Last Saturday, I ventured out to a local watering hole to witness UFC 91, which featured former Minnesota Vikings cast-off Brock Lesnar against veteran MMA fighter Randy Couture.  That is about as much as I knew of the two combatants heading into the contest, and I left knowing little more other than Lesnar looks like he was created in the same Eastern European laboratory/dungeon that produced the fictitious Ivan Drago of Rocky 91, I mean Rocky IV; I was definitely out of my element knowledge-wise. 

   As I arrived about an hour and a half before the main event began, the bar was already almost filled to capacity with a buzz that was barely noticeable. It had all the anticipation of the 23rd hour of April 15 (you know, the day tax returns must be filed). Just like boxing matches, there are preliminary fights that less than 10 percent of the crowd pay attention to.  Every 20 minutes or so, one of the fighters would land a punch or get his opponent in some sort of leg lock or arm bar and shortly thereafter the fight would be over.
   You see, I was as surprised as anyone that I virtually had no interest in what was going on in front of me on the three big-screen televisions showing the primitive display.  I leaned up against the bar and began talking to my friend Mundy, figuring once the Lesnar/Couture brawl began I would turn my attention to the carnage. 
   Instead of discussing MMA or UFC, we talked NCAA, NFL, GOP, GM and OPEC.  As one of undercard bouts came to a close—I know this because eight or nine UFC die-hards would stand up and roar with approval whenever one fighter took the upper hand over the other—we were watching the end of the USC/Stanford game in Palo Alto where the Cardinal covered the spread with a touchdown on the final play of the game. There’s nothing like a back door cover on the last play of the game to start some bar chatter.
   After Stanford’s miraculous cover, we talked about Florida State’s dreadful black uniforms (why does every team at some point roll out black uniforms even if they are not officially in their color scheme?) just as another fighter must have knocked someone out or dislocated someone’s knee or elbow or jaw, etc.  By the time we moved on to the NFL, there was only something like 30 minutes left until Lesnar/Couture.  The NFL discussion didn’t last long as we both agreed that Jacksonville would definitely upset Tennessee the following day.
   Looking back, this is where the blood-alcohol level exceeded the threshold for operating a motor vehicle legally.  Fortunately, it is not illegal to run your mouth, just your vehicle.
   As another fighter became concussed, Mundy turned the discussion toward the recent presidential election wondering if “the guy who ran McCain’s campaign was a bigger bust than Kwame Brown?”  I thought that was an insult to Mr. Brown.  Incidentally, we needed to get a towel from the barmaid after, in mid-gulp, Mundy asked my thoughts about Sarah Palin running for President in 2012.  I guess, theoretically, if the Democratic Party hired McCain’s campaign guy then she might have a shot.
   As the main event started, I couldn’t help but think that the 45-year-old Couture had no shot against the mammoth Lesnar, but what do I know other than Darwinism?  The crowd tried to muster some enthusiasm like they were watching Mike Tyson or Muhammed Ali in their prime, but I could tell they  sensed doom for Couture.  I gathered some vital intelligence while visiting a urinal just before the fight —most old-school MMA fans (the sport’s only been around for about a decade so how ‘old-school’ are they?) were pulling for the veteran Couture which is understandable because who can identify with Drago?
 Anyway, the Lesnar/Couture fight began and Mundy and I paid attention to it like we did the first four or five.  We tried figuring out why oil prices had plummeted so much since hardly anyone had dramatically changed their consumption habits, and who was going to be the next contestant on Bailout ’08.  We both grew up in Michigan so the auto industry is somewhat relevant to us but we both agreed Detroit has been hemorrhaging cash for decades and simply throwing more cash at them will hardly fix things.
   About the time we had finished that segment of our conversation, another loud roar came from the MMA crowd—Couture took a punch behind the ear and now had Lesnar on top of him trying to pound him into submission, which the referee agreed he was about to accomplish. And that was it, the fight was over. Like boxing, there’s no guarantee that the bout will go the distance, which does not please television programmers and much less, guys who pony up the half a hundred dollars to watch it.
   For me, I realized what a woman who is not a sports fan must feel like at a Super Bowl party. I had a great time but it hardly had to do with what everyone else was there for.