I remember my first "encounter" with the UFC. It was last year. The night before Valentine's Day. I was at Havanna Club with my friend attempting to dance salsa. I was having fun of course. As much as a half Hispanic girl with two left feet can have fun in front of strangers with even less Latin origin and triple the skills.
Having only met the guy 12 whole days prior, and having spent nearly half of those days with him, I was a little more than expectant to see him--AGAIN--for Valentine's Day, but I also understood that it might be overkill so soon. Regardless, I texted him.
"I'm done dancing here. Tired. Where are you? Did you want to meet up or...?"
I'm sure it was something to that effect. I can't remember. I know that prior to my texting him what he was doing he briefly mentioned in a phone conversation: working, Applebee's, UFC, MMA, write a story, my Dad.
Only a few weeks later would I realize the ritual that would become our Saturday nights nearly every other weekend.
That first introduction to MMA, I can't even remember. For some reason looking back though, I feel that I was pretty honored to have a guy who wanted me to join him in watching something like MMA.
Some man-rituals, I feel are imposed upon by women and their shrill excitement of cheering, such as baseball or football. It almost looks fake, the jumping up and down on pointed toes and hand clasping and giant smiles as some sweaty muscular dude hurls himself into the end zone. The pink jerseys and hats with a white embroidered four leaf clover and a number "46" (which now has to be changed to a "2").
Sitting there in that chair for the first time, picking at my Queso Blanco, staring down the waitress to refill my third Pepsi, I was honored but at the same time I felt like a fake. I was hoping my boyfriend's childhood friend wasn't mentally questioning why or what I was doing there. Least of all all the other male Applebee patrons obviously there for the half price apps and UFC. I was hoping that no one thought I had made him take me because it was my right as a girlfriend to be at my boyfriend's side whenever he ventured out for the night.
There were other women staring at the TVs. And to be honest I wondered what they were doing there too. Did they make their significant others bring them. Or were they like me? Curious to see what the fuss was? Seeing grown men, half naked, locked in each other's legs, giant misshapen ears sticking out of sweat soaked heads with blood squirting out of bulging, throbbing "mice" above their eyes must have some hypnotic value.
It does. Several times after returning to his parent's house to spend the night, too tired to drive back into Boston, they would ask. "So what did you guys do tonight?"
"Applebee's. We watched UFC."
"What's UFC?"
"MMA."
"What's MMA?"
"Mixed martial arts."
"Oh! Why?! Why are you taking her to see that?? Sharon, you don't like that stuff do you? You know you can always just come here to stay with us if you want while he goes to do that."
"Nah, that's ok. Thanks. I enjoy it actually. There was a good fight tonight! This kid with a mohawk from England nearly had his arm broken but he managed to stay in the fight. I had fun."
I still don't know Jon "Bones" Jones from Anderson Silva. I think Bas Rutten and Joe Rogan look kinda like brothers. And GSP I whole-heartedly admit looks like a tall version of Mini-Me, BUT I do know that Dan Hardy is one of my favorites.
One of these days I'll know who my boyfriend is talking about when he mentions Carlos Condit. A guy who beat another guy. Is from my hometown of New Mexico. And also apparently another one of my favorites.
