Madtown Throwdown II
I didn’t know what to expect. In my mind, I imagined an academic setting, a ring, and seated observers watching carefully for the nuances of each fighter’s style. The referee would wear black pants and a polo shirt, and the crowd would clap politely as each fighter jockeyed for better grappling position.
The fights, I thought, would be mostly grappling affairs where strikes weren’t really necessary.
As it turned out, it was more like a hesher convention. Heavy metal music blared over loudspeakers, the audience dressed in denim jackets and torn jeans covered in black magic marker drawings and showed contempt for the smoking ban. About a hundred people crowded around the lone table where two crones served up pale beer in clear plastic cups. Women sauntered around in criminally short skirts, dangerously low cut tops, and high-heeled boots. The whole place reeked of hair spray.
And I brought my daughter.
During the fights, I heard some of the most profane language I’ve ever been privy to in my life – and I used to live with this guy, who, along with his sister, demonstrates an amazing command of cursing.
We sat up front, at a table near ringside. I was about six feet from the ring, and besides the ringside physician and the announcer, I was the single closest person to the stairs up to the ring. Every fighter walked right past me before they fought, and they walked past me after they won or lost.
So the fights themselves were pretty violent. One guy actually did get his arm broken, when his opponent (Marsello) put him in an arm lock. Instead of submitting, he picked the guy up by his locked arm and dropped him on his head a few times, though Marsello held the lock steady and twisted the arm in the wrong direction. Then the ref stopped the fight.
Another fight featured a Madison-area fighter I’ll call “Mark” because I don’t know his name. While being announced, he stared down his opponent, Mike, and did this monkey stomp kind of thing, making a loud noise. When the fight started, Mike knocked him on his ass, grabbed one of his legs, and twisted it in a painful-looking direction. “Mark” tapped out (that’s a way of saying Uncle), and the fight was over in 15 seconds. As “Mark” hobbled away to his corner, Mike did the monkey stomp back at him. Hilarious!
The heavyweight fight – not the title fight, just the fight between the two biggest guys – was incredibly boring. Doug, who looked pretty well-trained, would take some shots at Damian, who, being out of shape and bigger, ducked the punches, wrapped his arms around Doug’s waist, and pushed him in the corner. Where he would proceed to knee Doug in the thighs over and over again. Eventually the ref broke them up, and the process repeated. This was the only fight that went its full duration, and Doug won by a split decision. He didn’t really do much, but then again, neither did Damian.
Another fight between two kickboxers had some exciting moments – they took each other down, did some Jiu-Jitsu, got up, traded blows, went to the ground again, got up again, traded more blows, and then one of them threw a kick out of nowhere into the other guy’s head. Nobody was expecting it: you could hear the entire room gasp in unison. Needless to say, the guy who received the kick wasn’t expecting it either, took it full-on, and went down.
Knocked out!
Nick, a guy who trains at my Jiu-Jitsu school, also fought. He’s trying to become a professional freestyle fighter, so these matter. He’s got something to prove.
His opponent, who I will call “Pete”, stood in the ring before the fight and thumped his chest, and refused to touch fists – the equivalent of shaking hands – before the fight began. Nick took this for the insult it was, and absolutely destroyed this guy. He had an advantage because he’s got longer arms, but it wasn’t even a contest. He laid two punches right in the Pete’s face, took him down to the ground, mounted him, and started landing elbows on the guy’s face, mixed with a punch here and there.
The ref stopped the fight quickly after that. I think they called it a technical knock-out, but it was more like a total ass-whupping. Shit. Pete stood up and had trouble balancing. His head looked like a swollen red potato, and blood streamed from a cut on his brow into his right eye. I was simultaneously fascinated and repulsed. This was more than a car wreck. This was watching the destruction a man hath wrought upon another. The crowd loved it.
He walked blindly past me, back to the locker rooms, staring vacantly at nothingness, his bloody face lacking all emotion.
On stage, Nick grabbed the mic and shouted, “I want to thank all of you for coming out tonight, we’re going to take this shit around the world and you just remember that it all started here in Madison!” He was beaming, triumphant. Lean muscle stretched over his entire body. The bright ringside lights shone down on his freshly shaved skull and reflected off the streams of sweat on his face and chest.
