We want them to fight.
We want them to engage in what can be near-mortal combat, and to either curl up their hands, and swing at a human being’s head with malicious force in the desire to knock the other competitor into unconsciousness; or to physically manipulate the opponent’s body in such a degree that either pain or fear of permanent injury causes a paid athlete to “tap out,” aka “to quit,” aka “to forfeit the right to continue competing in this particular contest.”
And then we want them to shake hands, be nice, and say all the politically correct things like “I respect my opponent,” and “it was a privilege to fight an athlete of his caliber.”
WTF?
When you fight, you fight.
And when you do fight, the object of said battle is to knock out or tap out your opponent before that opponent does it to you.
Pretty simple equation, if you’re the one who stands as a bulls eye for the trained bad ass standing across the Octagon from you.
What type of mindset does it take to enter the cage, knowing your opponent has trained feverishly in the art of intricately locking up the human body so that if you don’t submit/surrender/quit/tap, your ligaments can rip, your tendons can tear, your bones can snap (remember Frank Mir breaking Tim Sylvia’s forearm en route to winning the UFC Title)?
What type of mindset does it take to enter that cage, with the knowledge that you’re exposing yourself to such risks, and to have the uninhibited willingness to inflict such pain, suffering, and damage to another human being?
Think about that for a moment.
And then ask yourself, “should I truly expect such a person to be the consummate sportsman?”
It doesn’t matter the sport has become a billion dollar enterprise, cleaned up to an extent for the athletic commissions to regulate, or that MMA –or, more specifically– UFC’s version of Mixed Martial Arts has become the fastest growing sport on the globe.
What matters is, at the core, the name of the promotion is still Ultimate FIGHTING Championships.
It’s a fight. And in the world of the Ultimate Fight game today, there is no one who has created the level of interest for the sport more than the UFC Undisputed Heavyweight Champion of the World, Brock Lesnar.
Brock Lesnar is a professional fighter, and he is quite comfortable accepting the risks associated with his choice of vocation. He’s even more comfortable protecting himself from those risks, and doing damage to the opponent before the opponent does damage to him. As a matter of fact, Brock enjoys doing damage. He likes to hurt living creatures.
An enthusiastic hunter and ice fisher, Brock achieves a spiritual orgasm in pursuit of, and completion (let’s not say “climax” and “orgasm” in the same sentence) of the kill.
He’s not a sweet, kind, gentle man who has decided to feed his family by entering a sweet science, a gentleman’s brawl, a civilized competition to determine which man has mastered the Octagon.
He’s a vicious, brutal, mean spirited competitor whose obsessive drive with pushing himself past his own
glass ceiling of “this is how high Brock Lesnar can go” (even if he’s already number one) creates an atmosphere so intense, most people in their right minds just can’t hang with it.
