Jon Wertheim – the dude who wrote that Sports Illustrated cover story on MMA and the book Blood in the Cage – is back on the reporting beat and he just did a profile on Brock Lesnar, who is an odd duck indeed. While most stars have a home out in the middle of nowhere so they can escape, Lesnar stays at his all the time and is a general recluse, using his small fortune to bring trainers to him instead of traveling around himself:
A self-described Northern redneck, the 31-year-old Lesnar is a wood-splitting, truck-driving, real-life hunter-gatherer who owns more guns (dozens) than e-mail accounts (none). “The people I care about,” he says, “they know where to find me if they need me.”
The hottest fighter in this hot sport lives in frigid Alexandria, Minn. (pop. 11,187), a town approximately halfway between Fargo, N.D., and Minneapolis and a million cultural miles from the UFC’s base in Las Vegas. Alexandria is the kind of place where Carhartts outnumber Nikes and pickups outnumber cars, where six inches of snow is considered a light dusting, and a restaurant marquee on the main drag triumphantly announces, we now serve pepsi!
UFC image-making types have gently floated the idea that Lesnar relocate to somewhere a bit more accessible, but in this, as in his fights, the 6′ 3″, 265-pound Lesnar can’t be pushed around. “Up here people let you lead your life,” he says. “Even if you’re the Britney Spears of Alexandria, it means you might have to sign one autograph on your way to go ice fishing.”
I might not like Brock Lesnar very much (his raging homophobia is a deal breaker, no matter how many dudes he smashes), I can sorta respect someone who has a shitload of cash but decides to stay in the middle of buttfuck nowhere. Having no email address though … that’s just crazy. There are people in Africa starving to death who still have email addresses.