Welcome all, to yet another LIVE (ish) UFC recap.

First and foremost, I would like to start tonight's play-by-play by publicly mourning the loss of Senator Ted Kennedy, whose decadent way of life has raised the bar for all liberal ne'er-do-wells such as myself. It's one thing to be a guy that was re-elected eleven times, but to be a guy that was re-elected eleven times AFTER cheating on a Spanish test and drowning a bitch is practically an apex of which no mortal man may ever surpass.

So here's to you, Mr. Kennedy. . .

. . . KENNEDY.

Well, that was distasteful as all hell. Moving on, let's get the ball rolling for UFC 102: Convalescence Home Chaos, since it is being main evented by two guys that have been fighting since the advent of the Sega CD. In one corner, it's Randy Couture, a guy that's more beloved by the UFC audience then being ignorant retards, and boy oh boy, does the UFC audience love being ignorant retards. On the other end of the spectrum, it's Antonio Banderas Nogiuera, whom is fundamentally to Fedor what Vladimir Lenin was to Stalin, which means, yeah, he's a bad mother fucker, but at the same time, eh.

Beyond that, though, the undercard actually looks halfway respectable, with one or two fights I actually care about seeing. How peculiar; booking an event with fights the fans actually GIVE A SHIT in viewing. What a novel concept.

Mikey Goldberg and Fear Factor Joe are our hosts. Gladiator opening, cue the ridiculously out-of-date nu metal and it is time to scuffle.

Our first battle is between Brandon Vera and Krzyzstof Soszynski, whom long- term Rocktagon dwellers will remember from two mighty damned impressive back- to-back performances at UFC 97 and UFC 98. He's also a Pollock, so which do you think has more weight; his in-cage prowess or the opportunity to trudge up archaic one-liners about an ethnic group that hasn't been prominent since the 1860s? If you said something about submarines with screen doors, then you sir, would be one correct mother fucker.

Anyway, Brandon Vera is boring big guy #1,284,759 on the UFC roster. He was originally supposed to take on Matt (no, not Mark's brother) Hamil tonight, whom is deaf, which means he probably didn't hear his alarm clock go off in time for the flight to the arena. Yeah, I stole that shit from "Family Guy", but they steal a lot of shit too, so it's all Evens Stevens as far as I care.

Proof that Mike Goldberg is a stupid fuck #001: He calls Vera a "Filipina". Wrong gender, you worthless shitbag of a human being.

KS and Vera are basically palette swaps of one another, with KS playing the albino character and Vera as the russet doppelganger that has the "corndog with eyebrows" tan going on. You know, for a guy that's 205, Brandon looks more like a 176 pounder. That, and he has the whole Vin Diesel look to him, so outside of his superlative voice work in The Iron Giant, fuck him.

Tie up to begin, with Vera using his expertise of the cage to lull KS into a false since of security and then WHAM O! Elbow to the side of the face. Anyway, repeat this for about fifteen minutes and you have the gist of the bout.

Poor Pollock; he loses the bout without really losing, as he was just "out- Octagon controlled" by Vera. At one point, Joe and Mike start yapping about ice cream, as I ponder if it's possible to make a dude's head explode a la Scanners from about 3,000 miles away. I'm trying my damnedest, anyway. . .

Winner: Brandon Vera, Decision (Unanimous)

Up next, it's Nate Marquhardt taking on Submission Guru Demian Maia. Maia has yet to lose in the Octagon, and Marquhardt hasn't been dropped since a title bout against Andersen Silva. It's striking versus technique, fire versus ice, Frenchmen against bath water; these two are naturally antithetical elements, and the end result should be quite entertaining. . .

. . .Oh, holy fuck! Marquhardt drops Maia in just ONE punch. Demian took a running Superman leap at Nate and like that, gets grounded by a mean right hand.

Well, chalk one up for caveman fighting as opposed to the intellectualized form of technique, I guess.

Post bout, Nate says that he WANTS Andersen Silva to WANT him. I wonder if he also saw him crying, sitting all alone and feeling like dying (didn't he, didn't he, didn't?)

Winner: Nate Marqhardt, KO (Punch), R1

There's too much time on our hands, so the UFC truck trucklers decide to air a seven second anti-fight prelim from earlier in the night in which up-and- comer Floridian Todd Duffee waffles the Edmontoner Tim Hague in just seven seconds. That's a new record, by the way. Just letting you know.

