Anyway, Josh, it’s not so bad up here in the nosebleeds. You can stretch your legs out, breathe, use both armrests … but wait … where’s the cage? Holy … there it is—down there, that yellow smudge, that’s the canvas. Those little G.I. Joe’s darting around on the smudge? Well, Josh, those must be the fighters.
You don’t want to trade haymakers with Petz. I’ve seen several fighters try, and he always lands the last one. Bennett maintains for a couple minutes, but now he’s wilting under a flurry. On the ground Petz submits the PRIDE veteran with a head-and-arm choke.
Two more fighters are in there now. Several people sitting a few rows in front of me announce their association to one of them, Jeff Cox. “This is my boy!” one of them yells.
These fans scream wildly as Cox rushes his opponent, Thiago Alves of American Top Team. For a moment Cox’s aggression seems fueled by their support. I begin to believe in him, thinking perhaps the energies of fighter and fan have coalesced into a special force that will carry Cox to an upset victory.
The knockout is sudden. Just as someone roars “My boy!” Alves slams his knee into Cox’s chin, and Cox sits down peacefully against the cage. He looks as if he fell asleep while lounging on a beanbag, but his serenity is disturbed when Alves charges in and empties a burst of machine gun fire on his face. Baaddaah ba baaddaah ba! and then silence spreads like the plague through the group of Cox associates in front of me. Two of them leave, presumably to open a tab at the nearest bar.
It’s a strange group of people that sit this far away from the action, Josh. Maybe it’s the altitude and an abrupt change in pressure that affects the brain. Or maybe it’s the darkness and a mistaken sense of seclusion that blasts some people through the walls of decency.
I’m not sure why, Josh, a 20-year-old frat boy with gelled hair would bring his girlfriend up here to see how far he can get—and then come back an hour later with a different girl but the same hope. Or why a Jerry Falwell look-alike would climb up here and drink 16 beers and puke down the front of his white button-down shirt, then just sit there in a crude state of indifference and keep watching the fights, and drinking, while trying to ignore the awful smell coming off his chest.
I have a hard time believing those people would come to see two football players fight. They’d either be very busy at a nearby hotel, in jail or unconscious before Westbrook even got in the cage. But how about all these other fans, Josh?
Looking around in the dark at a crowded arena, I’d estimate the attendance to be 5,000-6,500. Very impressive, but without a legitimate survey it’s impossible to say whether they’re here because “cage fighting” is in town for the first time, here to see two football players fight, here because a local radio personality named “Dieter” is supposed to fight Butterbean, or here for some other reason like being an actual fan of the sport. The attendance next time KOTC comes to Cleveland should be telling.
Dan Bobish just stopped Ruben “Warpath” Villarreal during that last meditation, Josh. I couldn’t see exactly why it ended; from my vantage point, it looked as if a big bull had fallen on Villarreal and was hoofing him in the face while trying to climb back to its feet. Phone the Big Guy with the news that Bobish wasn’t gouged.
A brawl has broken out in the stands. It’s hard to make out the combatants, but I’ll assume it’s not Blitzer and Deford fighting over elbowroom in an alternate press section. The melee is long and wild and easy to watch because some arena employee has shined a giant spotlight on it.
The sad result of the brawl, in addition to children likely being stomped on and what not, is that few heard the introductions for the two fighters now going toe-to-toe in the cage. It’s Jorge Gurgel and Jay Ireland in the fight of the night, taking the other man’s best shot then giving his own, charging through the burn of fatigue like machines. Even up here, by Mr. Hero, fans are on their feet cheering madly. Finally, midway through the last round, Gurgel guillotines Ireland, completing a breakthrough performance for the lightweight.