An Alien’s Perspective: MMA and UFC


“You know what you should do? You should let me take you to certain events so you can write about them from an external perspective,” Ian Huntley said to me. You may know him better as Mr. Advice Man or Nostradumbass. And although he bailed on us last Saturday, I ended up visiting the first of (hopefully) several events that I hope to add to my American experience.

I understand that Mixed Martial Arts (MMA) is not unique to the U.S. or Kansas for that matter. However, given that it was the first time I attended an MMA fight, I did not know what to expect from the event.

I wondered what the crowd would be like. Would the higher adrenaline levels make people want to get into fights? I assumed my do-not-mess-with-me posture. You may wonder what this looks like. Unlike the regular confrontational male, my do-not-mess-with-me posture involves looking extremely timid so that people are too embarrassed to pick a fight with me to begin with. It is highly effective if you ask me.

Walking behind my friends with my back slouched, I got to our seats unnoticed. I recognized the fenced ring from the televised fights I had seen. It was not long before the fights began. During the amateur fights, it was hard to tell who the audience was more excited about, the ringside girls or the fighters. Instantly, I judged myself for being there.

Captain Narcissist

Tailored to entertain, one of the amateur fighters showed up in a Captain America costume. I was unsure if he was there to fight or to endorse the shorts he wore given that he struck seventeen poses in a matter of minutes. I hoped he would lose. Unfortunately he did not. After striking enough poses to fill up an entire issue of GQ, he left the ring.

After around half a dozen amateur fights and 400 cuss words from someone sitting a few seats from us, the pro fights began. The fights got bloody at times and I was left thinking how circular our evolution was. 2000 years later, we still line up for these gladiators as they take blow after blow for a moment of a glory. Bleeding and limping, they take a bow, while we walk out fixating on our plans for the next day.

Remember the first two rules of Fight Club and do not tell my mother that I wrote about mixed martial arts. She lives halfway around the globe. But trust me on this, she will ground me. I am kidding. She is cool.

But seriously, don’t.

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