Bare Knuckle Sandwich
This past Saturday afternoon, a Twitter notification reminded me of something that I’d barely remembered remembering - former UFC strawweight "Rowdy" Bec Rawlings was going to compete in a bare knuckle boxing fight.
The tweet also informed me that the gloveless event would go live today, right NOW - in fact, I was already fifteen minutes late for a PPV that I never saw coming. If there had been a legitimate fight scheduled anywhere on TV, it’s more than likely I would have dismissed the tweet, but alas, the night was otherwise fight free.
As I stared at my Twitter feed, then back at the PPV “Buy” button taunting me from the TV, I realized that Rawlings’s fight was actually part of a much larger event - the premiere of the Bare Knuckle Fighting Championship, a promotion whose genre of fighting, according to the cable guide description, had not been sanctioned in the United States since 1889.
Upon this realization, not only was I temporarily unworthy of calling myself a fight fan, but I was also FOMO-ing pretty hard for having missed out on all of the hype and lead-up to such a unique, and potentially ground-breaking, combat sports event.
Sadly, the reason I’d callously scrolled past any headlines identifying Rawlings as part of BKFC, is because I’d lost a bit of faith in her stock as an MMA fighter. Feeling that her best days might be behind her, I didn’t invest time in reading any stories that would have schooled me on the uniqueness of what BKFC was brewing. (If you watched the card, you’ll know that I was dead wrong to doubt Rawlings; it’s clear that she’s found her fighting forte.)
With the cable remote in hand, and my thumb primed to press “OK” to complete the purchase, I turned to my boyfriend and conferred on the worthiness of paying “way too much” for another PPV. (For those of you disgusted to learn that some saps out there still dutifully pay full price for all PPV events, please re-holster your middle finger.)
Having been hit with a wave of my enthusiasm over both this promotion’s potential as the next UFC, and this promotion’s potential as a prison-brawl showcase, my boyfriend reluctantly endorsed the PPV purchase.
Every fifteen minutes or so, I glanced over at him to declare that I was recording the event and that if he wanted to change the channel, it would be “totally okay,” secretly knowing that I would just resume watching after he passed out on the sofa [cradling his laptop while "Initial D" blasted through his headphones].
With each “fingers-crossed” inquiry I was certain that my boyfriend would take option “A” and peel the remote from my hands so that he could painstakingly scroll through all of his favorite channels, pretending to ponder a selection, only to predictably land upon an old episode of "River Monsters."
But to my surprise, he stayed with it; and though his enthusiasm never rose to "River Monster" levels, he did generally enjoy the card, paying specific praise to the speediness of the bouts and the speediness of the transitions from fight to fight. This, however, didn’t keep him from quietly repeating throughout the night that “they’re all going to break their hands, and then what?”
When it was all over I felt strangely lucky; how many people in my life would have no idea that they'd just missed out on witnessing something so brutal, so special, so cooky, so primal?
Hearing bare knuckle boxing legend Bobby Gunn explain the difference in tactics between gloveless fighting and traditional boxing was enlightening - first attack the arms, then the head, using only 40% power to protect the hands. Although his bout ended quickly and his opponent was felled by vicious liver shots, Gunn’s fight tips proved to be spot on.
Traditional boxing strategies just aren’t ideal in a bare knuckle scenario. Rapid-fire shots with full impact, and wide-based guards with flimsy structure might win you the battle but not the war.
Rawlings in particular demonstrated high-level facility with both her defensive guard and her offensive attack. But, as my boyfriend predicted, she did walk away with gnarly swelling in her hands, particularly the left, Rawlings delivered the best display of skill, grit, and guts.
(Though the straight grits-and-guts award must go to Tony Lopez vs. Joey Beltran. That’s the kind of fight, had it been offered on free TV, that folks would have messaged their friends about tuning in to watch.)
The experience of watching the premiere of BKFC was both a privilege and an education. These fighters, as do all fighters, put their hearts, minds, and bodies on the line to entertain us. There’s a sickness in us all that enjoy such a show, but there’s also an admiration of bravery, and enviousness of discipline, for no one gets to that stage without hard work. And the mighty fighters of the inaugural BKFC card proved to the world that they came to fight.