Gimme Some Sugar

I'll be taking a road trip to Atlanta this weekend to watch a former college teammate of mine, Rashad Evans, do battle with Chuck Liddell at UFC 88.

It seems like just yesterday that Rashad and I were sitting around drinking Miller Low Life and watching this sort of thing on TV. Fast forward a few years, and now he beats people up for a living.

The whole thing's a bit surreal, if not altogether unsurprising. Rashad's one of the nicest, most thoughtful individuals I've ever known, but he's definitely not someone you'd want to mess with.

A lot of wrestlers tend to become coaches or gym teachers once their competitive days are over. A few of us get English degrees. Hell, some of us even go on to become music critics.

But, thanks to a fairly recent explosion in popularity, Mixed Martial Arts — once described by a certain presidential candidate as "human cockfighting" — has gone from being a fringe sport to a viable career option for many dudes who've already spent their formative years getting the shit kicked out of them in padded rooms. Good for them, I say.

As for me: Well, I've never really felt the desire to get punched in the face for money. I prefer to think of myself as a poet with cauliflower ear.

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