GrandeDavid
06-02-2006, 09:56 AM
Let me make this clear from the start. I said "at", not "in". Yes, while here on business in L.A., my native Angelino business associate hooked my Brazilian business partner and I up with near ringside tickets to the Ultimate Fighting Championships at Staple's Center. Not having any prior experience but plenty of presumptuous bias, I assumed it'd be a brutality-fest packed with blood-hungry parolees. Boy was I wrong.
I arrived at Staple's Center to find the lots packed with product promoters and meandering diehard fans and some of the biggest, baddest looking dudes I'd seen in my life. Interestingly, you could distinguish the real fighters from the NFL players immediately as my friends informed me that the fighters have swollen or otherwise mangled ears. After countless blows to the side of the head and having one’s head ground into the mat repeatedly over a career, one’s ears tend to take on a Spock like perspective, if one is lucky. Otherwise they just look like almost closed-up hunks of hanging meat. Tough, tough dudes, to say the least.
As we entered through the Staples Center doors, I stood behind the biggest, meanest looking man I'd ever seen up close. I couldn’t help but realize that this 6.7” animal’s 5’0” meek, average looking girlfriend must get celebrity treatment wherever she may roll in L.A. As we made our way to the lower level to our seats, I arrived just in time to see a spotlight shone on Nicholas Cage followed by some applause and hoots from the half-packed house.
The main event, which was the 8th fight, would feature the world champion hailing, from Rio de Janeiro, an undefeated 39-0 wizard of Brazilian-style jiu jitzu. He would face a tough up and comer from San Diego. The first seven fights were other good fighters, and I was surprised to find that there is an art to this fighting, more a mixture of styles and chivalry than pure brutality. No broken bones, no cheap shots (i.e. no blatant blows to the privates), and hugs from the fighters after each match. Its obvious that ultimate fighters muster up anger toward their opponent to find the courage to enter the ring, the Octagon, but clearly there is no intention to permanently harm an opponent.
Things got interesting when I went to get a cup of wine with a friend, one of those "in" Angelinos who was born and raised in L.A. and knows his share of stars. He's also one of those guys that can sell you a busted lip for $1,000, so he's anything but timid. As we rushed back to our seats, my wild friend, Mike, tells me to look left, where I see two beautiful young girls in short dresses about to whiz by us at a practically galloping pace, trailed by a huge, ultimate fighter-looking bodyguard. As they approach so nearby that I can smell their $2,000 perfume, Mike loudly says "Hey, man, there's my girl Paris.". Instantly, Paris Hilton and her accomplice (who, by the way, was more beautiful than Hilton), actually turned around and smiled at us. My thrill was that her friend gave me a second glance, the highlight of my night (don't tell my wife!). It was one of those instances where had any other man made a comment like that to them, he’d have gotten the finger or a simple no-look. Cheap yet glorious moment.
What's funny is that as we finally got back to our seats, we saw Hilton and her friend (and bodyguard) sit across the ring from us as half the entire lower level of the now packed Staple's Center gawked and oohed and ahhhed, the testosterone boiling over. But when they appeared on the jumbotron, the entire Staple's Center, packed and rowdy as if it were a Lakers playoff game, erupted in boos. Ice cold, man. After that kind second glance from Paris’ friend, I was not among the boo birds.
Then they showed the Rock, they cheered him...then they played on the jumbotron an interview with him in which he stated his opinion that the Brazilian champ would go down tonight. The Brazilian guy trains in L.A. and Rio and is largely responsible for spreading Brazilian-style fighting to California and, hence, has since become a local hero. So, naturally, the Rock suddenly got turned upon L.A. bandwagon-style and many in the crowd booed the Rock to no end. After seeing how huge the guy is up close, I doubt many would do it up close and personal, though.
Other celebs in the house who I brushed by were Vince Vaughn and that Wayans funny guy from the Scary Movie series and White Chicks. I also saw a few San Diego Chargers and Ron Jaworski. But who stole the show for me in terms of elegance, grace and beauty was Cindy Crawford. True, she is a super model with plenty of cash for cosmetic surgery procedures, but still, she looked to be in her mid-twenties rather than her actual forties. Cindy Crawford is a very, very beautiful woman with a down-to-earth aura about her.
The fights leading up to the main event were a blast to watch. Feeling the adrenaline, the mistakes fighters paid for the slightest mistakes and the crowd enthusiasm was electrifying. One Brazilian fighter was losing so badly to a guy from Houston through the first two rounds. He had had his forehead busted open, had to be attended to by a doc after the first round, was wobbled and all but out, until the Texan got cocky and tried some running knee to the head, a bad stunt to pull on a jiu jitzu master. The Brazilian not only dodged the effort, but lept onto the guy's back like a leach, tripped him up, rolled him over, and put some double leg strangle hold on the Texan so fast that the ref called the fight. Had it been a real fight, he could have snapped the guys’ neck. Unbelievable. Sort of like if the Spurs were beating the Hawks by fifty, and suddenly every Spurs player blew their knee out and they had to forfeit. Hawks win, game over. Oh, man, was it fun.
