Modern Day Gladiators

        
           Ladies and gentlemen… this bout is three rounds in the UFC light-heavyweight division. Introducing first and fighting out of the blue corner; this man is a free style fighter, standing six feet, three inches tall and weighing in at two hundred and five pound, fighting out of Las Vegas, Nevada, Forrest Griffin!!!

Introducing second and fighting out of the red corner; this man is a sub-mission fighter, standing six feet, two inches tall, weighing in at two hundred five pounds, fighting out of Huntington Beach, California. The Huntington Beach Bad Boy, Tito Ortiz!!!

As we all gazed upon the big screen TV nestled into the far corner of the Florence Hooters, you could feel the anticipation growing amongst the crowd. The second fight in the epic saga of Forrest Griffin and Tito Ortiz. The two men stood in their respective corners, eagerly awaiting the opening bell so that they could begin their onslaught of the enemy standing before them. Men? These were no mere men. These were larger than life, mythic figures, the epitome of athleticism; modern day gladiators set to do battle in the coliseum known as the octagon. For the next five minutes, these two warriors would strike, kick, wrestle, and submit each other in an effort to prove who between them was truly the best, most well rounded fighter.

 From the very beginning, we all knew it was going to be a slugfest, fought out long and hard till the bitter end. This one was going to go the distance. They touched gloves, and walked back to their sides of the squared-circle. As the camera zoomed in upon their faces, you could see a kind of quiet, almost stoic rage building behind their calm facades.

DING!!!!!!

Hell was unleashed with the ringing of that bell. The two motioned towards each other and began their attack. Back and forth, it went. Big right hooks, uppercuts, leg kicks. The two men swinging and striking with everything they had, imposing their physical will upon their counterpart. Just as we all had thought, the fight went into the third and final round, and with neither man gaining a knock out or a tap out, the winner was left for the judges to decide.

The judges have scored the round 30-26, and your winner by decision, FORREST GRIFFIN!!!

As I stood up, pumping my fist in the air, I took a look around the restaurant, which had now erupted into a frenzied commotion. Men were high fiving one another, bumping fists, and jabbing back and forth in mock fighter-stances reenacting key moments from the bout. Others, sat there, stunned that their hero, their warrior, their champion of champions, had come crashing down from the heights of stardom and domination of the sport.

For me, this was the culmination of a four hour experience full of chicken-wings, fight predictions with my friends out our table and the drunken men around us, cute waitresses, and the great company of some of my closest friends. We had arrived at Hooters a little before eight that evening just before the major crowd started filing in. We sat on the edge of our seats for every fight, demolishing plate after plate of fried pickles, cheese sticks, and the king of American unhealthy foodstuffs, hot wings. We talked amongst ourselves, pointing out the different strengths and flaws of each set of fighters until finally it was time for the main event and the highlight of the evening… Griffin v. Ortiz.

This is just one small example of how extremely popular the UFC (Ultimate Fighting Championship), and MMA (Mixed Martial Arts) as a whole have become today, not only here at home in the States, but around the world. The UFC isn’t just pay-per view events every few weekends, but an entire industry in and of itself. Video games, such as THQ’s UFC 2009 Undisputed, clothing lines such as “Tapout” and “Cagefighter”, as well as hit the hit TV shows The Ultimate Fighter and UFC Fight Night Live are all examples of the growing popularity of the sport, and conversely, have all done wonders to increase the growing interest and demand for the product that brands such as UFC and Strikeforce provide.

Slowly, but surely, MMA is becoming one of the most watched sporting events in the nation today. In a spring 2007 poll done by ESPN, the UFC 71 event, Chuck Liddell versus Rampage Jackson, thirty two percent of those polled chose the fight as the most anticipated event coming up that spring. Thirty percent chose the NBA conference finals; fourteen percent voted the Stanley Cup finals, the Indy 500 had thirteen percent of voters, and the Nextel series race at Charlotte garnered eleven percent of the votes.

Let’s rewind a few months. I, myself, was one of those people who didn’t feel that mixed martial arts was a sport. To me, it didn’t really take too much effort to become a UFC fighter. You get in there; you punch the other guy a couple times, and choke him out for the win. Game over. Nothing to it. Just a bunch of ignorant men beating the hell out of each other with reckless abandon. I had never really sat down and watched an MMA event. My knowledge of the sport was limited to quick glimpses and highlights of fights showing the winner, bruised and bludgeoned, with his hand held high as the loser, broken and bloody, sat in his corner looking like he was about to keel over and die. “Where’s the sport in that,” I thought to myself.

