Ah, it really is the best of times and the worst of times, isn’t it? On the pro column, we have the Oakland Raiders in playoff contention for the first time since the start of Operation: Enduring Freedom, and for some reason, people are actually starting to pay me for the stuff I write now. And is that the Los Angeles Kings in first place of the NHL western conference? ANZE KOPITAR IS YOUR NEW LORD AND SAVIOUR, WORSHIP HIM ACCORDINGLY. AND JACOBY FORD AND DARREN MCFADDEN, WHILE YOU ARE AT IT.
Of course, it isn’t all sunshine and rainbows at Camp Swift. For starters, I just got my bill for next semester’s tuition, and according to the Registrar (which I always thought was a weird word, by the way), I have to scrounge up $2,200 before the first week of December.
Now, I have the money (thanks to my side job of pimp…I mean, helping local independent businesses set up social networking sites), but man, I really hate to take that kind of money out of my savings account. So, like all Americans, I decided to write my congressman, asking for a little financial help. Below is my letter, printed in its entirety.
Dear Mr. Congress Person,
LOL! My name is James, and I am a college student. I need money to continue my education, because of all of those damn democrats. Wait, you are a republican, aren’t you? Well, if not, I meant to say “damn republicans”, so interpret it as you wish.
I am writing you today because, my college, the third largest in the state of Georgia (both the United States region and the Soviet border country), has asked me to pony up a rather large sum of money in a rather short amount of time. The way I see it, I’ve been paying some of my taxes since 2003, and not once have you called me up to ask how I was doing. Seven years down the line, and I haven’t gotten one Christmas card from you or the misses, so I’m asking for an advance now.
The way I see it, if you’re going to bail out Enron, and Tyco, and Fannie Mac and Jack-in-the Box, you might as well bail me out while you’re at it. I mean, shit, I actually have a future, according to a number of sources such as the Southern Regional Press Institute
So anyway, I have listed my Paypal account information in an enclosed envelope. Yeah, I know there’s some white looking stuff around the edges of the letter, but IT’S NOT WHAT YOU THINK. I SWEAR.
I look forward to hearing from you, and by hearing from you, I mean “you giving me some money”. Good day, and God bless. Unless you don’t believe in God, but since you’re in a Red State, Praise Jesus and Fuck The Bill of Rights and Earth Sciences.
In a totally unrelated story, I’m also not allowed to fly on airplanes in the continental U.S. anymore, and if I come within fifty feet of a government building, COINTELPRO procedure allows federal employees to shoot me. REPRESENTATIVE DEMOCRACY, IT WORKS!
Well, that’s enough of that nonsense. What do you know, another UFC PPV is on tonight! Shit, didn’t we have one just six days ago? Oh well, this time around, we have to PAY for it, so that automatically means it’s a BETTER card. Or maybe not, I’m no soothsayer.
Either way, hold onto your asses (especially if you’re in prison!) because it’s time for our official recap of
We are coming to you LIVE from Las Vegas, home of more human scum per capita than any city in the United States not called “Detroit”, “Washington” or “West Virginia or New Jersey”. And I know that those last two aren’t really cities, but eat it, Sanchez.
As always, our hosts are Mike Goldberg, Joe Rogan, and the strong, pervasive desire to hit the “Mute” button.
Wait one second. . . Tonight’s show is actually emanating from The Palace of Auburn Hills, which means sweet jumping Jesus, I get to roll out the Detroit jokes en masse tonight. Looks like Christmas came early this year, huh?
Spike TV decides to take a break from showing misogynistic, quasi-homophobic bullshit to give us a couple of prelim fights before tonight’s “you got to pay for it” portion of the show. First up? Aaron Simpson taking on Mark Munoz, which means it wrestling up against wrestling…only one of them is Filipino (guess which one?)
Munoz goes for a takedown, and Simpson (no relation to O.J. or Homer, I presume) gets his back. OOPS. Munoz escapes, Simpson says “fuck that shit” and slams him and takes his back AGAIN…just like we did in Vietnam. I think. Munoz snakes out, and it’s Punch-A-Mania 2010. I LOVES IT. Simpson pushes Munoz into the cage. The doldrums, they have set in. The crowd is getting restless (as well as crude and thankless, per Joe Strummer) as Simpson jams two kneecaps up Munoz’s nostrils to end the round. 10-9 for Simpson.
