Mansfield, MA – 400 blood thirsty patrons crowd into the grand ballroom of the Holiday Inn. Ninety percent swing a penis between their legs, a sprinkling of children included and just enough women to keep heteros awake to the possibility. But, these women are not divas or soccer moms. These women enjoy seeing a man get his head handed to him. These women get charged by seeing a weak man beat down. These women came to watch professional Mixed Martial Arts.
The men too are cut from a certain cloth. No PETA members in this house, no Birkenstock wearing hippies, these are Harley men who wore Timberlands before rappers made ‘em fashionable. The large parking lot is full. There’s a high percentage of landscaping, plumbing and electrical contracting vehicles. And lots of pick-ups, all American made. If this crowd had an exclusive to pick the president, Sarah Palin would now be attending state funerals in warm, sunny places.
Not all the necks are red, though. Like women, there are enough Blacks to make a brother comfortable that if shit kicked off, surely some of the Whites are going to their glory too. The brothers are all a type as well. No gangsta wannabes or playa pimps here. The Black men share a disciplined toughness with the Whites. Walking into this joint is like walking into a bar where you don’t wanna start no unnecessary shit because everybody is packing.
I’m here to see a friend fight. Lord knows why I want to do that. From the start, I had a bad feeling about the whole thing. In our crew, Jessie was one of the warriors. Years in a dojo caused him to spontaneously pepper you with random strikes and blocks just walking down the street. He did Muy Thai like a trucker does coffee. It was always there and if it wasn’t visible you could bet he was thinking about it. But he had been out of the ring for 11 years. Even Ali couldn’t come back against the ass kicker called age.
Despite being 37 and having no professional fights since Bill Clinton was getting blown by Monica Lewinsky, the opportunity to earn some fast cash was too strong to resist. I couldn’t tell him it was a bad idea. By the time I heard about it, he had already signed the contract. Besides I would have told Ali not to fight the Foreman comeback, so what did I know? But when I saw the fight poster and compared Jessie’s shirtless photo with the shirtless photo of his opponent, I was worried. The other guy was 15 years younger than him, bigger and buffer. The photo clearly showed Jessie’s saggy arms and chest had succumbed to the law of gravity.
Here’s where my head was. Two weeks before the fight, my car got slammed by a hit and run driver. The left side of my head got clocked against the window. It was bruised and tender. I had a bad headache. After the drama and the adrenaline of the collision died down, my first thought was, “Damn, this is how Jessie’s gonna feel when that dude kicks his ass.”
Despite my misgivings, I attended not only because I wanted to support my friend, but the experience hound in me was aroused. I had seen fights in school, even participated in a couple, and I fought in a half a dozen tournaments when I was studying karate as a teen. But I had never seen a professional fight, unless you count the time my mother took me to a fake wrestling match at the Boston Garden.
Even though I’m a peace loving man, the thought of controlled mayhem excited me and I knew deep down I was not going just to support Jessie. Like all the other Neanderthals, I wanted to see somebody get his ass kicked.
Fortunately, the referees prevented the fulfillment of that desire. The half dozen matches I watched that night were so mismatched that the refs kept jumping in to separate the fighters before any serious damage was done. I paid thirty bucks to see these playground scuffles and was not entirely pleased. But neither was I gonna start booing the emphasis on safety. If somebody else had started booing, I might of joined in, but I couldn’t justify starting the screams for blood. It was just as well. Jessie’s fight only lasted a minute before the referee stepped in to stop the other guy from kicking his ass.
