So I start off the evening by ordering the UFC 92 Pay-Per-View. I actually watch a great deal of Mixed Martial Arts these days, so why don’t I write more on this rising pro sport?

Well… several reasons, but better to just ramble about them than list them. As much as I enjoy these matches, I’m terrible at analyzing the sport. I seem to miss half of what’s going on in the octagon, and I only get clued in when commentators Joe Rogan and Mike Goldberg explain very clearly who-hit-who and the effectiveness of the strike or grappling maneuver. When Rashad Evans and Forrest Griffin took the main stage, I decided to concentrate best I could to follow these cats punches and guards. While I do think I picked up a bit of what was going on, I found that my “inner mark” was compromised; you know, that adrenaline-laced fanboy in all of us who throws all education out the window and pumps his fist at the emotion of the moment.

But what it really comes down to is the overabundance of reality in MMA. I grew up a rabid fan of 1970s pro wrestling, back in the days when good vs bad was much more one-dimensional than the pro wrestling of today. Tonight I realized that deep inside, my inner voice refuses to mature enough to stop thinking in pro wrestling storyline terms when I saw the PPV opening match between Cheick Kongo and Mostapha Al Turk. Mostapha came into the fight wearing a kneepad, and we can clearly hear referee Steve Mazzagatti ask someone to make certain that he had “no metal in the kneepad.”

The fight was uneventful as Kongo clearly outclassed Al Turk as a fighter, but on two occasions the fight had to be paused since each fighter unintentionally fouled the other. Al Turk was the first combatant to accidentally throw a low-blow. Immaturity took over in my mind as all I could picture in my head was this: wouldn’t it be cool if while the ref attended to a doubled over Kongo, Mostapha would -with a scowl on his face- remove that suspected piece of metal from his trunks, slip it in his kneepad, and then KO Cheick Kongo with a metal-laced knee, whilst the crowd jeers and throws garbage in the octagon?

But reality -and Kongo, deservedly- prevails. And Cheick Kongo does have the coolness of a pro wrestling star, but he is very real! Ah, reality, so often overrated!

After the Pay-Per-View, I popped in a DVD of the 1966 flick “Georgy Girl.” Yes, from Ultimate Fighting to Lynn Redgrave as an awkward young lass in London, all in one evening. I highly recommend viewing both these forms of entertainment, but if you’re going to participate in one, go with being a groovy dysfunctional hepcat (like Alan Bates in the film) rather than a Mixed-Martial-Artist. There may be more potential  for STDs in shagging-about, but the KOs in MMA will steal more of your brain cells.

I must go now, because I hear Suze Orman shouting to me from the television in the next room. MMA, Georgy Girl, and a fiery financial expert, all in one evening. This is one fab evening!