To me, boxing was a real man’s sport, where only the greatest, truest athletes could make it. A combination of both grace and raw athleticism, boxing was the true gentlemen’s sport in my eyes. Names such as Jack Dempsey, Joe Frazier, Muhammad Ali, and Sugar Ray Leonard evoked images of men who were larger than life and truly the best of the best in terms of sheer athleticism.

My opinion changed one Saturday night when my aunt invited me over to her house to watch the fight with my uncle and several of their friends. It was a dull December night, nothing much was going on, and the fight night parties always sounded like lots of fun. I figured, why not, nothing to lose, right? As I walked into the basement, I saw a group of familiar faces gathered around the big screen TV, each of them rooting and cheering for the two fighters slugging away on the screen.

I took a seat next to my uncle just as the next bout was set to start. Frank Mir and Antonio Nogueira closed towards each other, touched gloves, and walked back to their respective corners. What I then saw was the most impressive example of athleticism that I had seen in all my 18 years of sports fanaticism. The two men swung hay makers left and right, shot for take downs, and engaged in the clinch back and forth, each man trying to jockey for position, fighting as if their lives depended on it. Back and forth the battle raged with no man gaining a clear advantage over the other. All the feelings of anticipation and emotion that had captivated me while watching the great fights of boxing greats Holmes and Tyson flooded over me again now, except this time they were more intense and more profound than any I had felt previously during those fights. I found myself enthralled within the fight, heart pounding, eyes chasing back and forth across the screen, and anticipation and excitement growing inside with every right hook and knee to the midsection.  Suddenly, Mir rocked his opponent with back-to-back straight lefts to the face and followed his opponent to the ground to finish him off.

I credit this fight to my now die-hard following of the UFC. To me, this fight showcased all of the finest athletic qualities and traits. Strength, agility, accuracy, endurance, and speed… these men had them all. They pushed their bodies to the very limits, and channeled all of their athletic skills and abilities into the will to win. These men were some of the greatest competitors and athletes I had ever seen, and their fight thrilled me to no end.

But why has mixed martial arts become such a popular form of entertainment in today’s society? Why are more and more individuals experiencing the same thrills and excitement that I felt that night? Some critics and fans alike give credit to the ever-increasing violence present in the world around us. The evening news describes scenes of murder and rape on the streets of our local communities. Rappers, such as 50 Cent and Lil’ Wayne, glamorize the “kill or be killed” lifestyle of the inner cities and ghettos of America.  Movies, such as the Saw series, and video games like, Grand Theft Auto, allow players to become rogue warriors, hell bent on missions of societal destruction and domination. All of these factors, they say, point to the ever-increasing interest in the more violent, combat oriented sport that is MMA.

More violent? Stepping into the octagon is more violent and more socially unacceptable than other sports? One need only to take a look at several of America’s favorite past times to disprove this notion. In football, athletes are trained to hit, strike, and blindside their opponents in order to achieve victory. Hines Ward of the Steelers hit on Bengals’ linebacker Keith Rivers in the 08’ season is a perfect example. Rivers was forced to sit a majority of his rookie season with a broken jaw sustained during the hit on the play. Hockey operates in a similar manner. Grown men throw their bodies full force at one another in an effort to rock their counterparts to the very core. Basketball and basketball aren’t violent sports? Former University of North Carolina basketball player Tyler Hansbrough sustained a bloody nose after taking a brutal, intentional elbow from a Duke basketball player during a game in 2007 season. In baseball, it is relatively common to see a pitcher whirl 90+ mile an hour pitches at opposing batters in order to send a message to the opposing team.

      Others have stated that the UFC intrigues them because it reminds them of a sort of street fight; a bare-knuckle, barbaric, blood sport reminiscent of bar fights and back alley brawls. One UFC fan had this to say; “I think above all, in MMA you have to REALLY fight. Boxing is not real fighting, in real life if some jerk wanted to fight you would you just stand there in box? NO! You would get that sucker down on the ground and try to ground n’ pound.” For her, the allure of the octagon was caused by the similar techniques in street fighting and those showcased by MMA fighters. This too, is one of the critic’s biggest arguments against the sport.

