TheBunnyBlog.com - May 10, 2007

I shoulda been a contender

I have a friend who trains in mixed martial arts (MMA)--a combination of boxing, Muay Thai, Greco-Roman wrestling, Sambo, Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, and sometimes Judo. I'm sure you've heard of mixed martial arts before. MMA fighters are those brutal-looking Croat dudes in the UFC fight commercials with short shorts and no boxing gloves. If you know nothing more about the sport, it seems kind of goomba, but let me tell you, its an exciting and very technical spectacle. Legs break. Eye sockets split. Debilitating kicks to the head end fights, WHAMO--that quick--and often bested fighters find themselves in the dreaded sleeper hold. They've got but a few seconds to slip out until...zzzzzz. Boxing matches are a snore-fest in comparison. I can see why promoters are desperate to save the sport.

So I went with this friend to get a cup replacement for his scrote. The store we went to had all sorts of MMA stuff inside: heavy bags, gloves, shin guards for the Muay Thai. I'm a straight child in stores, particularly sporting good stores. You can't keep me from exploring every device I can get my hands on. I'm on the treadmill, the stationary bike, the stairmaster. I'm lifting the weights. I'm tossing medicine balls, and eventually, hitting the heavy bag. I put a few kicks into it, just to joke around, and my friend said, "No, no, no. You're doing it all wrong. You look like a Rockette." Which I took as a compliment, what with the twenty years of dance instruction.

He showed me how to put a good kick to a heavy bag, and then he picked up this padded thingy and said, "Okay, punch this."

Well I was nervous, because they don't teach you how to punch in ballet. Trust me.

"What do I do?"

He put the pads down and stood next to me, showing me a wide-footed stance, bending his elbows at the ready with his fists in front of his face to block any incoming Croat anger. "Watch," he said. "I'm gonna push out real quick with my right and put my hips into it. You wanna use your whole body when you punch."

"Okay." I mimicked kind of timidly. I had no punch experience. Except with ex-boyfriends and my sister, but who likes to remember the bad times?

He picked up the padded apparatus again and said, "Okay, hit me." I stood with my feet spread like he told me to, channeled my considerable rage and threw my whole body into what is apparently called "a right straight" punch.

"Whoa," he said.

"What? What did I do wrong?"

"No," he said. "You should train. You've got heavy hands."

"What does that mean?" They are quite stubby, I must say. I hide them under the table at social gatherings.

"You're just...naturally a really good puncher."

"Yeah?"

At first I got excited. Then I signed up for Muay Thai kickboxing classes. And finally I felt really bad about all those times I ignored my sister--which probably should have been my first reaction--when she said, "YOU DON'T REALIZE HOW MUCH IT HURTS WHEN YOU HIT ME!"

So Trixie, I'm sorry honey. Try and remember the good times: the New Kids on the Block concert, the time we busted your Cavalier upside the Taco Bell at 4am, VenusMedia, Inc. You know you love me.

Posted by The Bunny at 4:50 PM