Royal Bender
Staying up all night for the Royal Wedding was a no-brainer. Through the magic of live television, I had been there for the heartbreaking funeral of Lady Di, I had been there for the epic wedding of the future King, and I would certainly be there to witness the nuptials of the people’s Prince, this time, with an opportunity to represent the American contingency.
Though no longer in my twenties, and though barely clinging to my thirties, I felt sure that no sleep, followed by intermittent daytime napping, would leave me comfortably alert for that evening’s UFC event in Chile.
And then suddenly I awoke, contorted into an L-shape, to see Demian Maia’s bloodied face hanging low as Kamaru Usman raised his arms in victory. How on earth did I miss the entire five-round fight?
The last thing I remember is the Argentinian guy laying atop the Chilean guy while the Peruvian nationalist in me grumbled at the prospect of sitting through another minute of this gaucho-on-gaucho snooze-fest. I rubbed sleep from my eyes with one hand and hit the DVR rewind button with the other hand. Going back too far, because the rewind button never obeys my initial three commands to “play,”
I learned that I had not just missed the Usman/Maia fight, but I had also missed the Tatiana Suarez versus Alexa Grasso fight. And it turns out, failed to see that gaucho-versus-gaucho fight through to its sleep-inducing end.
As I allowed the DVR to continue backtracking through the card I saw that I had also missed most of the Angela “KGB” Lee versus Veronica Macedo fight. But I distinctly remember starting in an upright position for that battle. So at which point did I begin matrixing into the sofa and lose all consciousness?
My boyfriend and I had pizza for dinner, but, in the spirit of health, opted for the the thin crust. Tthat was followed by a few beers between us both… and then my poor paisano Humberto Bandenay arm-barred himself to Lima-and-back in under 40 seconds… and then the Hail Mary knee bar, and then….
Retracing my steps to the moment I lost consciousness was starting to feel a lot like Saturday mornings in college. I stopped searching for answers, pressed “live” on the cable remote, scrolled through the guide until I found an Alaskan vet show on Animal Planet, and then reshaped myself into an “L.”
The next morning, after reading about the results online, I decided to check out the two fights that seemed worthy of review, this time with my eyes open. Suarez versus Grasso, because of the reported quick and exciting finish, was first.
While aware of the results, I was still rooting for Grasso to display some of the promise showcased in her early UFC fights; but as has been the case of late, she continued to fire timid fists. Suarez eventually muscled her to the ground - though Grasso offered some decent defense - Suarez then choked Grasso out in a manner I came to know as mata leon.
As a Spanish speaker, it’s become a tiny thrill of mine when watching MMA fights booked in Mexico or Latin America to learn, via post-fight interview, the Spanish translations for certain MMA maneuvers. Rear-naked-choke, it seems, is hilariously known in Spanish as mata leon, or “lion killer.”
I receive extra delight in translations, as in this case, when the Spanish version doesn’t even relate to the English words. There’s an even funnier one I heard a while back concerning reversing positions against the fence; I don’t recall the term exactly, but it has to do with flipping a tortilla.
Knowing now that it was a slow, test-the-water kind of battle, I waited until later in the evening to watch Usman versus Maia. Thus allowing myself time to get more thrilling activities underway first, like watching my boyfriend wrestle to install a Ring doorbell on our front porch.
Despite repeated assurances, from commercials and the web, of an easy install, the Ring Video Doorbell Pro proved to be too advanced for our modest suburban electrical grid. We’ll have to revert to the archaic “who is it” strategy when determining who is at our door. Or, heaven forbid, opening the door sight unseen.
After queuing up the main event fight I found that a similar dance took place as when Maia fought welterweight champion Tyron Woodley. Usman kept his distance while Maia charged clumsily for failed takedowns.
Eventually Usman landed a hard nose-shot, and proceeded to use the Maia’s red flesh as a honing beacon for his fists throughout the remainder of the fight. And though not thrilling, the fight also was not dull; the threat of Maia snagging a limb and getting to work hovered in the air, and with it hung an exciting level of tension.
Now fully caught up on most of UFC Chile I wondered if staying up all night for the Royal Wedding truly was the cause for my comatose state during the live broadcast, or, if the lineup itself, though decently promising, just didn’t deliver?
But questions like this always open the floodgates to deeper analysis about why I watch MMA to begin with. As I profess to love the sport above all other sports, shouldn’t I be as equally entertained by Usman versus Maia as I was by Gabriel Benitez versus Bandenay?
Though there are some sports, like basketball, that generally keep an upbeat pace, there are lots of others, like football, baseball, and even soccer, whose level of game-time excitement can be boiled down to the old adage of “styles make fights.”
It’s okay, I think, to love a sport and to love the display of skill, yet still be disappointed when that skill is deployed to avoid impact rather than to deliver it. And still, I feel guilty for “hating” on MMA fights that are slow, grinding, battles of will versus skill, or too much of one unique skill versus too much of a different unique skill.
But in the case of UFC Chile, I suppose I’ll never truly know if my apathy is due to the state of the fights or the state of my brain. I’ll have to wait until the next Royal Wedding to create a proper A-B comparison.