Stand up in the second, and Simpson takes Munoz down, but not all the way to Funkytown, however. At one point, Simpson appeared to have Munoz locked in something of a cross face chicken wing, which, as we all know, is a precursor to a triple murder-suicide. Things get vertical, and Munoz is throwing some wicked punches Simpson’s way. The ref doesn’t call a head butt, and Munoz looks like he has a bullet wound on his forehead. And because THAT wasn’t enough, Simpson decides to stamp it by kicking Munoz STRAIGHT IN THE SACK. Munoz is given time to pull his testicles out of his windpipe, and the fight, it doth continue. Apparently, kicking a Filipino in the genitals automatically jump starts their kung-fu abilities, as Munoz lands a NASTY head kick immediately after. He shoots for a takedown and says “turnabout is fair play, mother fucker” and knees Simpson straight in his All-American ball sack. SIMPSON WITH ANOTHER COJONES SHOT. Jesus Horatio Christ, The Home Alone movies have less strikes to the ’nads then this fight. Simpson scores a takedown, Munoz gets out, and things get standing. The round concludes with Munoz landing the more damaging blows, and more frequently. Tough round to call, but I’ll give it to Munoz to make it 19-19.
Round three begins. Munoz with the takedown, and he has Simpson’s back. Simpson calls for a timeout, claiming that he got poked in the eyes.. This might just be the longest 15 minute fight ever. Simpson rushes in with a knee after the break, and Munoz is unloading on him. Clinching, and Simpson secures a shitty looking single leg takedown with about two minutes to go. And we’re up and swinging with about a minute to go. I’d say it’s probably 29-28 for Munoz here.
And what do you know? It’s 29-28 across the board for Munoz. Justice is served, alongside a nice, hot plate of whatever stereotypical food it is commonly stated that Filipino people eat.
Holy shit, that teaser for GSP \ Koshceck at UFC 124 is BAD ASS.
That new Rock movie looks kind crappy.
Say what you will about Call of Duty, but that commercial with Jimmy Kimmel and Kobe Bryant is pretty funny.
Watch MANswers, because you’re probably a retard.
Hey, we’re back (thank God), so how’s about another prelim fight? Well, I don’t care, you’re getting one anyway. Up next, we’ve got Brian Foster taking on Matt Brown. As always, we here at The Rocktagon make it an issue to proudly support the fighter that admits to being an ex-user of heroin, so we’re ALL standing in unity for Brown here tonight. Even though, you have to give Foster some props, since his last victory was over a dude named, and I shit you not, Forrest Petz. Holee Fawck, that HAS to be the worst name ever in the history of MMA fighting, and that’s counting all of those nut sacks that used to fight in the IFL. Gahd-dayumn.
Foster shoots for a quick takedown. Brown is right back up, presumably because he thought he heard his dealer’s voice in the crowd. Brown gets a takedown of his own, but Foster quickly floats over to his back. Foster goes for an arm bar, but Brown’s extra-thick veins keep him from tapping. Brown in side control. He’s throwing knees. Things are standing. Foster throwing some bombs, and he gets a takedown. Brown has the full mount, and now he’s going for an arm bar. Foster pulls out (like we should in Afghanistan / our respective girlfriends), and finds himself on top of Brown. We have some fists from the top until the bell sounds. 10-9 Foster.
Round 2 begins, and Brown uses the vaunted “Bobby Hill - That’s My Purse” guard on Foster. . .meaning, ostensibly, that he just kicks him in the testicles. Foster lands a NASTY takedown. Foster in the guard, and raining some bombs. Brown is back up. Brown shoots (up) for a takedown, but when he does - - Uh Oh - - Foster locks in a DEEP guillotine choke. Yeah, he ain’t getting out of that one. The ref (who looks a LOT like Tom Green, by the way) jumps in, as Brown contemplates whether or not he should give the methadone clinic a post-loss call.
We’ve got a couple of minutes to spare, so how about ANOTHER prelim fight? This time around, we’ve got Dennis Hallman (wash-up #1) taking on Karo Parisyan (wash-up #2), who’s probably best known for being a goddamn lunatic that’s on more drugs than Paulo Filho and the TNA locker room combined.
