4.29.2011

Why Do I Love MMA So Much?


In recent years, I’ve grown an odd fascination with mixed martial arts. I’m hooked. I’m an unabashed fan who can get enough. I’ve spent what has probably amounted to too many hours contemplating exactly why I’m so absorbed by violent kicks to the head, swinging elbows to the jaw, arms and legs being bent in directions that God didn’t intend them to be. More often than not when my wife passes through a room in which I’m watching an MMA match, she’ll ask, “Why do you watch that stuff?” Typically, I start to mutter some kind of a reasonable explanation, only to usually end up slouching down in the couch and turning my head away to avoid the embarrassment she expresses on her face for being married to someone who takes joy in watching two men purposely seek to make one another bleed.

Still, among the those friends I have that share my appreciation for the sport, I’ve seldom felt a stronger kinship concerning some kind of like-minded interest, and that includes such passions I hold dear as kids, music, movies, writing, politics, golf, the Yankees, etc. When I’m talking the finer points of MMA with like-minded souls, I find myself blissfully content. When we’re analyzing upcoming matchups to nth degree by drawing comparisons to previous matches and shared opponents, the strength of a fighter’s ground game vs. his striking ability, or the merit of his jujitsu, I think to myself, “If only I could put this much thought into my own future.” The whole topic baffles me to no end.

That feeling only compounds when I realize that pretty much throughout my entire life, I’ve hated both being in fights and watching them. Even when the fights I’ve seen (and I witnessed too many for my taste) had some kind of justifiable element to them, in that one of the guys/girls had it coming, I’ve hated them. Even when I’ve had to fight due to some reason or another that I really believed in, the feeling that I’d rather be anywhere doing anything else has always been present. To this day, when I see some a physical confrontation occur, it sticks with me for days, and not in a good way. I remember vividly being in a cab years ago near Times Square. The cab in front of us screeched to a halt, only for the driver, a huge man, to jump out and sprint to the front of the limo stopped in front of him, which was being driven by an equally huge man. They two exchanged a few brief words and then set about pummeling each other in the middle of the street. To this day the image of that takes me back, not only because they were senselessly harming one another, but also because seemingly everyone on either side of the street and in the surrounding cars didn’t seem to give a flip or take notice.

Maybe the reason I can rationalize a purpose for MMA is that to me, an MMA “fight” isn’t a fight. Rather, it’s a well-thought out, well-prepared for battle much in the same way two men strategize during a game of chess and execute moves made to attack and defend. Rather than move pieces about a board, however, MMA “players” look to exploit physical weaknesses or vulnerabilities in an opponent. They’re seeking to use their own strengths to exploit the other’s weaknesses. Not everyone who views MMA from the outside recognizes this, and I guess honestly, I wouldn’t expect them to. Violence is violence after all, whether the two participants are willfully engaging or not. Ultimately, there’s too much violence that exists already without men and women willingly engaging in it. Would the world be a better place without UFC pay-per-views beaming into homes around the world every month? Yeah, most definitely. Still, are these “battles” all that much different from the battles that take place in corporate America every day, where CEOs aim to permanently injure or maim competitors? Is it any worse than the political battles that occur every hour in Washington and play out on news TV 24/7 in which drastically divergent sides purposefully seek to discredit and damage one another in ways that are often dishonest and illegal? At least the participants in an MMA fight know they’re engaging in competition where each knows what is allowable and what is not. Everyone knows the risks up front. Everyone knows what’s expected and what’s not. Further, I’d argue that the kind of mutual respect that takes place inside an eight-side square after a MMA fight, especially following the battle, occurs in few other venues with as much genuine sincerity and purpose.  

I know this much about my fascination with MMA: At least in part, it’s directly tied to a lifelong appreciation/respect/admiration/etc. for the “warrior” mentality, particularly the samurai culture and lifestyle. I respect beyond all description anyone who is capable of making discipline not just part of his life but the reason he lives his life. So many people, including myself, waver day after day, often just to suit needs presently at hand with little to no thought. So many people push supposedly rigid ideal and morals aside without hesitation if it means propelling them even one step further. So many people walk around an obstacle in front of them instead of climb it. So many people settle for less when more is possible because it might require even a little extra effort. So many people refuse to sacrifice even the slightest because settling for mediocrity is far easier than working a little harder to obtain greatness. I admire anyone who possesses the discipline to push their boundaries and venture into the unknown. To seek what they’re truly capable of.

