Sunday, February 24, 2013

DotTeeVee: Backyard MMA

Remember when professional wrestling was culturally relevant? Ok, ok. I'll rephrase that. Remember when professional wrestling was popular enough that admitting you watched it didn't automatically brand you as a mentally defective troglodyte? What do mean, "No?" Fine. Remember when professional wrestling had enough popularity with the "trailer park located under power lines" crowd that youngsters with big dreams and missing chromosomes would attempt to imitate this proletarian ballet in backyards? Of course you do.

Well, those days are over. As wonderful as it was watching future meth cooks break light tubes over each other and slam themselves on shopping carts stolen from nearby Wally Marts I'm afraid that nothing gold can stay. Kids who score in the bottom third on standardized tests don't want to grow up to be Steve Austin or The Rock or Scotty Too Hotty anymore. Shed a tear, but take heart that something equally asinine and self-destructive has claimed the throne: backyard MMA.

 "Waiting for The Ultimate Fighter to call back, bro."

The first words we hear when this video starts are "look at his nipples" setting the tone for the high standard of maturity and professionalism that we'll be enjoying for the next 3 minutes and 54 seconds. The description informs us that this is a "Heavyweight Title Fight" in the "WGFC." Based on the footage that follows I'm guessing this stands for "Willard Georgia's Fat Contenders" or something along those lines. If you really care they even have their own website (!) but I'm guessing it probably redirects you to endless Ron Paul spam.

The owner of the nipples takes a moment before his huge title match with everything on the line against a human bulldozer that may well leave him crippled for life, assuming he survives, to awkwardly flirt with an unseen female, including a reveal that he'll be teaching her friend kickboxing. Based on what we're about to see I sincerely hope she just paid with "favors" and not actual currency. Anyway, Captain Nipples is actually named Geoff Melendez, which sounds like something a "Random MMA Fighter Namer" might spit out, along with Junior Dos Bisping or "The Werewolf" Donny Coleman.

We are all witnesses.

His opponent is the equally formidable Mike Kiprusoff who has decided to wear a Grateful Dead shirt over his less than impressive physique. The ring, such as it is, consists of some padding and a giant tarp. Everything about this just screams "Six Figure Lawsuit Against the UFC After My Son Died Imitating It." Let's watch.

The heavyweight champion of Crawdad County, Mississippi immediately busts out some Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon shit with an awkward flying kick that draws girlish laughter from the human wreckage viewing this mess. We are later informed he's highly trained in "some form of karate"which he combines with the already mentioned kickboxing as well as wrestling skills learned chasing pigs to be the unbeatable force that he is.

If do right can no defense.

It quickly goes to the ground and it's pretty clear his deadhead opponent is already having some second thoughts about facing such an expert fighter. Only the dream of holding the WGFC strap keeps him in it as the champ applies what might be mistaken for a relaxing massage under different circumstances. For reasons unknown he simply lets his tie-dyed nemesis up, perhaps hoping to wreck him with his ambiguous mastery of karate.

Instead they awkwardly collide like two mighty bulls, gracelessly stagger around a surface that's got freshly fallen leaves on it and then crash back to the hillbilly mat. More ineffectual punches and then Geoff lets the challenger up again. This fight is about as unpredictable as a Catholic Mass.

Must...continue...Jerry would...have wanted that.

We get an edit that probably covers about ten minutes of both gladiators trying to get their wind back, followed by another crazy flying technique from the Champion of the Rural Route. Then another take down. More editing. Cold fear washes over me as I realize what I'm watching is mostly highlights and somewhere there's probably a thirty minute video of these two. 

Back to the jury-rigged mat for what seems like the hundredth time. This time we get a nice shot of the challenger's All American beer belly. In a few years he'll probably be "choked out" by sleep apnea.

These are real athletes!

Onlookers call for their hero to "throw bombs" and compare his adversary's middle to "grape jelly." Looks more like one of those giant plastic bags of milk to my eyes. Poorly realized clobbering ensues as it's clear that we're heading toward the finish. The MMA hippie thrashes about like a bloated, freshly landed fish. The warriors are reminded to "breathe." The Champ gets tired of punching and walks off and his opponent simply gives up, providing a highly satisfying conclusion to this epic clash of skill and will. 

The champion retains and will now bask in the well-earned glory and adulation on earth before taking his rightful place in the fields of Elysium. The defeated challenger can not be called the loser, because there were no losers today, only mighty soldiers whose clash of arms shook the pillars of the world. A good man will tell his son this story. The battle of two heroes that were less than Gods but greater than men. The deeds of strength and courage that echo forever in eternity.

There were giants in the earth in those days.

Komment Korner

the dude with the trunks is a piece of shit who doesnt know what he is doing

who ever sent me a message talking shit i train at a gym in Cleveland ill send you the info come on through

Looks a bit nippy outside. (Ed: But it's hooter inside)

My dude in the red and black shorts, your opponent left himself open for countless submissions. mad naked chokes could have been applied early in the match

Aaron Zehner's first novel The Foolchild Invention is available in e-book format at and Barnes & Noble.

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