UFC’s Next Chapter
Jake Rossen Jul 14, 2009
Much of this week’s post-UFC dialogue will inevitably surround the
concrete constitution -- and cranium -- of Brock
Lesnar, who is now on a podium that very few combat athletes
achieve. When his career numbers are tallied, he stands an
excellent chance of being the biggest-drawing pay-per-view
attraction outside of boxing’s reach.
That he’s not exactly a Zen master of martial respect is beside the point: no one ever grew poor preying on the slobbering sensibilities of fight fans. A minority of people tune in to watch men like Lyoto Machida or Anderson Silva behave like violent gentlemen; most of UFC 100’s million-plus buyers used their remote to see someone’s face grow into new levels of hematoma disfigurement. Lesnar is quickly becoming a guarantee of that.
The charge that Lesnar led this past weekend is perhaps bigger than
his XXL gloves, his perfectly square head, or any of his pre- and
post-fight boasts: It’s yet another indication that the UFC’s brand
of corporate concussion is spreading like an oil spill. This is not
a transient fad, as boxing promoters and critics had hoped; this
isn’t a fringe “extreme” sport in the vein of skateboarding or bike
stunts. It’s a serious contender for global attention on a very
prominent, very profitable scale.
How much bigger can it get?
Brock Lesnar differs from
Anderson
Silva's gentleman image.
When everything is sorted, it’s very possible UFC 100 and its
surrounding fanfare will be recorded as another quantum leap in the
sport’s bid for mass recognition -- which shouldn’t be confused for
acceptance.
Among the major news outlets that carried piles of coverage, T.J. Simers of the Los Angeles Times nearly choked on his own repulsion. “Ultimate Bore and Gore,” he wrote. “They wring the mat out here with all the blood spilled at the end of the night, and the blood banks in Las Vegas will be restocked. … Lesnar raises the middle finger on each hand in saluting the paying customers, the WWE finish with Lesnar urging the crowd to boo louder, one more reason why this so-called sport is still a long way away from qualifying as mainstream fare.”
CBS’s Ray Ratto promised the UFC would remain a “niche” sport, and that UFC 100 might be the company’s never-equaled pinnacle, drawing comparisons to the WWE’s “Wrestlemania III” promotional record attendance number.
How much bigger can it get -- if the path is cut off by a segment of the population coughing up bile for what is inarguably the most unpleasant-looking sport in the world?
Simers is, by some accounts online, a man of roughly 60. If you consider his diet of Audie Murphy, stand-up-and-fight-like-a-man movies and the superficially sterile aesthetic of boxing, watching Lesnar straddle Mir and smash his teeth into powder must have caused his jaw to slack. UFC fans have been indoctrinated into absorbing this gore without a problem. But for a percentage of people, it’s sickening. Boxing kills, MMA bleeds. And people are far more disgusted by the latter.
It’s going to take a generational rotation to erase Simers’ reaction and create a cultural tolerance, in the same way boxing was once demonized before eventually -- through births and deaths -- becoming as much a part of life as toilet paper or taxes. You or I can watch this stuff knowing that a face covered in blood poses no significant danger to an athlete, that shots to the head are diluted considerably by other attacks, and that a mortality rate of three against the tens of thousands who have competed is statistically sub-zero.
But Simers, and others like him, understands none of this, and who can blame them? Go find a car accident victim, watch him stumble around in a drunken daze covered in his own plasma, one broken arm swinging listlessly from his shoulder, and have someone tell you that he’s “fine, just a little beat up.”
How much bigger can it get? Big enough to accommodate Lesnar’s outsized personality. Big enough to draw record crowds and cable audiences. But not so big that other sports will be forced to stand in its shadow. Dads and their kids can toss a football around a yard: They’re not likely to be grappling in it.
Dana White is often fond of saying that fighting translates into any language or demographic. It’s true, but that appetite often demands it be packaged in a more digestible form. Boxing is wrapped in a suit; MMA is a knife fight, messy and haphazard.
We will eventually spawn a generation that’s rewired to accept broken bones and orbital bleeding as a recreational evening. Lesnar will smash a Bud Light bottle over someone’s head in a commercial, and it won’t be any more newsworthy than when Derek Jeter smiles next to a stick of deodorant.