Parisyan looks like he’s being swarmed by invisible bees. Oh shit, this is going to be bad. Dennis Hallman capitalizes on the fact that Karo is probably on planet Levaquin by dropping him with a mean right and pounding him out with eight punches on the ground. If you hear the sound of a pen being uncapped, it’s just Dana White preparing to ink up some walking papers for a certain former welterweight standout.
Dana White does the hard sell for the PPV. Rampage Jackson says that tonight, he’s going back to his “PRIDE-ful” roots (SPOILER).
Time to flip over to the PPV channel.
If you’re illegally watching this, you’ll get cholera. Just ask the Haitians: Zuffa DOES NOT fuck around with international piracy.
Gladiator opening, followed by nu-metal fro 2002. That kind of needs to be updated, doesn’t it folks?
We are coming to you LIVE from The Palace of Auburn Hills in a part of Michigan that ISN’T tainted by the far-reaching atrociousness that is Detroit. Things have gotten so bad as of late that even RoboCop has thought about calling it quits and moving to Ann Arbor, I’ve heard.
Joe Rogan says stuff, and then Mike Goldberg says some stuff. We all pretend to care, while I lust over the 8,000 calorie pretzel-potato skin-mozarella stick fiesta platter being wheeled across the room. Also, there’s an inordinate number of fat girls in the house tonight, so fuck it, I’ll just fantasize about deep friend foodstuffs instead.
Now, I know what you’re thinking here. “Hey, James, isn’t Sotirpoulos misspelled up there?” To which I reply, “yeah, probably”. That’s what he gets for being an Aborigine, I suppose. IF IT AIN’T ANGLICAN, TO FUCK WITH THE PROPER SPELLINGS OF SURNAMES. It’s in the Bill of Rights or something.
. . .Shit, was that a tangent or what? Anyway, tonight’s curtain jerker is actually a pretty entertaining-sounding match-up, as the Aussie Sotirpoulos is having a CINDERELLA year in the UFC in 2010. In February, he defeated the VASTLY favored Joe Stevenson in his home country (Tatooine), and then beat the shit out of Kurt “Italian Batman” Pellegrino at UFC 116.
Lauzon, on the other foot, is a guy that’s riding something of a comeback in the UFC. Way, way back in 2006, he knocked out Jens Pulver in what was considered a shit-the-bed upset, but since we all know that Pulver kind of sucks now, that’s not really the feather in Joe’s cap that it used to be. After that, he had some ups and downs (and by downs, I mean getting butt raped by Kenny Florian on select market cable television) and now, “Creepy Joe” is coming off a “baked potato set for five minutes” hot victory over Gabe Rudiger, which was pretty much the ONLY good thing about UFC 118 (well, excluding all of that K-Mart branded shit James Toney decided to sport for the evening).
So, we have two young up and comers DESPERATELY trying to make themselves relevant in a division that is loaded with potential title challengers (and that was before the influx of WEC talent). With that in mind, I expect the match to consist of any of the following, in some permutation or another:
A.) punching, perhaps really, really hard
B.) kicking, up around the face region
C.) possibly a submission or two, with the hopeful resultant of permanent bone damage or nerve detachment
Two guys, direly in need of flashy wins, in a match-up neither of them can really afford to lose. This one. . . Cue J.R’s voice (but not the cerebral palsy). . .ought to be a slobber knocker..
Both of these guys look like Michael Cera. Well, more accurately, that gargoyle from The Hunchback of Notre Dame and Michael Cera’s bastard mutant son with DOWN syndrome. Both guys come out swinging. Holy shit, these two guys really do look identical, like it’s a Ryu vs. Ryu match from circa 1994. The Aussie goes for a takedown. Not getting it. Both guys swinging against the cage. Lauzon gets something of a takedown, but George snakes his way to the full mount. And he just lost it. Um, never mind, then. NOW George gets the takedown. He transitions from the back to side control. Some really fancy technical stuff here. George goes for an arm bar, and Lauzon goes for a jail break. He ends the round in the full mount, raining some nasty elbows from the top. Tough round to call, but I’d give the nod to George for the rarely-spoke of “Octagon control”.
Round Two begins. Stand, and deliver (punches). George goes for a takedown. Joe is pushed against the cage. George landing some knee shots and the occasional punch. Lauzon shoots for a takedown, and tries to lock in an armbar in vein. George now has his balls DIRECTLY in Lauzon’s face. George goes for another arm bar. No dice. George still has the full mount. He’s got a kimura. Lauzon is fucked right about now. He taps.
