I was 20 years old – living on the second floor of a house I shared with my grandmother. My living room was less than 200 square feet – just enough space for a red two-seater sofa and a wooden table that held my 19-inch TV. The room felt bigger in the summer, because there was a small 6 x 6 porch we could walk out on. So, I’d keep the door open to add some size to the place. The house was on a two-laned, busy street – the cars flew by at night.

*Now referred to as…rare…vintage…and retro…on Etsy*

The hospital was at the end of my road – about a half mile up. So, a few times a night, the ambulances would barrel past with their lights on. Sometimes, with the accompanying sirens. And, as one traversed from my apartment toward the hospital, the likelihood of sketchy activity grew. So, the cop cars and firetrucks would join in on the action. Oddly, it didn’t bother me one damn bit. I’d imagine that’s because when you grow up with that sort of racket, you just get used to it.

My friends and I would gather there, then make our way around the corner to Pine Avenue. We’d hang out at this one place – Old Angelo’s – until the guy who owned the place had enough of us and sent us home. He’d yell at us like we were his kids – he was a good dude. We loved him. He just passed away in March. With a dartboard and a coin-operated bowling machine – it was one of those old school places where an entire night could be had with a couple of five-dollar bills and some quarters.

Our cable company was called Adelphia. It was the dawn of cable boxes and the ability to call in your pay-per-view order. And that was exactly what I did for UFC 1. It was billed as a battle of the ages – a test to see if the karate guy could beat the Sumo guy. If the boxer could beat the college champion wrestler. No weight classes. No rules. No time limits. They’d fight til their opponent was asleep or quit.

Just a few years before that, the movie Bloodsport with Jean Claude Van Damme came out. A movie – based on a true story – about a guy who went overseas to fight in a no-holds-barred competition against the toughest on the planet. Van Damme played the first American ever to win the competition. His character did so with finesse, strategy, and speed. Not the brute strength most people think would win that sort of thing.

UFC 1 told the same story. A 175 lb. fella from Brazil dismantled each of his opponents – no matter their size or type of training. He was a tactician – going after arms, ankles, knees, and necks. I ponied up the $14.95 so that a few of my friends could pack into my little spot to watch fights. It was cold out – but I had to leave the porch door open. Too many people in such a small spot can get a little stuffy. The fresh cold air was most welcome.

Next week, the UFC will hold its 322nd pay-per-view bloodbath. Now it’s $79.99 plus the subscription fee for the app that runs it (ESPN). These days, the fights have rules, weight classes, and rounds. Because hey – it's less barbaric now. A legit sport, with sponsors, and the all-important betting lines. It’s come a long way – now to the big screen, where The Rock put on a serious theatrical performance about a fighter by the name of Mark Kerr…The Smashing Machine.

I remember watching Kerr. He was a Gladiator – a scary-looking dude – with the simplest of techniques. Pick the opponent up, throw him on the ground, and then smash him til he quits. Kerr had a back story – an emotional one. But I can’t remember it – and I won’t look it up online. Because I want to see the movie. I know that it is one of those stories about a guy who had bad times – then made it right. As one would expect, this type of thing is of great interest to me.

I’m hoping for a real-life Rocky story here. Maybe a little Balboa meets Robin Williams' character in Good Will Hunting. You know the line…when you have bad times, it wakes you up to the good stuff you weren’t paying attention to. I know Kerr wanted to win – and he did…until he didn’t. I did look online to make sure he is still alive – I couldn’t help it. But a story about triumph, the folly, then triumph, is just what we need sometimes.

Stories like this – I keep coming back to them.

I know it wasn’t one fight that defined Kerr – and the Rock wouldn’t be playing him in a movie if it was just about a lunk head who got famous beating the shit out of people. There has to be more to the story. Life in general isn’t just one fight. It is a long, long series of them. Some fights we see coming…others we cannot predict.

*On the left is the Rock playing Kerr. On the right is actually Kerr.*

When I was twenty, crammed into a tuna can living room with a red sofa, breathing in the cold night air through an open door, I thought the fights were all out there – in the sirens, in the bars, in the cages. I thought all the victories were things that could be pointed to – sometimes, even a trophy.

But the real fights come later. In silence.

Like rebuilding your life after part of it was burned down.
Like learning to tell the truth about yourself…to yourself.
Like choosing to get up again, no applause, nobody watching.

The reason those first UFC fights fascinated us wasn’t the violence. It was the clarity.

No excuses. No judges. No explanations. Just a human facing another human – to see who wins.

There’s something honest about that. Something we lose as we get older and start protecting our image more than our soul.

What I mean to say is we each get our own version of a UFC. Not the cage or the crowd – but the next thing to overcome. In this type of fight, the hero isn’t the strongest guy in the room. It’s just the one who keeps on fighting.

The Fight that Comes After the Fight…Then the Next One

Lights Out…Time to Shine