Are there knuckleheads who merely want to “rip somebody’s head off”? Hell yeah. But you can find “that guy” in any environment, and often you don’t have to look too hard to find him. Few environments, however, provide you the capacity to both mentally and physically tap yourself dry—to really challenge yourself to not only meet fear in the eye but kick it the hell out of the way and stomp all over it as you keep walking to the unknown in the way MMA does. I admire the hell out of that.

That’s how I see MMA. I wish there was an easy way to explain all that when my wife or anyone else when they ask, “Why do you watch that stuff?” 

4.28.2011

The odd power of song lyrics

These are two of my favorite passages from songs. They were written years apart by different men, most likely under far different circumstances. And like many lyrics from good songwriters (and these two are among the best in my opinion), their original intent was probably much different from what I later interpreted them to mean. Still, these lyrics always seem to travel fairly closely together when I think of one or the other. Perhaps it's because I'm seeking some sort of contradiction or counterbalance to how I'm feeling one way or another within a particular moment. In some weird way, these lyrics give me that: balance. 


Look me in the eye,
Then, tell me that I'm satisfied
Was you satisfied?


- Paul Westerberg "Unsatisfied" 


I've got reservations
about so many things
but not about you.



- Jeff Tweedy "Reservations" 

4.14.2011

Quotes


"The essence of all beautiful art, all great art, is gratitude." -- Friedrich Nietzsche

"The thing I hate the most about advertising is that it attracts all the bright, creative and ambitious young people, leaving us mainly with the slow and self-obsessed to become our artists. Modern art is a disaster area. Never in the field of human history has so much been used by so many to say so little." – Banksy


I ran across these two quotes recently, and they have my head spinning in numerous ways. What's particularly interesting to me are the reactions that those who I shared Banksy's quote with had. Most of these individuals  mentioned money in one way or another, which I more or less expected. What I didn't expect was how divergent their money-specific reactions would be. On one hand, there were those who felt it makes sense that the young flock to advertising because there is no money to be had by creating art in the traditional manner. On the other hand were those who agree with Banky's summation but feel a strong urge to somehow make the two words meet--to somehow stay true to their art while coming to grips with having to "sell out."

I believe his viewpoint is flawed, or at the least, narrow-minded in its execution. I mean this in the sense that if you choose to have a family, for example, as countless artists do, you're choosing to give up certain benefits, namely the freedom of living a single life that's mostly independent of others. In other words, you have no direct, physical responsibility for the well-being of others. Precisely, children. You're free to pursue your art with far less conflict. If you do have children but manage to remain true to your art and all that entails, most likely you're living the proverbial "struggling artist" lifestyle (as most artists never achieve great wealth or fame), which means so are your children. It most likely also means you're consumed with your art to the point it takes precedence above everything else, translating to you're probably not a terribly good father or mother. At the least, you're probably not terribly attentive to the needs of your children, if you're even aware of their needs at all. That's probably too harsh and sweeping, but I think it's accurate to a great extent.

At any rate, sometimes, the desire to succeed has nothing to do with wanting to achieve financial wealth or fame or distinction. Instead, it has everything to do with contributing to the happiness of those you've purposely or purposelessness chosen to bring into your life and this world.

In the end, I think Nietzsche's summation that the essence of beautiful art is gratitude holds more truth for me. What Banksy find beautiful, I may not, and conversely. For me, an artists economic status has nothing to do with whether I find his art instinctively beautiful. I don't believe that because an artist participates in advertising he's necessarily bright, creative, or ambitious. I see this firsthand. I also don't believe the slow and self-obsessed are all who remains. I see this firsthand, as well. I do completely agree that today, so much is being used to say so little. I know this firsthand.


4.13.2011

7 + 7 = Decay



One year,
12 months,
365 days.
And for what?
More monotony scarred on tedious faces?
More appreciation feigned?
More deformed instructions unjustified?
More guidance unexecuted from potential gone gray?
More ground lost?
More space divided?
More intentions led astray?
365 days squandered.
12 months pilfered.
One more year drained.

BAF