In the post bout interview, George says he’s looking forward to fighting in Australia again. [Note: He’ll be taking on Dennis Siver, because every now and then, UFC head booker Joe Silva likes to say “fuck logic in the ass” and just schedule matches by pulling names out of a fedora.]
Hey, Kenny Florian is in the house. Well, that, or the humanized version of Milhouse Van Houten bought ringside seats tonight.
Light Heavyweight Bout
Phil Davis vs. Tim Boetsch
There are a lot of young whippersnappers in the UFC Light Heavyweight division garnering the attention of the mainstream MMA press (read: virgins). While the lion’s share of this is going towards two guys (Jon Jones and Ryan Bader, and for good reason), Phil Davis stands out as the third Horsemen of the division’s future. Of course, he is being fairly protected by the UFC brass, so he hasn’t really been given a challenge that he couldn’t chew through. All in all, he’s looked pretty damned dominant in about all of his victories, my personal favorite being his February beat down in which he slung Brian Stann from pillar to post for the better part of a fifteen minute pay-per-view raping.. He has talent, and he has skill, and you can market the fellow: sure, his wrestling isn’t as good as Bader, and he doesn’t have the get-the-fuck-out-of -here ferocity and quickness of Jones, but whatever. He’s good, and that’s all that you really need to know.
Tim Boetsch, on the other hand, fucking sucks. I know, I know, it’s really not the fairest assessment I can give the guy, but let’s face it: if you’re slow enough to get knocked unconscious by a deaf dude, you probably don’t need to be in the UFC. Pending the severity of his ensuing mauling at the hands of Davis, them walking papers might get signed a lot quicker than he would like.
According to Joe Rogan, Tim Boetsch is tonight’s “Most Spirited Fighter” recipient, an honor which is co-sponsored by a tequila manufacturer. Yeah, that’s a ringing endorsement, all right.
Little action to begin the first round. Davis with a leg kick, and then he’s storming like Norman Schwartzkopff. Ask your parents, kids! Davis is just pounding the SHIT out of Boetsch with just about every form of bodily striking you can think of. At one point, he even gets an illegal knee in, but the ref was picking his nose, so it doesn’t count. The round ends with the two clinching, and Davis lobbing some wicked patella shots. Easy 10-9 for “Mr. Wonderful”.
Round Two kicks off. Davis goes for a takedown, and I’ll be a monkey’s uncle (literally, because evolution is a scientific fact, you backwoods hillbillies) if Boetsch doesn’t ALMOST sink in a guillotine choke to win this fight. Davis breaks free, and goes for an armbar. That doesn’t work, so he transitions to a kimura. If you want to see a fucking technical showcase, watch how Davis locks in this thing using only ONE arm and weaving the other from the full mount. Fucking beautiful, really. Davis has the arms locked, and Boetsch taps. It’s going to be REAL hard to beat that one for submission of the night.
Post-bout, Rogan talks to Davis about the kimura. Between this and the Matt Hughes choke from UFC 117, I’d say that this is the year of improvised, crazy ass submissions. It’s on the Chinese calendar, look it up.
Ryan Bader is in the house. He’s going to get his ass kicked by Jon Jones in a couple of months. Of course, that’s an early estimate on my part, but it’s probably going to come to fruition. Also, some twat from YouTube is in the house. If you’re going to play that card, you might as well bring in the goddamn Winnebago Man and let him cut a promo.
Finally, Rip Hamilton is in attendance this evening. That means that tonight, Rip will actually be seeing less fights than he normally would at the average Pistons game.
But seriously though, fuck Detroit. I mean, really.
What the fiz-uck? A prelim fight on the main card this early? Oh yeah, that’s right, because the first two fights ended earlier than they were scripted. . . I mean, uh. . .
So anyway, we have TJ O’Brien taking on Paul Kelly. The story here is, O’Brien is about half a foot taller than Paul Kelly, but Kelly is one punch-throwing mother fucker, so who cares.
First round: punches. I mean, fucking lots of them.
Round two: More punches, O’Brien throws a hip toss, and Paul Kelly ends up in the crucifix position, which is pretty much a position that’s impossible to get out of. The story here is that Kelly throw close to forty unanswered punches and elbows before the ref finally stopped it, so we have ourselves yet another candidate for worst officiating of the year in this one. I guess the Zuffa brass just wanted us to see their horrendous officiating, for some unbeknownst reason.
