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What that bitch Sandy made me realize about MMA these days

I live on the east coast, in central New Jersey, just a few miles from the Atlantic Ocean. So I fully expected to get thrashed by Hurricane Sandy Monday night. Not normally one to buy into media sensationalism, this time I joined my fellow nutbags in stocking up on water, or in my case beer (of which I’m sick of pointing out the main ingredient is water), batteries, food, and fuel. I have a generator so I wasn’t too worried about the power going out. I set that baby up under the deck, sat there with a Miller High Life, and much like Lieutenant Dan, dared that bitch Sandy to toss her nastiest stank at me. Then I got hit in the head with something small yet firm and decided it might be best to adjourn indoors.

At about 8:00PM Sandy obliged, knocking my power out. I had put back a few by then, so I defiantly cursed her out, flicked on the generator (which is THE single greatest thing a person can invest in) and hooked up my television, DVD player, sump pump, and a lamp. There was no cable, so I decided to watch old UFC DVD’s whilst I got my drink on and texted pictures of my functional appliances to friends I knew were without power.

I decided on UFC 67, featuring a main event of Anderson Silva vs Travis Lutter, which was to be Silva’s first title defense after destroying Rich Franklin’s very existence, but was changed to a three round non-title affair after Lutter failed to make weight. It was a gifted title shot anyway, what with that fourth season of TUF guaranteeing the best UFC washout a shot at glory, so the fact that he failed to make weight was pretty mystifying. The co-main was Cro Cop, making his much anticipated Octagon debut against Eddie Fucking Sanchez.

Think about that for a second. The two top fights were absolute squash matches. After that we had Rampage Jackson making his own UFC debut against Marvin Eastman. Another squash match. To fill out the main card Roger Huerta beat the snot out of some poor bastard in 18 seconds, and Scott Smith and Patrick Cote were nearly booed out of the arena for their surprising snoozer. In fact, the best fight was on the undercard, where a youngster by the name of Frankie Edgar was also making his UFC debut against Tyson Griffin.

Oftentimes clarity comes to me in strange scenarios. There I was, stinking drunk, sitting in my basement analyzing an event that I hadn’t watched, let alone even thought of in six years, and what couldn’t have been clearer was that MMA fans, myself included, do an awful lot of complaining these days. These days when we get 32 UFC events versus the 19 we got in 2007. These days when 18 of those are free. These days when the UFC isn’t on and Bellator is, providing us with 25 additional FREE events this year. Or these days when Strikeforce actually manages to put forth a scheduled event and provides another five or six. What I realized is that it’s a good time to be an MMA fan. I knew that already, of course, we all do, but a little reminder never hurts.

So is this moment of clarity going to keep me from pissing on what I consider to be crappy main events and/or entire cards? Shit no, son, that’s my job, and my pleasure. But I will try to keep my perspective, that is until I remember just how much more excitement I had back when MMA was a treat instead of a weekly passion/obligation, and then the whole nauseating “over-saturation” topic enters my mind.

See, I’m just a typical MMA fan – impossible to please, but for the time being, that whore Sandy has forced me to see the light, and aside from the rather large piece siding hanging from my house, the stench of backed up sewer water wafting through the neighborhood, and the absolute fucking mess I have to clean up, I’m grateful .

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