One needs simply to sit down and actually watch an MMA fight to see that this is no simple street fight. There is so much more tact and strategy used in mixed martial arts than in a backyard brawl. Fighters such as Randy Couture and Georges St. Pierre have made their careers by being technically sound fighters and brilliant strategists. For example, Couture, who is now forty-four years old, still competes in UFC events fighting opponents are often younger and bigger than he is, both of which are obvious disadvantages. Couture’s fight with Tim Sylvia at UFC 68 is a prime example of his skills and abilities. Sylvia stands six feet, eight inches tall, weighs in at the limit of two hundred sixty five pounds, and is thirty-three years old. Couture is just six feet tall and originally competed at two hundred five pounds. Couture ended up beating Sylvia by way of unanimous decision.

How did Couture beat the much bigger and younger Sylvia? Strategy. Couture analyzed Sylvia’s weaknesses and capitalized upon them. Sylvia obviously had a size advantage and consequently an advantage when it came to reach. Couture knew he couldn’t stand up and box with Sylvia outright. So, Couture had to work inside, keep it close and not allow his opponent to use his reach advantage. He simply couldn’t go out and brawl like one would in a street fight. He had to analyze his own strengths and weaknesses and those of his opponent, in order to find a way to win the fight.

Well if it’s not the increase violence in our society making the sport more popular, and it’s not the similarity to a street fight and everyday brawl that attracts viewers, then what it is it? Mixed Martial Arts fighters are truly the ultimate athletes and gladiators of today. Americans and people as a whole celebrate athletes for their abilities and their skills. We constantly push our bodies and ourselves to the extreme in an effort to prove who is truly the best. From an early age we are taught to be successful and to be strong competitors. We are taught to always give our best no matter the circumstance we are facing.

UFC fighters epitomize these traits and these abilities. One must possess a well-rounded set of skills in order to compete in the octagon. For example, if you as a fighter are very good at striking, but lack skills in submission, you leave yourself open to be submitted by your opponent. Or if you’re an exceptional stand up fighter, but aren’t as polished when fighting from the ground, you run the risk of being taken down by your opponent. These fighters possess all of the skills necessary to compete in athletic events; strength, stamina, speed, agility, mobility, and great strategy/technical skills. The UFC and MMA as a whole is really a celebration of athleticism today. Just as the gladiators of Roman times entered the coliseum set to do battle against their opponents, the same is true of mixed martial artists. These fighters go above and beyond the normal skill set for example of a boxer or a football player. They combine skills, such as wrestling, tae kwon doe, and Brazilian ju jitsu in an effort to become the best warrior in the squared circle. We as a nation celebrate and promote our best athletes, and mixed martial artists are just that... the very best.

Brothers in Arms

…And in other news, word out of Afghanistan this morning, 4 more American soldiers were killed this morning when a roadside bomb was detonated near their highway checkpoint. This attack now raises the death toll in Afghanistan to 97 for the month, making it the deadliest month since the war started. There is already a sharp outcry coming from several Senators in Washington to send more troops in support of the war effort. Here to discuss this topic and how this issue could potentially damage the President’s approval rating here at home are our political experts….

We sat in the living room, I on the love seat, and Dad across the room on the larger couch; both of us numb to the words that the show’s host had just said so calmly, as though this was nothing more than a side note of the day’s daily news. It seemed as though the violence and destruction had become routine, a dry and boring topic that nobody wanted to hear about, yet one that nobody could ignore. It was the last thing on everyone’s mind, yet the first thing to be brought up in conversation. Political pundits bickered back and forth for what felt like hours, pouring out the same old arguments we’d all heard time and time again.

The liberals need to wake up and smell the coffee. We’ve got to bring more troops into Afghanistan and Iraq. There’s simply no way that we can cut and run from the situation we find ourselves in now. What the political Left fails to realize is that if we were to cut and run, the Middle East would fall into a state of chaos and confusion, with Iraq and Afghanistan being the epicenters

How many more lives are we willing to give in a war that no body no longer wants? We’ve got ourselves into a lose, lose situation. There’s no reason for us to be over there, not a single one. This is just another example of the Conservatives’ agenda here in the United States and across the globe as a whole.