In print media, you are expected to stay unbiased. As a reporter and analyst, it’s my duty to avoid making assumptions, even when the outcome is so glaringly obvious that Stevie Wonder can see it through a set of Ray-Bans.
For example: in one corner, you have Maiquel Falcao. Falcao doesn’t even have a Wikipedia entry set-up. If you fucking sneezed behind the camera on The Ultimate Fighter, you get a Wiki bio uploaded right then and there. For god’s sake, they let that dude that created S.A.F.T.A. have his own entry, so that should tell you something about just how valuable Falcao is to the mixed martial arts community.
And in the other corner, you have Gerald Harris, who does this to people:
One of these fighters gets put over on Sportscenter, and the other is less dispensable to the MMA world than John goddamn Hess. Draw your own conclusions from this point forward.
Before the bout, Goldberg brought up the fact that the last show the UFC held in Detroit was UFC 9, which was low lighted by the absolute worst main event in the company’s history. In honor of Dan Severn and Ken Shamrock circling each other for twenty minutes fifteen years ago, the first four minutes of this bout are absolute shit as well. Falcao absolutely UNLOADS on Harris, takes him down, and goes for a choke. Harris works his way out, goes for a side slam, and ends up getting caught in a NASTY choke with about fourteen seconds to go. At the 12 second mark, the on screen clock disappears, and the bell subsequently sounds about three seconds afterward. THE FUCK JUST HAPPENED?
Second round, and Falcao is just man-handling Harris. This is embarrassing. 20-17 easy for Falcao. And yes, I WILL get to work on that Wikipedia page first thing tomorrow morning.
Round three was so bad that you need to see it just for the guffaws. There was literally ONE strike the entire round, made even more hilarious by the fact that Harris ran around the Octagon like Apollo Creed after the bell sounded when it was obvious as all shit that he lost every round. Falcao, knowing he already had the first two rounds in the bag, did about as much in this round as Christopher Reeves could do on a dance floor post 1995. FUCKING HORRIBLE.
Unanimous decision for Falcao. Harris might want to grab his finest “classified ad” circling marker for this Monday, if you CATCH MY DRIFT.
After that last one, I think we could ALL use a shot or two. The mass exodus to the restroom, of course, means but one thing: our co-main events are NIGH.
BJ Penn vs. Matt Hughes
I believe I have already stated that I have ZERO DENIAL regarding the fact that I am an unabashed BJ Penn nut hugger. The guy could go out there, pretend to slip on an imaginary banana peel and piss himself before tapping to a titty twister and I would STILL find an argument for him to be ranked top ten in the pound for pound rankings. He’s a guy that I, for some reason or another, just feel a certain kinship with, even though he’s a rich Hawaiian dude that looks like a Goomba from the Super Mario Bros. movie and I’m an impoverished college student on the opposite side of the world that kind of looks like that one lanky dude with the huge nose from “Road Trip”. The thing is, I’m just a fan of this BJ Penn fellow, and nothing short of him wearing a shirt with a swastika on it while holding up a sign that says RAND PAUL FOR PRESIDENT 2012 will keep me from not rooting for the guy.
All of that stuff that has nothing to do with the fight, however, can’t mask this indelible fact: BJ Penn needs to win this fight like Sonic the Hedgehog needs to get a hold of one of those bubbles in the underwater levels. You see, Penn is coming off two back to back loses to Frank Edgar, a guy that weighs 145 pounds and flies around the ring like a hummingbird on crank. Now, in the first fight, I personally think BJ won a lackluster decision, but there’s no way around the fact that he got his ass kicked from pillar to post in his rematch at UFC 118. Long story short: if Penn doesn’t win this match, his career is, for all intents and purposes, over.
And, his foe is a familiar face. Matt Hughes, at one point in time, was the most dominant MMA fighter on the planet. He was kicking everybody’s ass at the Welterweight level: G.S.P., Penn, Frank Trigg, Royce Gracie, Carlos Newton. The guy was absolutely unstoppable, up until around late 2006 when he decided to start sucking all of a sudden.
