There are certain things you don’t do or say to a man unless you are looking for fisticuffs. If a man were to goose your girlfriend and call her an objective name, one would expect tensions to rise at a furious rate, and before long fists would be flying. Other times it comes in a much more primal costume. Like when you are walking down the street, and a man passes you by and spins you around and tosses you a down pillow. You’re natural reaction is to protect your invisible pillow line in the sand, and launch straight into a pillow fight that would look like a battle scene out of 300. That’s exactly what this man did.
Once upon a time, here were about five UFCs a year, and they’d air on satellite pay-per-view so you’d have to travel via bus to the only sports bar in New York City just to watch the damn thing. If you wanted more than that, then maybe, if you knew a guy who knew a guy, you could get your hands on a VHS copy of PRIDE or one of the old Extreme Challenges that had a production value of about negative ten dollars. And that was it. That was all you got. Now, however, you have MMA coming out the ying-yang. Take this weekend for example. On Friday, there’s UFC Fight Night 33, which is taking place in Australia on Saturday, but through the magic of Einstein’s Theory of Relativity we get to watch it a day early. Then on Saturday there’s Invicta FC on Internet pay-per-view, and also the World Series of Fighting on the Home Shopping Network (or something like that). That’s a lot of mixed martial arts.
So what’s a true fan like you supposed to do to keep track of all this impending violence? Don’t worry, I’ve got you covered.
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Four out of five nutrition specialists agree that a balanced MMA diet consists of at least one daily dose of beef of the Twitter variety. So here’s today’s helping, courtesy of some inflated senses of self-worth and big egos.
Ben Askren vs. Phil Baroni?
It’s been a weird year for Ronda Rousey. She became a trailblazing and beloved UFC champ and superstar, scored some movie roles, coached a season of TUF, and – when everyone got to see her on camera – became pretty reviled for being somewhat of a tool. Of course, what we see on a highly-edited reality show is likely the farthest thing from what we’d see with our own eyes if our daily lives included interacting with the UFC’s female bantamweight champ. But that just begs the question, “Who is this Rousey chick and what makes her tick?”
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Somewhere around Chuck Liddell’s 32nd brain-altering concussion, I transitioned from ardent MMA nut-hugger to sober realist, and began seeing just how much brain trauma these fighters subject themselves to for the sake of sport. Don’t get me wrong, I love watching fights in the cage, and I know full well that these athletes willingly accept these risks as part and parcel of the whole “shed blood for a living” thing. So this isn’t me speaking out against the ills of unarmed combat, nor is it me asking for everyone to join hands and sing “Kumbayah” in the name of all the grey matter that’s leaked out onto the Octagon floor. Heck no. It is, however, me broaching the subject of expiration dates, and how, like that carton of 2% milk sitting in your fridge, each and every one of the warriors we watch set foot in the cage must at some point call it quits.
That’s right. I’m talking about the “Must Retire” list of 2013.