I didn’t think it was possible that I could loathe The Ultimate Fighter anymore than I already do. Then I watched last night’s episode.
I’m actually disgusted with myself for even entertaining such an unseemly spectacle, but it’s kind of become like a horrible car wreck at this point. I don’t want to see some poor bastard’s bloody head hanging from the rear-view mirror, but I can’t look away. The show is such a disaster that I have to see it. Every agonizing minute they focus on the house antics churn my stomach, yet still I watched. And yes, I am adequately shamed.
The story of last night was Julian Lane, ya know, the guy with the stupid Mohawk who they’re devoting WAY too much time to because he has problems and the show’s bankrupt format tries to pass that off as “interesting.” Well, problems don’t even begin to describe this guy. He needs to seek professional help, immediately. After Dana White visits the guys at the house and basically tells them anyone who doesn’t deliver some stinking action is ass out of the finale, some of the fellas, led by Lane and Michael Hill, decide to do a bit of drinking. And if you’ve ever seen the show even once you know exactly where that leads – screaming, crying, flexing, fighting, and vandalism.
But Lane took it to a new low. He needs to be placed in a padded room with enough depressants to down a rhino. Look, we’ve all been 21, piss drunk, and full of testosterone. We know the stupidity that ensues, and we’ve all felt the embarrassment of acting like a complete jackass. I once tried to organize my fellow Virginia Beach drunk-tank prisoners in solidarity against our jailer-oppressors. Only when I was made to realize that several of them were plotting to beat the living shit out of me if I didn’t shut the fuck up did I relent. But there’s a wide line between youthful immaturity and downright insanity. And this kid has some rather serious issues that he desperately needs to address. Julian tried to fight everyone in the house – even the guys on his own team, was screaming like John Rambo when Art Galt tried to shave him dry, and even resorted to banging his head into the walls like a tard.
Mike Ricci, the unassuming fellow Dana White calls “The Accountant,” said he’s ashamed to be associated with the sport because of guys like Julian. Harsh, but understandable.
Thankfully the coaches challenge, although also quite the spectacle, made up for it with some wholesome entertainment. As soon as Dana announced the challenge – track and field, you just knew it was a premeditated maneuver to make Roy Nelson look like a wad. And look like a wad Roy did. Carwin decimated him in every single event, and it ended with the much more athletic fighter waving his 20 large in the air while Nelson slogged across the finish line, not attempting to finish with any semblance of pride whatsoever.
To cap it off, thankfully, was a damn good fight between Jon Manley and James Chaney. Chaney is the weird quiet guy with the big-ass lips. Manley is the rather average looking fellow who can apparently fight his ass off as he got caught in a pretty tight triangle early in the first round, only to escape and lock on a guillotine from the top position to secure the first round tap.
Hopefully next week returns some normalcy to life here in NJ. Absent the 1973 gasoline lines, perhaps we can go back to the glorious, carefree life of not basing every waking decision on the acquisition of fuel, and I can go back to just taping The Ultimate Fighter and fast-forwarding through all the nonsense like any decent person.