UFC fuels passion as gladiators did

On Saturday night, a series of incredibly skilled fighters beat on each other's bloody faces, during a homoerotic display of regulated brutality, in front of 14,773 awed fans who roared and chanted in the style, if not the fatality, of Christians vs. lions.

One fighter knocked a man to the ground, held his neck with one hand and punched him repeatedly in the face for submissive agony.

At the end of the main event, the lightweight champion of the world kneed his opponent in the chin, then pinned him to the floor and pummeled him about the left ear.

This was the latest all-star card of Ultimate Fighting Championship, the sport of mixed martial arts that fans vow will succeed boxing in popularity.

If you think it's barbaric, ask yourself if it's any more vicious than boxing, which kills 1.3 out of every 100,000 boxers and causes brain damage, or college football, which kills three out of every 100,000 players, or whether you've ever seen a UFC Derby where a participant breaks two legs after crossing the finishing line and gets put to death on national TV.

So yes, UFC is violent and welcome to the human race, which sells tickets.

Saturday's event at the MGM Grand Garden attracted celebrity fans of beefy and comic stature, from Shaquille O'Neal to David Spade, The Rock, Donald Trump, Jaime Pressly, Jenna Jameson, Stephen Baldwin, Chazz Palminteri and UFC star Chuck Liddell.

But the UFC's real strength is the passion of fans who relate to the fighters -- fans such as Benjamin Garcia, a 27-year-old from Ontario, Calif., who explained the sport in simple terms.

"It's the new generation. My dad likes boxing. He hates this stuff. We're young, so we love it," he said. "It's better than baseball. It's better than football. It's better than everything. ... This is like in the 15th century, when people saw people fight in a coliseum."

The gladiators of the Colosseum actually competed a millennium-and-a-half before the 15th century, but Garcia was on the right track. UFC is a thumbs up, thumbs down, bloodstained, chanting din of victory, defeat, physical acumen and man-on-man showdowns. But no lions.

One big guy in the crowd was Mike Rosellini, 36. He traveled from Baltimore, all 209 pounds of him (with his 6.36 percent body fat). He and his friend Vinnie Magliano, 37, were disappointed they had just seen Tito Ortiz lose his final UFC fight in a lackluster bout.

"The guy ran instead of fighting. UFC is about fighting," Magliano said. "Everybody wants to see somebody get knocked out."

Like many UFC fighters, Magliano trained in Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu for eight years, and at times he has unleashed those skills.

"I've owned bars and nightclubs my whole life. I use a lot of chokes so I don't have to hurt anybody," Magliano said.

A woman among the throngs, a Missourian from Springfield named Jackie Cotton, found it "mind-boggling" to watch the "super cool" sport in person.

She was like a lot of women on hand. She was in her 20s and wearing a cutesy doll dress.

Her 6-foot-3 boyfriend -- an ex-athlete weighing in at 275 pounds -- was like a lot of men in attendance. He was young, fit and muscular.

To complete their Vegas experience, they were going clubbing afterward. Cotton reached into her purse to show me her post-fight footwear.

"I've got my hooker heels right here," she joked, dangling a pair of black Aldo pumps from her fingertips.

Other fans got a little defensive talking up the UFC. They were sensitive to the idea that people who put down the sport think the fighters are only crazy beasts.

Part of that stereotype came from earlier days, when things were more of a free-for-all and pay-per-view declined to screen it along with scenes of boxing and porn.

Since then, the Fertitta brothers, who own Stations Casinos, bought UFC and began dispelling the negative image by instituting regulations and other improvements. There's no head butting now, no hitting behind the head, and so on.

The Fertittas also have somewhat mainstreamed UFC by funding a reality TV show. And Ortiz was a contestant on Trump's "Celebrity Apprentice."

UFC could get more popular if matches made it onto HBO or broadcast TV, but for now it suffices to earn many millions from pay-per-view.

Away from the business end, the athleticism of the fighters is as undeniable as the inferred homoeroticism.

On Saturday, two certain fighters embraced in a powerful tussle on the floor of the octagon ring. They barely moved while trading powerful grips. Then one flipped the other and scissored his head between his thighs.

A man sitting next to me, Michael Shulman, the local writer of a column called Diva Las Vegas, wondered if he was "supposed to get turned on" by this man vs. man struggle, and he remarked of a fighter pressed against another: "I wonder if he's saying sweet nothings."

I kind of doubt it.

Doug Elfman's column appears on Mondays, Tuesdays and Fridays. Contact him at 383-0391 or e-mail him at delfman@reviewjournal.com. He also blogs at reviewjournal.com/elfman.