Demon Cobras
02-02-2009, 04:04 PM
Mayhem had this to say:
This natural desire to win and innate competitiveness that most athletes in any sport have is only the tip of the iceberg. Most of the people reading this article probably are not professional athletes. At least I’m assuming that Fight! Magazine can get this to more houses than mine and Dan Henderson’s, but think about if after a fight that I lost I said, “hey that guy had a roll of quarters in his glove!” Now even if it was true, it doesn’t matter, unless the ref pulls out the stack of George Washington’s from his hand and it is broadcast in high definition on every big screen in the arena. I just sound like a whiny bitch, and he got away with the whole thing, and makes me look like an even bigger sissy, for first of all, LOSING, second of all crying foul after the fact.
This time an anonymous MEGA arena, in a mega city, in front of a mega crowd, in a mega show, for what was then mega money to me. The stakes are much higher this time, and I had done my best to prepare for this single fight, even going so far as to NOT have a wild sex party the night before the fight, so that I could improve my mental focus. After a rough first round, I met in the center for round 2 and somewhere got taken down. “No biggie, my guard is good, he won’t hurt me here, and maybe I can pull off the submission, get a “Dumbass of the Night” award or something. While locked in my tight guard, I noticed that for some reason I was have trouble keeping my opponent’s head down. I practiced shirtless with my great training partners, and never had this much trouble keeping a guy from punching me. Was this guy uber strong or something? No exactly. After a couple more stiff elbows to my grillpiece, I felt the familiar slick that I would get every day at kickboxing practice on my nose and eyes, only it was on my opponents neck, now up 2 rounds, Vaseline!
Greasy bastard, I thought. Of course I yelled to the ref, “Hey! He is greased up!” but much like anyone else watching me get pounded, he didn’t give a damn, and replied with “He’s ok!” Followed by another smash to the face. Yeah, ok for HIM, but I’m taking a beating over here and can’t hold onto the bastard.
Did I ever bitch about it afterwards? Nope. Why? What’s the point? Would it put the toothpaste back in the tube? No. As far as everyone saw, I lost the fight, fair and square. Would it have made a difference if he wasn’t greased up? Maybe, but honestly probably not. He was the better man that night, plain and simple. He bent the rules, not broke them, and when you get away with it, it isn’t called cheating.
Soure - Fightlinker.
GSP is a greasy little piggy, but it doesn't change that he hits hard.
This natural desire to win and innate competitiveness that most athletes in any sport have is only the tip of the iceberg. Most of the people reading this article probably are not professional athletes. At least I’m assuming that Fight! Magazine can get this to more houses than mine and Dan Henderson’s, but think about if after a fight that I lost I said, “hey that guy had a roll of quarters in his glove!” Now even if it was true, it doesn’t matter, unless the ref pulls out the stack of George Washington’s from his hand and it is broadcast in high definition on every big screen in the arena. I just sound like a whiny bitch, and he got away with the whole thing, and makes me look like an even bigger sissy, for first of all, LOSING, second of all crying foul after the fact.
This time an anonymous MEGA arena, in a mega city, in front of a mega crowd, in a mega show, for what was then mega money to me. The stakes are much higher this time, and I had done my best to prepare for this single fight, even going so far as to NOT have a wild sex party the night before the fight, so that I could improve my mental focus. After a rough first round, I met in the center for round 2 and somewhere got taken down. “No biggie, my guard is good, he won’t hurt me here, and maybe I can pull off the submission, get a “Dumbass of the Night” award or something. While locked in my tight guard, I noticed that for some reason I was have trouble keeping my opponent’s head down. I practiced shirtless with my great training partners, and never had this much trouble keeping a guy from punching me. Was this guy uber strong or something? No exactly. After a couple more stiff elbows to my grillpiece, I felt the familiar slick that I would get every day at kickboxing practice on my nose and eyes, only it was on my opponents neck, now up 2 rounds, Vaseline!
Greasy bastard, I thought. Of course I yelled to the ref, “Hey! He is greased up!” but much like anyone else watching me get pounded, he didn’t give a damn, and replied with “He’s ok!” Followed by another smash to the face. Yeah, ok for HIM, but I’m taking a beating over here and can’t hold onto the bastard.
Did I ever bitch about it afterwards? Nope. Why? What’s the point? Would it put the toothpaste back in the tube? No. As far as everyone saw, I lost the fight, fair and square. Would it have made a difference if he wasn’t greased up? Maybe, but honestly probably not. He was the better man that night, plain and simple. He bent the rules, not broke them, and when you get away with it, it isn’t called cheating.
Soure - Fightlinker.
GSP is a greasy little piggy, but it doesn't change that he hits hard.