Up next, it's Chris Leben taking on Jake Rosholt, a former NCAA Division I wrestler guy. Leben is the hometown boy, and his offensive scheme is perchance best referenced as "Screaming retard monkey fu". If you've ever wanted to see a windmill sprout legs and MMA Fight, then Chris Leben is pretty much as close to the fulfillment of that fantasy as humanly possible.

We begin, and it is BIZARRO-WORLD as Rosholt starts dropping bombs and Leben tries to take Jake down, WRESTLING style. Leben, who is also making his first appearance since failing a drug test, is about as close to having a "dirty heel" in UFC as we are most likely to get. In the course of three minutes, Leben does a 28 Days Later charge at Rosholt, sinks in the world's shittiest looking triangle and in a desperate attempt to not get slammed again, stomps the dog shit out of Jake's toes like some sort of mongoloid trying to decimate an entire colony of ants. And then, he tries for a high kick, slips, and falls flat on his ass. HIGH comedy, that is what this is!

The fans really don't want Leben to lose, but he's going to. Rooting against Leben is kind of like booing the one retarded kid that gets to play on the last down of the varsity high school's football's season. It's just. . . Come on.

El Oh el, the ring girl almost fell on her plastic face before the third round. That made me chuckle, because I am a misogynist.

Round three kicks off, and Jake is scoring takedowns at will. In the mount, Leben attempts to roll out by turning on his back and. . . Oops.

Well, it's not often that you get to see a guy choked COMPLETELY unconscious on live television. I for one, can be proud to say that I finally saw such an activity.

Winner: Jake Rosholt, Submission (Side Choke), R3

Poor, misguided Leben. I'd say there's always tomorrow for him, but that is but a cruel, cruel, lie.

Time for Keith Jardine versus Thiago Silva, what do you say? Jardine is a guy that went the distance with Chuck and Rampage, but got the garbage knocked out of him by Wanderlei. Thiago was undefeated for the longest time, ran into some dude named My-Cheetah back in January and is now having to climb his way back up the ladder.

Simple rules in this one, kids: Win, and you might get a title shot a year from now pending a lot of oddball stuff happens. Lose, and next thing you know, you're headlining hillbilly fights alongside Mark Kerr in Indianapolis. Some things, assuredly, are more devastating than death, I muse.

Bruce Buffer gives us the rather sploogey introduction and in the corner Keith Jardine pinches his nipples in some primitive display of warrior hood. Yeah, an arena of 20,000 men cheering as another dude tugs on his he- titties. YEP, NOTHING GAY ABOUT THAT. NOPE, NOTHING AT ALL.

Anyhoo, we get some chasing around, and Jardine slips on his ass and gets mounted from the full guard by Thiago. We get some light tussling and Jardine manages to roll free. Pretty big pop from the crowd for the stand- up, which is the antithesis of what happens whenever Sinbad does comedy. As soon as Mike and Joe start talking about training chimpanzees to karate fight (sons of bitches stole my idea for a sitcom!) Thiago drops Jardine with a left hook outta nowhere for the flash knockout.

Post-bout, Mikey states that Thiago is "one violent dude", because the world of cage fighting is populated with a multitude of flower-sniffing, poetry reading pacifists.

Mike hawks for the poison that is Bud Light and a recap.

We have too much time left on the clock, so we fill it with yet another prelim, this one featuring Ed Herman (another Oregon boy) duking it out with Aaron Simpson. About two minutes into the bout, Simpson picks up Herman and slams the ever loving piss out of him. That's got to hurt more than getting gored by the fattest kid on the playground whilst in a rousing game of "smear the queer". Ed gets dropped and starts peddling his feet in the air as if such were an attack of some kind. It isn't.

Stand up, and Herman actually gets some offense in, dropping Simpson with a left hook and jumping on the fire like a sprinkling of 181 Proof (you know, the stuff that makes you go all Brokeback with your best friend while just moments ago you were playing Mario Kart. . . I mean, not that I have experience with such, because I am totally, one hundred percent grade A hetero. Mmm. . . Goobers.)

Oh, never mind that last part. Herman stands up and hobbles back to the corner going into the second. Ed waltzes out under his own power, attempts a karate kick, falls on his ass and screams "AGRHHHWHHHHBAH!" and the ref stops it just a few seconds into the second.