This is the third contest between Penn and Hughes. Penn won the first bout in what was a HYUGE upset back in the day, and Hughes won the rematch two years later in what many people (read: all non-retards) consider the best MMA fight of 2006. At this point in time, however, it’s kind of obvious that neither of these guys are really looking towards greener pastures anymore. Matt Hughes is really just one knockout away from getting forced into mandatory retirement (since the last thing Dana wants is a dude in his 40s getting killed in front of a PPV audience, obviously), and with the massive influx of lightweight talent in the UFC (not to mention the fact that the welterweight division is fucking stacked), Penn will, more than likely, never get whiff at a title shot of any kind from here on out.
So. . .what’s the point of this fight, then? Well, to be honest, even I can’t make heads or tails of the booking decision here. I think the obvious desire here is to have Penn go over, so that he can be established as a credible threat in the Welterweight division (despite the fact that he just got his ass kicked by a dude that weighs thirty pounds lighter than the established division weight minimum). That, and I really don’t see Penn doing too well when faced with guys like Jon Fitch and Martin Kampmann, but what the hell ever, I guess.
The thing is, Matt Hughes can totally win this fight. In fact, if Hughes manages to pound out a TKO victory in the first round, I wouldn’t be surprised one iota. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised one lambda, really. The reality is, Matt Hughes, despite being an antiquated model, still has a couple of gallons left in the tank. While Penn goes into this fight on a two fight losing streak, Hughes goes into it on a two fight winning streak (even if one of those victories was the absolutely abysmal Renzo Gracie fight from last spring).
Truth be told, this one could go either way, folks.
BJ Penn comes out first. He is the EXACT opposite of how he looked going into his last bout. That stoic horse shit is gone, and Penn looks like he’s ready to rob a bank, mug an old bitch, or possibly commit a rape of some kind. The old Hilo Kid, he is BACK.
Matt Hughes is about twenty pounds heavier than Penn, but he sure is taking his sweet time to the cage. Penn actually looks pretty good at 169. Depending on his performance tonight, I think it might behoove him to stay at welterweight.
The crowd is JACKED for this bout. Bell sounds. Hughes with a high kick that does little. Penn rattles off some punches. PENN FUCKING DROPS HUGHES WITH A HUGE RIGHT HOOK. Penn lands about eight shots on the ground, and Hughes is OUT COLD. The place fucking explodes, as Penn does his best Fabricio Werdum impersonation and leaps out of the cage (I knew that swimming pool video on YouTube was a precursor to something!)
Matt Hughes, a minute later, asks the referee “what happened?” and everybody at the pub LOLS. Ha-ha, early signs of brain damage are FUNNY.
Penn cuts an ecstatic promo after the bout, while Hughes struggles to remember what sound the letter “A” makes. Yeah, Penn is staying at Welterweight from here on out (NOTE: Just signed for UFC 127, Penn vs.. JON FITCH. Fuck, and YES!)
0:21 seconds, if you’re keeping score at home. One of my favorite MMA moments of the year, without question.
Hey, do you want to see Karo Parisyan’s fall from grace in pre-package video form ONE MORE TIME? Well, you’re going to. SLAKE UPON THE MISERY OF YOUR FELLOW MAN, UFC FANS. SLAKE UPON HIS MISERY.
Teaser promo for the arrival of Jose Aldo. UFC President Dana White just gives him the UFC featherweight title, you know, because he’s earned it and whatnot. Note to self: bet the house on Josh Grispi at UFC 125.
Forrest Griffin in the house. He checks his watch, and realizes that it’s about 14:59 left on his 15 minutes of fame.
Hey, it’s The Rock, and he’s here to promote his new movie, “Faster”, which is a reference to the amount of time compared to average that this movie will travel from theaters to the value bin at Wal-Mart. Enjoy the trailer while I go drain my lizard, why don’t you?
Light Heavyweight Bout
The UFC Light Heavyweight division is arguably the most loaded division in the UFC, so it shouldn’t come as much of a shock when you realize that the title has bounced back and forth between six different fighters over the last four years. Like the proverbial “hot potato” in a game of, well, uh, “hot potato”, nobody really retains ownership of that belt for too long, and it’s pretty much a given that whoever wins the bout is next in line for a crack at the 205 pound crown. . .well, that is, if the fabled Shogun \ Evans bout EVER comes to fruition first.
Both of these guys are coming off some pretty bad losses. After being awarded a title defense victory in September of 09, Machida then went on to get his face rearranged by the current title holder (and world record holder for most time spent in sports-related surgery rehab) Mauricio Rua earlier this year. Jackson, a former champ that took about a year off to film the box office disaster “The A-Team”, returned in early summer in a losing effort against Rashad Evans.
