Slice vs. Shamrock a Lesson in MMA Morality

In a rather disturbing exercise in morbidity, Harris Interactive polled 1,017 Americans via telephone in 2004 and asked if they’d watch a televised execution. Two-thirds said that they would.

This has to be encouraging news for ProElite and CBS, who happen to be scheduling one this Saturday.

Sticking his neck in the guillotine is Ken Shamrock, a 44-year-old pug with a lifetime of knowledge and a body that no longer knows how to apply it.

Years spent in Pancrase, freestyle fighting and professional wrestling have left him a hobbled and creaky parody of a once-dangerous fighter. In his last five bouts, Shamrock has been knocked out or cerebrally stunned in the very first round. Aside from a victory over Kimo Leopoldo in 2004, he’s dropped seven of his last eight. (And if you’re Kimo, you can’t be feeling too good about that.)

Despite clear evidence that Shamrock is no longer physically capable of absorbing the nominal punishment of a prizefight -- and it couldn’t be more obvious if he were wearing a medical alert bracelet -- the sadists at Pro Elite have determined that fans are going to enjoy watching Internet-bred street fighter Kimbo Slice swing the axe.

Propagandists will tell you Shamrock’s submission acumen will be a good test for Slice, that his years of experience will threaten to topple the barely professional status of the reformed backyard brawler.

Reality check: Shamrock has one submission win in 12 years -- over a man who currently has 20 losses against 7 wins on record. The vast majority of his ligament attacks came in Pancrase, where opponents wore massive leather boots that kept limbs free of sweat. Observers cannot recall the last time he even tried tackling an opponent, a probable result of decaying agility and stilted muscle activation.

If we establish that Shamrock cannot tackle Slice, and if we also accept that submission defense is a relatively substantial part of Slice’s tutelage under Bas Rutten, then we’re left with a stand-up fight -- one in which Slice will swing ferociously, backed by 240 pounds of muscle to Shamrock’s (estimated) 215.

Considering that a 185-pound Kazushi Sakuraba knocked Shamrock into the ropes, this is not exactly a bid for suspense on the level of Hitchcock.

Those of us repulsed by the idea -- a likely minority -- probably have Mike Tyson to thank. The violent mauler practically invented a new sub-genre of boxing in the 1980s when people would cheerfully pay $50 to watch him decimate an outclassed opponent.

“Sport” implies competition; these were slaughters. We watched it anyway. There’s undeniable appeal in seeing someone get obliterated, thrashed at the hands of a more competent fighter. Action heroes, after all, rarely oppose their equal in movies; they dispose of henchmen as quickly and efficiently as you would a dirty diaper.

But by and large, MMA has avoided this kind of lopsided violence. For all its perceived faults, the Ultimate Fighting Championship has made a habit of booking competitive and evenly matched fights. (Anderson Silva might be better than everyone he’s faced, but you can’t say slotting in Dan Henderson or Rich Franklin was premeditated cruelty.)

Bereft of substantial talent pools or matchmaking acumen, it’s the peripheral organizations that are beginning to trot out these kinds of depressing spectacles. Slice himself already had a turn against David “Tank” Abbott, who is as relevant to modern MMA as Jalopies are to Detroit, and Dream’s insistence on having Kazushi Sakuraba face Melvin Manhoef should’ve been criminally investigated.

There are ways of bringing along Slice without resorting to physically bankrupt competition. James Thompson was a good start, a big, athletic and experienced man who pushed Slice and arguably made him a better fighter for it. Why go backward with Shamrock? Why not once-rumored opponent Ron Waterman, another credible threat? Waterman could conceivably work Slice over on the mat, sure, but it’s also possible his underwhelming stand-up would fold under Slice’s attack.

In other words, there’s actually an element of doubt and debate over who would win the fight. And isn’t that the whole point?

Elite could argue such possibilities suffer from media apathy thanks to athletes who have yet to cultivate any kind of engaging presence. It’s an empty retort, as the Thompson fight drew big ratings for the company -- and if you can’t make something out of Waterman’s fervent religious beliefs, you’re not trying hard enough.

Shamrock’s adrenal glands, depleted at fight time, seem to come alive for the media, and his circus-barker intensity in front of a camera is a likely reason why he continues getting opportunities. But have we really reached the point where prefight banter is valued more than a fighter’s aptitude in the ring?

Shamrock has been quoted as saying he’s not concerned about his “legacy,” or how people perceive his contributions to the sport when they’ve been topped off by a string of bad performances. And he shouldn’t be: Elite and the Florida Athletic Commission should do that worrying for him, both over their endorsement of a man with seven proven years of eroding skills and their delight in making him grist for Slice’s mill.

One addendum: Of those polled by Harris, 21 percent said they’d pay to see the execution. Looks like Elite missed out on some solid pay-per-view revenue.

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