IMG_2599 Another dismal day weather wise here on the WetCoast.  A photowalk was scheduled to commemorate two years as a group.  The rains came and it was a wash out.  Cancelled.  So I tackled the house demands.

I’ll be putting my place up for sale this spring. The place needs to be spotless and organized.  Today grout cleaning and caulking were on the menu.  I also tackled the worst closet.

Yes, the dreaded closets.  My condo has a lot of closet space.  Now you may think that is a good thing and I would agree with you.  Today, however, I was cursing the wealth of closet space I have been blessed with. IDreasms1 I’ve been working extremely hard at letting go of stuff.  Its not easy. Today I tossed approximately forty magazines with various recipes and health news in them.

Why I was keeping them I cannot say. There were documents regarding my father’s death that I will have to wade through.  There were photographs that threw me into emotional turmoil. There is a reason why I had tucked all of this into a closet, wasn’t there?

I was on my hands and knees scrubbing baseboards and cleaning the grout on the ceramic tile floors.

Whispers of ‘Karate Kid’ slipped through my head.

“Wax on, wax off!  Wax on, wax off!”

I had the oldies radio station playing and sang to many of my old favorites.  After five hours of hard labour, I called it a day.  The floors were all washed but not dry so I cleaned up, changed my clothes and headed down to Boston Pizza for a bite to eat.

UFC is on tonight.  I didn’t realize this as I’m not a fan.  I had hoped a hockey game might grace the dozen or so screens that are mounted in this place.  Alas, it was not to be.

I’m not big on blood sports.  And I know that many love this combination of martial arts, wrestling and boxing combined.

Watching a couple of guys crawl into an octagon and pound the shit out of each other has very little appeal.  Watching blood run down someone’s face frightens me at the best of times.

Trying to sell it as a sport…I’m not buying.

A funny thing happens to the crowd around me.  There is a certain blood lust.  Each manoeuvre draws excited shouts.  The fighters dance about checking each other out before they pounce.

The first match the guy was in a choke hold and lost consciousness.  The second match with blood pouring down his face the guy that lost persevered through all three rounds. And now they are scrapping.  Kicking, punching…and this disturbs me.

Perhaps I’ve been too intimate with violence.  I know the feel of a fist as it hits the flesh.  I know the explosion of pain and what is even more frightening to me is the memory of the feral creature I became in these situations. All of the poise and mannerisms a young woman should possess were out the window.

Oh yeah, I fought back.

Right now they are locked in some hold and everyone is leaning in, the excitement of the crowd, of the rawness, of the lust…it’s all here in the room. Bloody faces have been cleaned as they move in once again. That primal urge to move in for the kill now evident on their faces. And everyone around me is enthralled.

I feel queasy now.

I can taste the blood in my mouth.  I’m looking at my dad…I want to kill him.  He looks so smug in his dominance.  He wasn’t expecting it.  Not at all.  When I landed that punch on his cheek, God it felt good.

I took a few more unwanted rounds from him as a result. Teeth were lost.

He held me down, pinching the tender flesh under my armpit.

“Say you’re sorry!” he hissed.  It was a command.

Through blubbering tears of defeat I hissed at him “I’m sorry!”

“Now mean it!”

I cried even harder.

The match is over and the two, bloodied up from the match, are hugging each other.  The victor has been named and people around me are clapping.

I know that I have a sensitivity to violence.  I internalize a lot.  I try not to, but shit, I don’t see why this is a sport?

There is a skill to it. God knows they’ve trained.  Their bodies are sculpted to perfection.  The idea is to take down your opponent.  It really is just that simple.

Is this just a spectrum in the human condition?  I find myself gazing at not the fighters so much but those watching.  I wonder what cost they’ve paid to sit in the front row of what appears to be a stadium filled with 10,000 or more.

They want to see blood.  They want carnage. Why?

A punch is landed and sounds reverberate around me. I’ll finish up my meal and take my leave. Oddly enough, or perhaps not so, I find it hard to chow down with these images being flashed at me, even harder is the energy that surrounds me.

We live in a dog eat dog world.  I know this.  Survival of the fittest. Blood spatter is on the mat they’ve been fighting on.  I don’t know if it’s theirs or from previous fights.

Maybe this is just part of the human condition. Maybe it always will be.  Is it in our DNA?  Has this desire to conquer been passed along from our earliest lineage of being?

Now athletes take various drugs to enhance their performance.  Whatever the cost to succeed, they’ll do.  What happened to fairness in sport?

A kick just blew a fighter’s knee out. The pain on his face as he collapses makes me gasp.  I want to cry. “The Chosen One as won”


Time to pack this up. I’ll take my head out of this foolish cloud.  Oh, I know.  Many find this entertaining.  I won’t condemn them.  I guess I just wonder at this.

Women fight in this manner as well.

Perhaps I reject this because I have been the fighter.

When I was tossed out into this world, one of the first lessons I learned was to fight dirty.  There are no rules in the game of life. If someone wants to fuck you up, there’s no referee to say what’s aloud and what’s not. There is no entourage backing you up.

You haven’t been training for this moment all your life.

No. It’s those moments when poor decisions were made.  Those moments when all your insecurities become lead weight, when you had to make choice. Unfortunately it happened a few too may times in my life. There was no adoration as I decked some guy who thought he could do whatever the fuck he wanted with me.

So he bought me drinks and danced with me all night.  So he whispered all the things he’d like to do to me. If he didn’t sell himself, then I’d walk away. There was no entitlement.  And if he wanted to press the issue, I would shut the bastard down.

Foolhardy, yes, I know.

The main event is on and the crowd is pumped.  I’ve got to get out of here.

I prefer love. I prefer gentleness.  I prefer a soft caress. I prefer a smile and a kiss.

Love you all.

Peace out.


4 thoughts on “Sport?

    • I am staying in the area. The idea is to downsize from a two bedroom to a one bedroom plus den. If I get the price I want I will be able to pay off all my bills and just have my mortgage. The interest that I’m paying currently will stay in my pocket where it belongs. If I can’t get my price, then I’ll stay on here for a few more years. Ideally I would like to buy in Vancouver but I will entertain North Van, Burnaby or New West.


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