But until then, MMA will resemble a mutated bit of prizefighting, too ugly to be embraced by too many people and too foreign to be understood by anyone old enough to remember John Wayne. Conflict is the core of drama, and White is right to imagine that his product appeals to us in a primal, pared-down way. But this is conflict painted bright red when people are used to black and blue.
For comments, e-mail [email protected]
That he’s not exactly a Zen master of martial respect is beside the point: no one ever grew poor preying on the slobbering sensibilities of fight fans. A minority of people tune in to watch men like Lyoto Machida or Anderson Silva behave like violent gentlemen; most of UFC 100’s million-plus buyers used their remote to see someone’s face grow into new levels of hematoma disfigurement. Lesnar is quickly becoming a guarantee of that.
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How much bigger can it get?
“UFC: Undisputed,” the video game from THQ, has sold three million
copies since its May release; between 30,000 and 50,000 fans
attended their Fan Expo in Las Vegas Friday and Saturday, more than
had purchased pay per views nationwide during the promotion’s worst
economic drought; Spike airings regularly best MLB, golf and
basketball numbers in advertiser-demanded demos; and over the
weekend, the UFC essentially commandeered the entire city of Las
Vegas, opening multiple closed-circuit telecasts for fans who
failed to beat scalpers to the mouse click during pre-sales.
Photo by
Sherdog.com
Silva's gentleman image.
Among the major news outlets that carried piles of coverage, T.J. Simers of the Los Angeles Times nearly choked on his own repulsion. “Ultimate Bore and Gore,” he wrote. “They wring the mat out here with all the blood spilled at the end of the night, and the blood banks in Las Vegas will be restocked. … Lesnar raises the middle finger on each hand in saluting the paying customers, the WWE finish with Lesnar urging the crowd to boo louder, one more reason why this so-called sport is still a long way away from qualifying as mainstream fare.”
CBS’s Ray Ratto promised the UFC would remain a “niche” sport, and that UFC 100 might be the company’s never-equaled pinnacle, drawing comparisons to the WWE’s “Wrestlemania III” promotional record attendance number.
How much bigger can it get -- if the path is cut off by a segment of the population coughing up bile for what is inarguably the most unpleasant-looking sport in the world?
Simers is, by some accounts online, a man of roughly 60. If you consider his diet of Audie Murphy, stand-up-and-fight-like-a-man movies and the superficially sterile aesthetic of boxing, watching Lesnar straddle Mir and smash his teeth into powder must have caused his jaw to slack. UFC fans have been indoctrinated into absorbing this gore without a problem. But for a percentage of people, it’s sickening. Boxing kills, MMA bleeds. And people are far more disgusted by the latter.
It’s going to take a generational rotation to erase Simers’ reaction and create a cultural tolerance, in the same way boxing was once demonized before eventually -- through births and deaths -- becoming as much a part of life as toilet paper or taxes. You or I can watch this stuff knowing that a face covered in blood poses no significant danger to an athlete, that shots to the head are diluted considerably by other attacks, and that a mortality rate of three against the tens of thousands who have competed is statistically sub-zero.
But Simers, and others like him, understands none of this, and who can blame them? Go find a car accident victim, watch him stumble around in a drunken daze covered in his own plasma, one broken arm swinging listlessly from his shoulder, and have someone tell you that he’s “fine, just a little beat up.”
How much bigger can it get? Big enough to accommodate Lesnar’s outsized personality. Big enough to draw record crowds and cable audiences. But not so big that other sports will be forced to stand in its shadow. Dads and their kids can toss a football around a yard: They’re not likely to be grappling in it.
Dana White is often fond of saying that fighting translates into any language or demographic. It’s true, but that appetite often demands it be packaged in a more digestible form. Boxing is wrapped in a suit; MMA is a knife fight, messy and haphazard.
We will eventually spawn a generation that’s rewired to accept broken bones and orbital bleeding as a recreational evening. Lesnar will smash a Bud Light bottle over someone’s head in a commercial, and it won’t be any more newsworthy than when Derek Jeter smiles next to a stick of deodorant.
But until then, MMA will resemble a mutated bit of prizefighting, too ugly to be embraced by too many people and too foreign to be understood by anyone old enough to remember John Wayne. Conflict is the core of drama, and White is right to imagine that his product appeals to us in a primal, pared-down way. But this is conflict painted bright red when people are used to black and blue.
For comments, e-mail [email protected]
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