Winner: Aaron Simpson, Ref Stoppage (Ed Herman being a dumb ass), R2

Main event time. Nog out to The Stones, Randy out to the Smith. Jesus, even their entrance themes are being performed by the decrepit.

Couture and NOG start off with some dancing, and before long, NOG drops Couture with a firm right hand. The bout gets stood up, and we have some NICE fist exchanges, followed by yet another sweep by NOG, whom has Randy trapped in a textbook-perfect D'arce (no, not Al Bundy's neighbor) Choke. Somehow, Randy manages to worm his way out of the hold and ladies and gentlemen, we have ourselves a slobber knocker. It's time for some hockey style brawling (known to those in the know as pulling a Frye-Takyama) and these two fellows simply beat the dog shit out of each for a minute and thirty seconds straight.

Without question, an AWESOME first round.

Round two begins DIRECTLY where it left off with the fisticuffs. Another right hand and Randy eats canvas again. We have some ground pummeling, and Couture makes the full mount. NOG slips out and sinks in an Arm Triangle, and that sumbitch is DEEP. Once again, Randy manages to slip his way out, and for two minutes and thirty nine seconds, it's World War III in the cage.

So, far, this has been the most entertaining bout the UFC has put on in about two years.

Round three, and NOG is winning this one, unless Randy can pull off something miraculous. NOG sweeps Randy to the mat, and drills him with punches and attempts to lock in submission attempts galore to finish off "The Natural". At one point, NOG unleashes a Ground and Pound barrage that it is simply IMPOSSIBLE for a normal human being to weather, but that Randy Couture. . .

One minute to go, and Couture takes the full mount as the fans are absolutely in euphoria. Randy has just one minute to win this fight, and as the clock ticks down to all zeroes, the Portland crowd gives both of these competitors the adulation they deserve.

Winner: Antonio Rodrigo Noguiera, Decision (Unanimous)

It's official; the best UFC fight since Liddell / Wanderlei, which, ironically, was also a "Dream fight" of sorts betwixt long term UFC and PRIDE FC analogues that transpired in the twilight of their respective careers.

THE VERDICT: While, I guess I'm going to have to go and eat a big old plate of my own shit, because the main event absolutely, positively freaking ruled all worlds. Seriously, that is the bout The Undertaker and Shawn WISH they could've had at WM. I would've strangled a kitten to get ten more minutes from these two, and for that bout alone, this show is WELL worth going out of one's way to see.

I'm guessing the fallout from tonight's show leads to a Marquhardt-Henderson bout to determine the rightful challenger to Andersen Silva's throne. Seeing as how The Spider has already crumpled up both fellows like a wad of notebook paper, that seems to me like an exercise in futility, but, hey, you never know in the UFC.

I want to say that tonight's performance earns Big Nog an automatic title shot against the Fedor / Carwin winner, but I'm sure the UFC will find a way to screw him over for another match. As talented as he is, the Heavyweight champion is the veritable face of the company, and when you've got a face like, well, this. . .

. . . Yeah, maybe now you understand why they're trying to get Dos Santos or Velasquez to cut in line ahead of him.

GOLDBERGISM OF THE NIGHT: "These are two legendary legends!" - - Master Mike on our main event combatants.


* Did you hear the one about the Pollock Ultimate Fighter? Well, his name is Krzyzstof Soszynski, and he lost to Brandon Vera. And afterward, he tried to visit the sun at night.

* It's one thing to choke in front of your hometown, but it's totally ANOTHER to get choked OUT in your hometown. ATTN: Leben, Chris.

* Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu guys know fifteen thousand different ways to mess up your Achilles' tendon, but for some reason, don't know how to duck a punch.

* Jardine is about as predictable as the stock market.

* Noguiera, Couture? You guys BOTH fucking rule.

That's all I've got. Crank up "Flood" by Jars of Clay and "Save Tonight" by Eagle Eye Cherry and I'll be seeing you in a few.

Locking it up,
J. Swift.


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November 2006


by Sean Carless

With Christmas just around the corner, what better way to spend your few remaining dollars (left over after the seemingly infinite line-up of fucking pay-per-views ) then on the following "quality WWE merchandise!" After all, if they don't move this stuff, and fast, stockholders just might get time to figure out what "plummeting domestic buyrates" means!... and well, I don't think they need to tell you what that means! (Seriously. They're not telling you. Everything is fine! Ahem.).