As we continued to watch, being bombarded again and again with views from the “super conservative Right” and the “ultra liberal Left”, my Father weighed in with his view on the whole situation.

Four soldiers killed. Could have been worse I suppose, I mean it could have been ten or twenty, the way it was when I was your age, during Vietnam and that whole mess. Hell if you think about it, four doesn’t really seem all too bad, considering the alternatives. I'll tell ya one thing though, we keep goin’ down this road, raisin all that hell and fuss over there, this country won’t’ be long for this world. You’re grandpa said it a few years back, and boy I’ll be damned if it ain’t comin’ true. You just wait Kyle, this country is in for a big awakening, you just wait and see.

I didn’t care. I didn’t care what the news was telling me. Iraq and Afghanistan were way over on the side of the globe, out of sight out of mind. I didn’t care about the different so called “experts”. They did nothing but yell and carry on about secret “agendas” and the polarization along party lines within the Congress. I didn’t care what my father had to say either. It was nothing but another useless piece of information that really wouldn’t affect me one way or another, and therefore wasn’t even worth my effort in listening. I didn’t care, period.

I didn’t care that is until the war hit me. Rocked me to my core, took my world and flipped it upside down, leaving me in a state of concern and disillusionment with the war, and with American government as a whole. Not one, but two of my cousins were shipped over to Afghanistan within three months of each other. Cousins? No, more like brothers. Kids that growing up, had taught me how to throw a perfect spiral. Kids who had taught me how to wrestle and to shoot a BB gun. Kids who spent enough time and stayed enough nights with me at my house to constitute their own room and bed.

Now they were gone. Shipped across the seas to fight a foreign war in a foreign land, living their lives day to day with the constant fear of mortar fire and sniper rounds. Tossing grenades towards an unknown enemy replaced tossing football with me in the backyard. Riding patrol on hummers through Afghani villages replaced riding fourweelers across the pastures of the farms. Standing on guard duty outside of a marine barrack, waiting for a surprise attack replaced sitting in a deer stand in the middle of the woods, waiting for the thrill of a monster buck.

Growing up, my cousin Zach and I had shared a passion for the outdoors and professional wrestling. Rarely a day at lunch in our elementary school's cafeteria went by without us discussing the previous night’s action from the WWF. We even had our own mock-wrestling matches, which usually always ended with Zach winning by way of a pin. To me, Zach was beyond cool, the kind of kid that the guys want to be and the girls want to be with. He looked after me too, all the way through middle school and  once I got to high school, making sure to get me in with the good crowd and to keep a watchful eye out for me during my freshmen year.

It was the end of my sophomore year when Zach told the family he was enlisting in the Marines. Working as a diesel mechanic hadn’t panned out and the concrete business wasn’t looking too fair either, so he figured he’d take his chances with the Marines. Once he’d left for training, the conversations back here at home always turned to what was happening with Zach. When was he going to ship out? Did we know where he would go when he did? What had he said the last time he called? Over and over again we played out these conversations, trying to stave off the news that we all knew would one day      come.

Then it happened. As my aunt Susan stepped out of her truck I could tell something was bothering her. She didn’t seem like her normal, upbeat and outgoing self. Instead, she seemed more reserved, almost as if she were walking in a daze. As she sat down at our dinner table, she took a slow look around, took a moment to muster up the strength and then proceeded to explain what all she knew. The phrase “Afghanistan in two months” nearly stopped me in my tracks. A few months later, I would relive this situation.

Cousin doesn’t accurately describe what Korry is to me. To me, he is so much more than that. Korry is like the older brother that I never had, only he’s more than that; closer than brothers if that is at all possible. Growing up, Korry would spend the summer with us on our family’s farm, working in the tobacco fields alongside the rest of the family. He would stay with us for weeks at a time, and blend right in to the family so that to an outsider, he looked like a third child in the Mills household. Anytime the family went on vacation, Korry went too. Anytime we went to a Reds game, Korry came with. No matter what it was, he was there. From the very start, Korry had himself a rough road in life. Never the brightest or most intelligent kid in his class, school didn’t come very easily to him. No matter how hard he tried, he just could never seem to succeed or do well in the realm of academia. He and I had discussed college a little bit, but by then he had his fill of school. Just a few short weeks after Zach had let us know about his plans for the Marine Corps, Korry informed us that he had enlisted in the Army and would be shipping out very soon for basic training.