In another fight, a local L.A. guy of Mexican origin came into the center with a blaring Mexican tune with horns blasting. The crowd erupted in a frenzy of cheers, some dancing. His opponent was a blonde Canadian guy who appeared too cocky for his own good, coming in full of tattooes, flair and blaring ACDC. The Mexican fighter is also a Brazilian jiu jitzu fighter who used to box professionally. His specialty is getting guys on the mat to apply chokeholds which force submissions. The Canadian was a kickboxing, duke it out, tough guy. In Ultimate Fighting there are three five minute rounds, and while that seems short, believe me, one full round seems like an eternity when you see what these guys do. This fight went the distance and it seemed the Canadian had gotten the best of the Mexican fighter. No matter what diving trip moves he tried, the Canadian would jump and dance and avoid the takedown. Just before the end of round two, the Canadian landed a driving forearm to the Mexican fighter’s forehead which opened a huge gash.
The third round followed the same pattern. Lots of dancing, jabbing, nearly-connecting roundhouses and flying knees. But with two minutes left, the Mexican fighter did something so improbable that the only befitting description would range from comical to superhuman. He somehow managed to trip up the Canadian and literally jump on his back while the Canadian remained on his feet, wrapping his legs around the continually standing, and walking, Canadian and attempting to apply a stranglehold. The Canadian tried everything to break this pest off his back, slamming his back against the cage, but nothing worked. The Canadian was actually laughing as the bleeding Mexican fighter continued locked on him, occasionally landing some light blows to the Canadian’s jaw and head, all from behind. Again, picture the Canadian standing up the whole time, literally walking around the ring with a human backpack glued to him. Now the blows the Mexican landed had no leverage or force behind them, but they technically scored points. He could have done this all day and the Canadian would have thought it was but styrophone paddle tickling his dome. Finally the bell rang and the Mexican jumped off his back, both of the fighters laughing and then embracing.
But when the judge announced that the hometown favorite, the Mexican fighter, won by decision, the Staples Center crowd erupted in fierce boos. Yes, that’s right, they booed their beloved son to no end. I asked my friend what was up, and he said that the crowd thinks that the Mexican fighter used a wussy-type trick to score points and survive to win the match. I saw it differently. I thought it was so amazing how cunning and athletic this Mexican fighter was to pull off such an improbable stunt. So I guess you could call it a bittersweet victory for him. Boy can that L.A. home crowd switch sides at the drop of a dime!
Now to the main event...
(I WILL CONCLUDE LATER; I NEED SOME REST! :) )
I arrived at Staple's Center to find the lots packed with product promoters and meandering diehard fans and some of the biggest, baddest looking dudes I'd seen in my life. Interestingly, you could distinguish the real fighters from the NFL players immediately as my friends informed me that the fighters have swollen or otherwise mangled ears. After countless blows to the side of the head and having one’s head ground into the mat repeatedly over a career, one’s ears tend to take on a Spock like perspective, if one is lucky. Otherwise they just look like almost closed-up hunks of hanging meat. Tough, tough dudes, to say the least.
As we entered through the Staples Center doors, I stood behind the biggest, meanest looking man I'd ever seen up close. I couldn’t help but realize that this 6.7” animal’s 5’0” meek, average looking girlfriend must get celebrity treatment wherever she may roll in L.A. As we made our way to the lower level to our seats, I arrived just in time to see a spotlight shone on Nicholas Cage followed by some applause and hoots from the half-packed house.
The main event, which was the 8th fight, would feature the world champion hailing, from Rio de Janeiro, an undefeated 39-0 wizard of Brazilian-style jiu jitzu. He would face a tough up and comer from San Diego. The first seven fights were other good fighters, and I was surprised to find that there is an art to this fighting, more a mixture of styles and chivalry than pure brutality. No broken bones, no cheap shots (i.e. no blatant blows to the privates), and hugs from the fighters after each match. Its obvious that ultimate fighters muster up anger toward their opponent to find the courage to enter the ring, the Octagon, but clearly there is no intention to permanently harm an opponent.
Things got interesting when I went to get a cup of wine with a friend, one of those "in" Angelinos who was born and raised in L.A. and knows his share of stars. He's also one of those guys that can sell you a busted lip for $1,000, so he's anything but timid. As we rushed back to our seats, my wild friend, Mike, tells me to look left, where I see two beautiful young girls in short dresses about to whiz by us at a practically galloping pace, trailed by a huge, ultimate fighter-looking bodyguard. As they approach so nearby that I can smell their $2,000 perfume, Mike loudly says "Hey, man, there's my girl Paris.". Instantly, Paris Hilton and her accomplice (who, by the way, was more beautiful than Hilton), actually turned around and smiled at us. My thrill was that her friend gave me a second glance, the highlight of my night (don't tell my wife!). It was one of those instances where had any other man made a comment like that to them, he’d have gotten the finger or a simple no-look. Cheap yet glorious moment.
