Last week’s Low Blow featured another two bits. Since our retarded Freestyle episode, everyone has been clamoring for more Sean Connery, so we decided to give his martial arts system Sean Fu a commercial spot. And then there’s the return of Danny ‘The Colossus’ Abaddi featured in our Friday Night Fight ad.
The article on the UFC front page says it all : “The Maine-iac is Back – Sylvia decisions Vera on UFC 77 Main Card“. Yep, Tim Sylvia is back, and he’s still as boring as ever. I’ve gotten used to that reality at this point. I haven’t seen Sylvia come out with any real aggro intentions since he knocked out Andrei Arlovski a year and a half ago.
But this time there were all sorts of signs that Tim would be different. He replaced his boxing coach whose ‘Keep the distance and jab away” style has resulted in worse approval ratings than George W Bush. Alas, change was not in the cards this night, as Tim tied up Vera and pushed him against the fence for over half the fight. At one point a fight broke out in the stands that had more people on their feet than the event in the Octagon.
What drove me nuts about this fight was the fact that Tim was owning Vera in the exchanges. Why he kept deciding to clinch and push Brandon Vera around I have no fucking clue. He said something about his gameplan being to close the distance to prevent Vera from using his kicks, but this wasn’t all that necessary.
Sylvia should have been able to realize he was winning the striking and adjust his game plan. You could see his corner playing charades between rounds showing Tim how to push Vera off and throw more punches.
Anyways … it wasn’t the fact that Tim was uninspired again. I’m used to that at this point. It was the flashes of real talent wasted that got me all riled up.
We come to you live from Cincinnati Ohio for a special post-UFC77 episode of the Low Blow. This baby’s all about UFC 77 … the fights in the octagon, the fights in the stands, the urine all over the bathrooms, the screaming bitches in the stands. In short: the madness of a UFC event!
Download the show here, or stream it using the handy dandy talkshoe app to your right. iTunes feed should be fixed too so if you’re into that kind of thing, yeah. It’ll work
Low Blow co-host and general assface Jacob has written up an ode to Mickey’s for getting us fucking hammered last night. Here’s the review…
In Canada City, there are a few things you can never seem to get your hands on. It can be notoriously difficult to buy a nice, cheap gun, especially when you’re mad. It’s also impossible to get your hands on any Mickey’s, the ‘official beer’ of the UFC. Though we tried valiantly to find a premium malt liquor up North, the closest thing we have to it here is “Johnny Bootlegger” a brew so foul in makes urine seem like champagne. And so, our trek from the land of perpetual winter was due, at least in part, to our intense desire to taste the sweet nectar of the gods known as Mickey’s.
Now although we are Canadians, we here at fightlinker would like to clarify that we have no fucking clue what goes into beer, how it’s manufactured, and what the difference is between a lager and a pilsner. We in fact do not care, so long as by the end of the night, Ryan is attempting to balance things on his head, and I am making people cry with my acerbic wit.
So imagine our delight when we were finally taken to a bar where we could try our very first Malt liquor beverage. We were quickly serviced with two King-cans by a shaggable, though arguably highly annoying and pushy waitress, who I unsuccessfully tried to put the moves on. Apparently, outside my little country, a girl is offended when you offer to stick your thumb up their ass, but I digress.
The cans were decorated with the stately image of Chuck Liddell, and the sweet sound of victory was to be ours as we cracked the can open and finally put the drink to our parched lips. So how did our expectations measure up? We liked it. We really enjoyed our first experience drinking malt liquor, and felt little to no shame doing it. So encouraged were we that 8-9 more tallboys were to make their way into our bloodstream, stopping just short of killing the both of us. It made me smooth enough to get a girl to touch my funny places, and drunk enough to make Ryan almost take a piss in the bar’s kitchen.. good times!
Of course, no taste test is complete without the morning after review. So, how messed up were we from our premium, malt liquor escapade? Miraculously, not at all. No hangover, no puking. Sure, my pee smelled funny, and I think there was a bit of blood in my stool, but that happens every so often anyways. All in all, a satisfying experience, one that we hope will allow us to continue endlessly selling out to a major corporation while our integrity and souls slowly fade to nothingness.