A few months down the road, Korry sent me a text telling me he’d be coming home for a few days and that he wanted to go to lunch one day, just me and him. Of course I agreed and on the following Friday, he and I met at our grandparent’s house in Independence. From the minute he walked in the door, I could tell something was up. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but every little thing he did tipped me off that something wasn’t quite right, something was bothering him. I knew he wouldn’t say anything in front of Mamaw, Lord knows she worried enough about him as it was, so I waited until we were alone at lunch to try and find out what was up. As we sat in the little corner booth of the Independence LaRosa’s, he explained to me what it was that was eating at him so intensely.

Kyle, Kyle I want ya to promise me somethin’. I want ya to promise me that ya won’t tell Mamaw or Papaw, or hell any of the rest of the family what it is that I’m about to tell ya. Can ya do that for me? Good. Kyle, I’m leaving for Afghanistan in about a month, shipping out the last week of October. Goin’ over as part of a security detail for one of the Generals over there. If it wasn’t now, it was gonna be this time next year, and actually, this is supposed to be about the safest way to go over. You can tell your mom and dad if ya want, just kinda let em’ know what’s goin on. I’ll come out there Sunday night and explain it all myself. Just promise me you won’t tell Mamaw or Papaw. In the shape Mamaws in, I think it’d push her over the edge if she found out. Only people who know are my dad and brother, and now you, and I wanna try and keep it that way. Promise me that Kyle.

I sat there stunned. I could hardly eat the rest of the pizza we had ordered. It was hard to look at him and not think about it, to try and push the thought of his leaving out of my head for the brief time we would have together before that day finally came. My brother, my older brother, the one kid who had taught me what it meant to persevere in life, what it meant to really be a man, my partner in crime, would be on the other side of the world in just a few short weeks. First Zach, and now Korry.

That Sunday night was a hard one on the whole family. As he explained to us in full detail of what was about to happen, I could see the tears well up in my little brother’s eyes. We faked smiles and joy through dinner, trying to pretend as if we hadn’t heard what he just told us. Just like old times out at the house. After several minutes of hugs and goodbyes, he finally walked out the door, hopped into his black GTO and like the midnight wind, was gone. Dad sat sulking out in the garage, chain smoking cigarette after cigarette to try and numb the worry and concern growing inside of him. Walking back into the kitchen, I could see the tears rolling down my mother’s cheeks, confusion and fear written across her face.

 As I sit hear now, writing this blog, I wonder what they’re doing now. Are they driving along a desolate highway as part of some convoy through the desolate Afghan desert? Are they standing guard, waiting and watching for any signs of enemy activity? Are they camped out, gazing up at the stars, the same stars that dot the sky every night, half a world a way here at home? Since they’ve left, I find myself paying closer and closer attention to the news from the war effort. Anytime a report comes out of Afghanistan, anytime I see the words “…American GI’s killed today…”, anytime I hear the representatives from the Left and Right battling back and forth about what the best strategy is for the war, I find myself gripped to my TV, thinking and wondering to myself was it Zach or Korry that they were talking about.

 Since the start of the war a few years go, the focus on the conflict has shifted dramatically. No longer are we as a nation shocked or horrified by the ever-growing death toll of the war. It’s become something almost common place, a tool to be used by either political party against the other. Anymore we view the war in purely political terms, without stopping to think about what it really means when an American soldier is killed in the war. We don’t stop to think about the mother sitting at home, wishing for nothing more than her son or daughter to be brought back to them. We don’t think about the now widowed mother of two who has to somehow find away to support her family without the love of her life there to help her along the way. We don’t think about the younger brothers, whose childhood idols and role models were taken away from them in the blink of an eye.

Before the war hit me directly, I wasn’t too concerned with what was going on in the Middle East. I had no reason to be scared or afraid of what was happening across the globe. Out of sight, out of mind right? But now that two of my family members, two of my closest friends, two of my brothers are over there, my view has completely shifted. We as a country need to stop seeing the war from a purely political standpoint and start looking through a more personal perspective. After all, people, living breathing, human beings, fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters are doing the fighting, not numbers and statistics.