Then McGregor happened
I had never invited a UFC fighter into my home. Nor any other kind of fighter to be honest.
It’s not that I have an issue with professional fighting. I love it for all the same reasons I love Fight Club. And no, not it’s catchy lines.
There is something about watching adults consent to unleash the natural animal that they are. That I am.
I don’t want to unleash and I am satisfied to trap that baby deep inside until say, the dawn of a zombie apocalypse. Leave it to the cage fighters.
However, on the odd occasion, I find myself in a pub or at a lads house watching UFC. The fighting reverberates with that mutual DNA inside of me that remembers unleashing hundreds – thousands of years ago.
There is something liberating about the way it shakes that animal awake. It reminds me, that I am an animal and my domestication is a blip in the evolution of my DNA.
Every fighter unleashes the beast and every fight is more or less the same experience. Watch, indulge, and, swap fighting tips; because the only fight you’ve ever had is with your ass holding in a fart – which fairly qualifies you as an expert.
Once the fight is over, the TV is switched off and everyone carries on with life, unlikely to think of it again. Then McGregor happened.
Inviting McGregor into my Home
My partner introduced me to McGregor. Well, technically I heard of him a year earlier, when I lubricated a tinder date by fake loving this “McGregor”. But that tinder date was wank so we won’t count that.
The excellent entertainment McGregor had to offer grew familiar very quickly. Then one day I was sitting in my room watching youtube clips about him and realised…is this really happening?…oh this is happening!
I accidentally invited McGregor into my home on my TV, my laptop, my phone and my conversation. Those conversations were initiated by me by the way and all of it was at my own will. I know nothing about UFC – what so ever. Not a nick, but here I was, able to recite each moment of his most recent fights like a die-hard fan.
I won’t make his die-hard fans look bad by pretending I was ever one. However, there had been the occasional moment where I pondered…
You’ll do nuttin’
Watch UFC and you will laugh so hard you cry. Said no one ever. At least until Gregs came alone.
It wasn’t just the laughing that I loved, which I did love. It was also the person that he brought to that situation. An accidental artistic contrast. The blend of personality and humour with the otherwise raw animal of UFC fighting. I was entertained from every angle.
The build-up to a fight was exciting and genuinely fun. His catchphrase, “f*ck the Mayweathers”, made its way into my everyday life, as did the swag-walk.
You can talk all you want, but you’ll do nuttin’. Heart you Mick Konstantin.
Nothing on either side of an idiot
I suppose evolving into yet another drug-fueled twat celebrity was inevitable, however disappointing.
First, it was the alleged fight with a drug dealer’s dad? Now I’m guessing here that he hadn’t made a hobby of bashing lonely pensioners. However, I know close to nothing about this tired drama and am happy to keep it that way.
My lack of gossip here aside, beating members of the public whilst you’re out and about is not winning my heart.
The whole cartel episode didn’t get him down though. McGregor busied himself with a party…in his pants…and Rita Ora was invited?
Ahh now the chances that he has been genuinely faithful to the mother of his children are fat indeed. However, this stunt, in particular, suffers the lingering odour of publicity.
If it was just a publicity stunt, why should he not drink from the same trough as every other celebrity? Whether or not I’m pro or con a publicity stunt here, the fact remains – I can’t smell the roses through its reak.
Not long after that saga, he attacked a UFC fighter bus carrying other UFC fighters. That just made me sad. McGregor smashed the window of the bus with a dolly. You know that thing you only use when, god have mercy, you have to move house.
Two other fighters were wounded and were forced to withdraw from their fights. Withdraw!
These two fighters, trained, sacrificed, prepared, kissed their family who wished them luck as they boarded the bus and probably banked on the money coming out of the fight. And why shouldn’t they, this is their sport – their occupation. And then this igit throws a tantrum and ruins this for them. My god, how unprofessional.
Nothing on either side of an idiot.
Gregs has another fight coming up…sorry who?
Months after I had entirely sacked McGregor from my life my partner looked up from his phone, “Gregs has a fight coming up in a few weeks”. We looked at each other for a long moment. I took a few seconds to recall who Gregs is, and the remainder of the time was spent figuring out if we give a rats ass.
“Are you going to bother?” I asked. “We’ll see”, my partner replied.
It will take more than a groovy tune to turn this one around. Although a groovy tune wouldn’t hurt.