Читать книгу One Game at a Time. Why Sports Matter онлайн

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But honestly, who do I think I am? I’m bald, go to the gym, and have tattoos, so I fit in here, at least at first glance. But I don’t own any Affliction gear, I only make gangsta hand symbols when I’m goofing around for photos, and I haven’t thrown a real punch at anyone in twenty years. I have my tough-guy affectations, but I’m a middle-aged father, I subscribe to the New Yorker, I drink tea, I garden. I’m out of my league here and kind of thrilled about it.

It’s not just testosterone that’s gotten me down here though: I’m intrigued by the explosion of interest in Mixed Martial Arts fighting. MMA carries a lugnut kind of visage, and that’s part of it for sure, but it’s really just an amalgam of other disciplines, infused with the admirable qualities of judo, jiu jitsu, boxing, wrestling, kickboxing, samba, and lots else. I can’t see any reason to think of MMA as significantly different than any other fighting styles, aside from its current commercialization. That’s part of why I am here tonight—though maybe it’s because I want a taste of something real. Not “real” in the phenomenological sense: I’m talking about the right-here-right-now-in-my-face sensuality sense.