Fists of Fury!

There were two stories from the world of sports that caught the attention of my ovaries over the weekend.  The first was Danica Patrick’s showing in the Daytona 500, as the first woman ever to start from the pole position, and then as the first woman to finish in the top ten.  So congratulations to Ms. Patrick, for breaking those two particular (Jersey) barriers.

The second story was Rhonda Rousey’s victory in the UFC championship.  For those of you unfamiliar, Ms. Rousey became the first female champion in the world of professional mixed martial arts, which, as far as I can tell, is made up of an anything goes sort of brawling.

The probable result of my attempt at stock car racing.

While I happily cheer the achievements of all women, I’ve never been too impressed with NASCAR racing as a sport.  Mostly because I can see myself doing it.  I mean, I can drive a car, I have a license to prove it, and while I’m sure there are other skills NASCAR drivers possess beyond making left turns, I believe I have the basic ability that would allow me to be a race car driver.  If I could just get over my fear of traveling faster than the posted speed limit, I’m sure I’d be burning rubber spinning out in the winner’s circle in no time.

Now mixed martial arts is a different story.  I’m not sure I could ever work up the necessary emotional fury against another woman in order to perform Rousey’s signature move, the elbow-breaking “armbar.”  I think maybe I’m too much of a pacifist to ever succeed as an Ultimate Fighter.

Of course, there have been times when I’ve been really angry with another woman, so I’m thinking maybe I could do it, if I had a cornerman who constantly reminded me of those times in order to maintain my rage between rounds.

Cornerman:  You’re doing great out there, Karen.  Just keep it up!  You’ve got her on the run!

Damn you, Maria DeLuca!

Ultimate Fighter Me:  Oh, I don’t know.  What did she ever do to me?  Why should I keep going out there trying to beat her brains out?  She seems nice enough . . .

Cornerman:  Stop thinking like that!  Focus!  Remember what Maria DeLuca wrote in your sixth grade yearbook?

Ultimate Fighter Me: (remembering)  Yes!  Yes!  I remember!  She wrote I was a carpenter’s dream: skinny as a nail and flat as a board!  Why would someone write that in a yearbook, for all of posterity???

Cornerman:  That’s right.  Now I need you to imagine Maria DeLuca’s face on that fighter’s body!

Ultimate Fighter Me: I don’t know if I can do it!

Cornerman:  You can!  Remember how you felt when you were five years old and your mother brought your baby sister home from the hospital?

Ultimate Fighter Me: (becoming angry) Oh, God, yes!  I was so mad, I threw clothespins at her in her crib while she was sleeping!  Why did my parents have another child?  Everything was perfect until she came along!

Cornerman:  That’s right!  Remember how that felt, all the hurt and rejection.  And what about the time Michelle Reynolds hit on your boyfriend at the Residence Hall dance party?

Ultimate Fighter Me:  (absolutely apoplectic) I remember that!  She told me she didn’t have a spare tampon, so I had to run back to my dorm room, and when I came back, she was sitting next to him, with her hand on his thigh!  That bitch!

Cornerman: (pulling me up off the stool and pushing me out into the ring)  Now go get her!

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6 thoughts on “Fists of Fury!

    • Karen says:

      Only on WordPress would the conversations I have in my head be described as “hilarious” instead of “delusional.” 😉

      But doesn’t it make you wonder how those fighters manage to maintain the fury to inflict such pain on another human being for no reason? Maybe it’s a woman thing, though–maybe men don’t have a difficult time imagining doing this. There were a bunch of boys in my neighborhood when I was growing up that seemed to take particular joy in fighting one another for no reason other than to show off their battles scars to each other (and to us girls) afterwards . . .


      • slepsnor says:

        I did the play-fighting too. I’ve wondered if it’s instinctual like how wolf pups play in a way that mimics hunting. We never really thought anything of it and kind of just did it. As for the fighters, I had a friend that trained to be a pro-wrestler for a few months. He made some friends with people that did MMA and there is very little fury involved. It’s more of a focus and competitive drive. He mentioned that there is also a level of concentration on causing pain without killing or permanently injuring their opponent. So, I guess there’s an odd sense of trust between the fighters too.


  1. farmdance says:

    Karen, I love reading your blog. I couldn’t care less if you may be delusional, you are so damn funny. I just got notice that you’ve subscribed to my blog, thank you although I’ve been negligent in posting lately, non the less I’m surprized anyone would subscribe anyway, I appreciate it. Nubies like me need the boost of confidence….. or kick in the arse to get writing . thanks for sharing what’s inside your head with the rest of us, it’s a gift.


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