.” No luck. Only my Catholic guilt and her good looks keep me from saying “Gotta hand it to the Lord…standing up to that scourging when a lesser man would’ve tapped out.”
Fight 9. Johnny Lawrence vs. Rick Springfield. Phil explains to me how just because a guy is on top, he doesn’t have the advantage. How most times, the one on the bottom dominates. If that doesn’t sound right, than you haven’t been married as long as I have thankyouverymuch.
Fight 12. Baboo takes the time to thank “all of our sponsors,” but doesn’t add “for funding this mayhem and their callous disregard for human life.” Then he says that three bouts have been cancelled because the challengers didn’t show. “One because he’s in jail.” Damn…I had him taking the LSATs.
The rest of the night, and the fights in between, were more of the same. More 80‘s movie guys fighting other 80‘s movie guys. The fights were usually over quick, full of action, and yes, entertaining as hell. If you take away the hot chicks in thongs (and I don’t know why you would) the whole event could have been something our dads would’ve gone to at the IBEW hall in Dorchester 50 years ago.
So why was watching someone fight in a ring OK back then, but needs to be outlawed today? Is it just because MMA involves kicking? Because that means we’ll also need to ban Irish Step Dancing, Jackie Chan movies and the third trimester of pregnancies. No, I think the move to ban MMA fighting has less to do with protecting the public than it does with giving preachy, pedantic know-it-alls a chance to kill our national buzz yet again. We need to keep this sport going if for no other reason than to cheese these people off. Thanks to the MMA crowd for a great night. Consider me a fan.