Standing there, shouting at the crowd with a fierce look in his eyes, he was like some terrible god come to tell us all.
The fights, I thought, would be mostly grappling affairs where strikes weren’t really necessary.
As it turned out, it was more like a hesher convention. Heavy metal music blared over loudspeakers, the audience dressed in denim jackets and torn jeans covered in black magic marker drawings and showed contempt for the smoking ban. About a hundred people crowded around the lone table where two crones served up pale beer in clear plastic cups. Women sauntered around in criminally short skirts, dangerously low cut tops, and high-heeled boots. The whole place reeked of hair spray.
And I brought my daughter.
During the fights, I heard some of the most profane language I’ve ever been privy to in my life – and I used to live with this guy, who, along with his sister, demonstrates an amazing command of cursing.
We sat up front, at a table near ringside. I was about six feet from the ring, and besides the ringside physician and the announcer, I was the single closest person to the stairs up to the ring. Every fighter walked right past me before they fought, and they walked past me after they won or lost.
So the fights themselves were pretty violent. One guy actually did get his arm broken, when his opponent (Marsello) put him in an arm lock. Instead of submitting, he picked the guy up by his locked arm and dropped him on his head a few times, though Marsello held the lock steady and twisted the arm in the wrong direction. Then the ref stopped the fight.
Another fight featured a Madison-area fighter I’ll call “Mark” because I don’t know his name. While being announced, he stared down his opponent, Mike, and did this monkey stomp kind of thing, making a loud noise. When the fight started, Mike knocked him on his ass, grabbed one of his legs, and twisted it in a painful-looking direction. “Mark” tapped out (that’s a way of saying Uncle), and the fight was over in 15 seconds. As “Mark” hobbled away to his corner, Mike did the monkey stomp back at him. Hilarious!
The heavyweight fight – not the title fight, just the fight between the two biggest guys – was incredibly boring. Doug, who looked pretty well-trained, would take some shots at Damian, who, being out of shape and bigger, ducked the punches, wrapped his arms around Doug’s waist, and pushed him in the corner. Where he would proceed to knee Doug in the thighs over and over again. Eventually the ref broke them up, and the process repeated. This was the only fight that went its full duration, and Doug won by a split decision. He didn’t really do much, but then again, neither did Damian.
Another fight between two kickboxers had some exciting moments – they took each other down, did some Jiu-Jitsu, got up, traded blows, went to the ground again, got up again, traded more blows, and then one of them threw a kick out of nowhere into the other guy’s head. Nobody was expecting it: you could hear the entire room gasp in unison. Needless to say, the guy who received the kick wasn’t expecting it either, took it full-on, and went down.
Knocked out!
Nick, a guy who trains at my Jiu-Jitsu school, also fought. He’s trying to become a professional freestyle fighter, so these matter. He’s got something to prove.
His opponent, who I will call “Pete”, stood in the ring before the fight and thumped his chest, and refused to touch fists – the equivalent of shaking hands – before the fight began. Nick took this for the insult it was, and absolutely destroyed this guy. He had an advantage because he’s got longer arms, but it wasn’t even a contest. He laid two punches right in the Pete’s face, took him down to the ground, mounted him, and started landing elbows on the guy’s face, mixed with a punch here and there.
The ref stopped the fight quickly after that. I think they called it a technical knock-out, but it was more like a total ass-whupping. Shit. Pete stood up and had trouble balancing. His head looked like a swollen red potato, and blood streamed from a cut on his brow into his right eye. I was simultaneously fascinated and repulsed. This was more than a car wreck. This was watching the destruction a man hath wrought upon another. The crowd loved it.
He walked blindly past me, back to the locker rooms, staring vacantly at nothingness, his bloody face lacking all emotion.
On stage, Nick grabbed the mic and shouted, “I want to thank all of you for coming out tonight, we’re going to take this shit around the world and you just remember that it all started here in Madison!” He was beaming, triumphant. Lean muscle stretched over his entire body. The bright ringside lights shone down on his freshly shaved skull and reflected off the streams of sweat on his face and chest.
Standing there, shouting at the crowd with a fierce look in his eyes, he was like some terrible god come to tell us all.
posted by Sam at
7:00 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]
<< Home