UFC 102... Who Cares?

         I ventured out to Frankies, a local sports bar here in El Paso TX, to watch UFC 102.  After multiple mechanical malfunctions, the bastards finally got the big screen working... just in time for the first fight. 

          I was already drunk and yelling heavily before they began.

          Brandon Vera was first up and he was set to clash with Krzysztof Soszynski.  The two had words before the fight, and as usual, Vera was predicting a knockout.  I don't remember much of the fight except that the girl I was talking to was much more interesting than attempting to pay attention to the action. 

          Brandon Vera by decision... whoopty shit.

          I continued swilling beer with great zeal.  I had not been excited about the card when it was announced and after watching the first fight, I decided the only way to salvage the night was to get piss hammered and cause a scene.  I felt the urge to shout at strangers, just to cause some sort of excitement around me.  I pushed back the desire and decided to give the next fight my attention.

          Nate Marquardt and Demian Maia were next up.  I placed a small wager on Demian Maia with a friend of mine.  He is a staunch Marquardt supporter, and I felt his secret love for the man had blinded him to what was really going to happen.  Marquardt was going to be submitted and I knew it.  I was almost laughing when we struck hands in agreement over the wager.  21 seconds into the first round of the fight and I was no longer laughing.  Marquardt knocked Maia out in such a savage fashion, the whole bar froze for a moment.  We all sat dazed... motionless... like Maia's crushed soul.  Once the initial shock of what we had all just witnessed pealed back, a barbarous roar emitted from the establishment. 

          Marquardt had woken the bar up.  All the anger from the previous mechanical problems, and the lackluster fight between Vera and Soszynski vanished.  Seats moved closer to the screen.  Conversations ceased...

          Everyone honed focus on the next two fighters; Chris Leben and Jake Rosholt.  Although I doubt he will ever be a contender for the belt, Chris Leben is one of my favorite fighters at middle weight.  He is perhaps one of the sloppiest professionals ever to grace the sport, but he survives on pure will.  He is a true born fighter.  Anytime he gets rocked, obviously staggered, his natural reaction is to push forward and drop heavy bombs.  It also seems that when Leben is hurt, that is when he is at his most dangerous. 

          The two clashed well.  I felt Rosholt got the better of Leben in the first two rounds, but there were glimpses of the old "crippler" at times.  Leben was able to land some heavy bombs but it was not enough to put Rosholt away.  Eventually Leben fell to an arm triangle choke in the third round.  And in true Lebenesk style, he allowed himself to be knocked out before tapping. 

          Many people believe that Leben attempted tapping but I don't.  He had a closed fist and even after the so called "tap" attempt he bucked his hips in a last ditch effort to free himself. 

          After the ref pulled Rosholt off Leben he began to convulse as blood and oxygen rushed back to his brain.  It was in that moment I had to pay tribute by shouting "Leben's a bad ass motherf----r!”  People around me cheered.  We didn't cheer for Rosholts victory, which was well earned, but rather we cheered for the determination of one man to never give up, under any circumstances.  This was to be my favorite fight of the night and a testament to Leben's iron heart.

          Three fights in and this card was turning out to be fantastic.  Initially I thought the card was pointless.  There were no belts on the line, but more so than that, there weren't even clashes to establish a #1 contender.  As I sat there, I realized what was truly important.  It wasn't about the belts or settling who the best is, we were all there for two reasons: To get wicked drunk, and be entertained... and this card did not disappoint. 

          I cannot be certain now but I believe the next fight to be aired was Tim Hague and Todd Duffee.  I do remember that I was only half-way paying attention as the bell sounded.  The Girl and I were still talking, but unlike the first fight, what was about to unfold was far more interesting than anything she had to say.  It was quick and terrible.  Had I not looked up at the right moment I might have missed it.  Two Behemoths marched straight toward each other and met in the middle of the octagon... 7 seconds later Todd Duffee rose.  His opponent did not.  I couldn't believe that James Irvin's fastest knock out record had been beaten, but it had, and by a jab no less. 

          After crushing his opponent, Todd Duffee then began shouting "let me eat Dana!  Let me eat!”  It was then explained to me that Todd Duffee had previously been promised fights by the beloved Dana White, only to be switched out with a different fighter at last minute.  Once I gained this knowledge, I found Todd Duffee to not only be a destructive force, but also hilarious.

          I was now convinced this card, which was worthless on paper, just might be one of the best I had seen... and there were still two fights left.

          The next fight was the one I had come to watch.  I am a Thiago Silva fan.  Aside from that I am also the #1 hater of Keith Jardine for reasons unknown.  Perhaps it’s the beard?  Or maybe his nickname?  I can't be certain, but whenever I see him it rouses great anger in me.  I knew Thiago was going to smash him as long as he could avoid Jardine’s wild ape strikes.

          I think that’s the part that frightened me most.  As much as I hate on Jardine (which is almost daily), he has a knack for coming in as a huge under dog and then crushing his seemingly more dominant opponent.  This truth was swirling in my subconscious as the men stared each other down in the octagon.  The bell sounded and it was time to get it on.

          Jardine came across the ring with his awkward, autistic gorilla style and landed some leg kicks.  He also rocketed off a few punches, which also landed.  Thiago Silva didn't seem to be hurt at all by this, but Jardine has KO power and he was the one landing.  His third attempt to leg kick was when the tide turned.  As he threw it, Thiago countered with a left inside leg kick, which sent Jardine to the mat.  Thiago was on him in a flash.  He started to rain down punches and work for the mount.  Jardine was having none of it.  He managed to get back to his feet, and I was still worried he may pull another upset... and then... Thiago's left hook found its home on the brittle jaw of Jardine.  He went to the mat yet again, but this time, he didn't come up. 

          Thiago Silva can wreck people. 

          In my jubilee I purchased another pitcher of Amber Bock and walked around with my head held high.  I had a sense of pride as if I had accomplished something.  Atta boy Thiago... Atta boy.

          After this I didn't even care to watch the main event.  In a way the match up saddened me.  It would almost be like watching Zeus and Kronos battle for Olympus... long after each one had lost it.  Randy Couture and Antonio Rodrigo Nogueira... I wonder what it would have been 5 years ago…  Despite my feelings toward the match I stayed and each man showed why they deserve to be there.  These two old dogs still have a lot of scrap left in them.  Randy took the heavy end of the beating, but Nogueira was unable to finish him off.  I found this last bout to be the cherry on top of a delicious, barbaric, knock out filled sundae. 

          I stumbled out of the place with a head full of beer and a new perspective.  It doesn’t always have to be about the belt, or establishing a #1 contender, but sometimes it can just be about the sport and watching those who love it practice their art.