What's funny is that as we finally got back to our seats, we saw Hilton and her friend (and bodyguard) sit across the ring from us as half the entire lower level of the now packed Staple's Center gawked and oohed and ahhhed, the testosterone boiling over. But when they appeared on the jumbotron, the entire Staple's Center, packed and rowdy as if it were a Lakers playoff game, erupted in boos. Ice cold, man. After that kind second glance from Paris’ friend, I was not among the boo birds.
Then they showed the Rock, they cheered him...then they played on the jumbotron an interview with him in which he stated his opinion that the Brazilian champ would go down tonight. The Brazilian guy trains in L.A. and Rio and is largely responsible for spreading Brazilian-style fighting to California and, hence, has since become a local hero. So, naturally, the Rock suddenly got turned upon L.A. bandwagon-style and many in the crowd booed the Rock to no end. After seeing how huge the guy is up close, I doubt many would do it up close and personal, though.
Other celebs in the house who I brushed by were Vince Vaughn and that Wayans funny guy from the Scary Movie series and White Chicks. I also saw a few San Diego Chargers and Ron Jaworski. But who stole the show for me in terms of elegance, grace and beauty was Cindy Crawford. True, she is a super model with plenty of cash for cosmetic surgery procedures, but still, she looked to be in her mid-twenties rather than her actual forties. Cindy Crawford is a very, very beautiful woman with a down-to-earth aura about her.
The fights leading up to the main event were a blast to watch. Feeling the adrenaline, the mistakes fighters paid for the slightest mistakes and the crowd enthusiasm was electrifying. One Brazilian fighter was losing so badly to a guy from Houston through the first two rounds. He had had his forehead busted open, had to be attended to by a doc after the first round, was wobbled and all but out, until the Texan got cocky and tried some running knee to the head, a bad stunt to pull on a jiu jitzu master. The Brazilian not only dodged the effort, but lept onto the guy's back like a leach, tripped him up, rolled him over, and put some double leg strangle hold on the Texan so fast that the ref called the fight. Had it been a real fight, he could have snapped the guys’ neck. Unbelievable. Sort of like if the Spurs were beating the Hawks by fifty, and suddenly every Spurs player blew their knee out and they had to forfeit. Hawks win, game over. Oh, man, was it fun.
In another fight, a local L.A. guy of Mexican origin came into the center with a blaring Mexican tune with horns blasting. The crowd erupted in a frenzy of cheers, some dancing. His opponent was a blonde Canadian guy who appeared too cocky for his own good, coming in full of tattooes, flair and blaring ACDC. The Mexican fighter is also a Brazilian jiu jitzu fighter who used to box professionally. His specialty is getting guys on the mat to apply chokeholds which force submissions. The Canadian was a kickboxing, duke it out, tough guy. In Ultimate Fighting there are three five minute rounds, and while that seems short, believe me, one full round seems like an eternity when you see what these guys do. This fight went the distance and it seemed the Canadian had gotten the best of the Mexican fighter. No matter what diving trip moves he tried, the Canadian would jump and dance and avoid the takedown. Just before the end of round two, the Canadian landed a driving forearm to the Mexican fighter’s forehead which opened a huge gash.
The third round followed the same pattern. Lots of dancing, jabbing, nearly-connecting roundhouses and flying knees. But with two minutes left, the Mexican fighter did something so improbable that the only befitting description would range from comical to superhuman. He somehow managed to trip up the Canadian and literally jump on his back while the Canadian remained on his feet, wrapping his legs around the continually standing, and walking, Canadian and attempting to apply a stranglehold. The Canadian tried everything to break this pest off his back, slamming his back against the cage, but nothing worked. The Canadian was actually laughing as the bleeding Mexican fighter continued locked on him, occasionally landing some light blows to the Canadian’s jaw and head, all from behind. Again, picture the Canadian standing up the whole time, literally walking around the ring with a human backpack glued to him. Now the blows the Mexican landed had no leverage or force behind them, but they technically scored points. He could have done this all day and the Canadian would have thought it was but styrophone paddle tickling his dome. Finally the bell rang and the Mexican jumped off his back, both of the fighters laughing and then embracing.
But when the judge announced that the hometown favorite, the Mexican fighter, won by decision, the Staples Center crowd erupted in fierce boos. Yes, that’s right, they booed their beloved son to no end. I asked my friend what was up, and he said that the crowd thinks that the Mexican fighter used a wussy-type trick to score points and survive to win the match. I saw it differently. I thought it was so amazing how cunning and athletic this Mexican fighter was to pull off such an improbable stunt. So I guess you could call it a bittersweet victory for him. Boy can that L.A. home crowd switch sides at the drop of a dime!
Now to the main event...
(I WILL CONCLUDE LATER; I NEED SOME REST! :) )