Needless to say, you kind of need to win this fight if you’re either party.
Up until Machida’s throw downs with Rua, he looked pretty goddamn invincible, but the former undefeated standout had a gargantuan chink in his once shining armor exposed when Shogun proved, once and for all, that Karate guys can’t really take a knuckle sandwich under the left eye socket. Jackson, a competitor who has never been K.O.ed or submitted in the Octagon, has a pretty glaring weakness against fighters with strong wrestling backgrounds (as obvious by those two losses to Griffin and Evans), but if there’s one thing Machida isn’t, it’s a sterling grappler. Also, Lyoto Machida drinks his own piss. No, really.
Lyoto Machida comes out to Linkin Park while rocking the karate costume. Also, even though this observation has been made a billion times before, he really does look like Fez from That 70s Show. And also, kind of like Chris Benoit’s son, but that’s something we SHAN’T talk about ‘round the holidays.
The lights lower for Rampage’s entrance. And what song does he elect to come out to?
If anybody in the Kennesaw, Ga. Area on Saturday night heard a twenty something male screaming “YES!” at the top of their lungs, that was probably me. And if you don’t know what that song is. . .shame be upon you.
Rampage looks in WAY better shape than his fight against Rashad. Machida, well, looks like himself, which is probably a negative. Slow start to the first round. Jackson is aiming low, even though the dude has next to ZERO wrestling ability. Machida throwing some low kicks. Contrary to the claims of some, those things can do some damage. Jackson pins Machida against the cage. He’s stomping the foot, and throwing some knees. It’s not really doing anything, but he’s trying, cod sarnet. Machida keeps landing kicks, but Rampage just bullies him back into the cage. Rampage is showing some great ring control here, and he’s being the aggressor, for sure. 10-9 for Jackson.
Rampage clinches. More knees. Jackson scores a takedown. Since the dude has next to no submissions, Machida sneaks out and it’s back to the stand up. Machida throwing some knees and kicks, and Jackson lands a couple of shots on Lyoto’s jaw. Another clinch. Not really a whole lot happening, except for at the end when Jackson slips on an invisible banana peel. 20-18 Jackson.
Jackson comes it in the third, swinging wildly. He’s missing on just about all of them. LYOTO TAGS JACKSON. Machida takes him down, and he’s got three minutes to finish the fight. Machida in the full mount, and looking for an arm bar. Deafening “Stand them up!” chants throughout the building. About a minute and a half to go. Lyoto going for a triangle. EVERYBODY in the pub is standing, as Jackson LOOKS like he’s going to power bomb this mother fucker. Machida ducks out, and we have more stand up to finish the round. Machida scores another takedown and gets Jackson’s back with seconds left on the clock. The bell expires. Easily Machida’s round. I’ve got it 29-28 for Rampage..
Rampage raises Lyoto’s hand before the decision. The scores are read, and Rampage gives us a million dollar ZOINKS, SCOOB look when he’s announced as the winner. Jackson immediately cuts a Mick Foley / Steve Austin / Rock quality promo, and offers Machida a rematch. They’re TOTALLY going to do another fight here, I can smell it. Meanwhile, Machida pouts a little, now fully grasping the irony of that whole Shogun robbery thing from last October. Karma: She’s a world class twat, and this week’s, she’s ON THE RAG.
Well. . .that was an entertaining little show. It wasn’t the best of the year, but I felt as if I got my $5 worth. Obviously, tonight sets up a lot of entertaining matches for down the road, and there were at least two or three genuine, jump the fuck out of your chair and mark the hell out moments on the card, so if you have the time, download it off a torr. . . I mean, order the replay on In Demand Pay-Per-View, like all honest working folk.
ROGAN-ISM OF THE NIGHT:
That’s all I’ve got for this week. Enjoy your Thanksgiving (unless you’re a Canadian, because you ass backwards peoples celebrate all of the holidays in the wrong months), and I’ll see you in a couple.
JAMES SWIFT is a world class Brazilian Jiu-jitsu Striker, with a black belt under the Nogiueras, Renzo Gracie and The Brazilian Shoot Box Academy. I wait, I read that wrong. He’s just some twenty year old kid from Atlanta. Fuck him.
THE TWF "MENTAL WELLNESS TEST!"
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.).