There are not many things I claim to understand better than most people. Fighting - and its implications - is one of these rare things. Sam Sheridan in The Fighter's Mind said: "Fighting is tragic, even in victory". I've been in the amateur circuit for nearly seven years now. As a prospect, a fighter and now as an organizer. I've had wins, loses, seen some friends have great triumph and sour defeats, saw true fighters and posers and I can't explain the true nature of the sport better than Sheridan did in that one accurate sentence.
Fighting broke my bones, my soul and left me a different person. I see a lot of guys entering the gym with their head high and their shoulders large, convinced that they are the next big thing, the next Georges St-Pierre. Every single one of them will be broken at a point or another. Pain, self-doubt, fear and humiliation are all mandatory step to a single fight. The only measuring stick the coaches will have to evaluate your serious is your willingness to put yourself through those hardships in order to get a single chance to fight. When you walk into a gym, you can recognize the fiercest fighters as they are getting clobbered on the ring by more experienced boxer or they are getting their asses handed to them on the mats by guys at a higher level in brazilian jiu-jitsu. That guy with the tattoos and the hair gel that hits the bag super hard is seeking status, not a fight.
You hard road doesn't stop there. Now that you are bruised and broken, it's time to fight. This is even harder then everything you've been through yet. You will step on a ring (or in a cage) in front of a few hundred people who don't care who you are, don't care if you're hurt, if you're feeling awkward or if you have two children to think about at home. The only thing they care about is that you give them a good show. That's where most fighters decide their fate and the magic appears. You can remain yourself and fill up your mind with fears and worries or you can forget about everything for a moment of your life and become an instrument of destruction. A gladiator that has for only goal to please the crowd. All of these hardships, the real fighters, they endure them for these few minutes of eternal bliss where they become their superself.
When lights go out and the fights are over, you go home with a thin pay check, nothing, if you're an amateur, knowing that after a week of vacation, this whole cycle is going to start all over again. I stopped fighting competitively because I wasn't going anywhere with it. I was collecting major injuries (broken arm, broken jaw, concussion) and decided to leave competition before competition would leave me on the sidewalk too fucked up to do anything else productive. My life went elsewhere, but every week I still hit the gym and do my best to help these guys that want to make it big.
They all have fire in their eyes and the desire to transcend their everyday reality. Every night I hit the gym, I give everything to these guys without any second thought. I know they all long for these few minutes where the world will look at them and them only. Win or lose, it's all about these few minutes. I had other ways to reach out but for them, it's all about this bliss. Then it will all start again...pain, fear, injuries... So Sam Sheridan was right. Fighting is tragic, even in victory and that's what makes the beauty of it. Every fighter that steps on the ring or in the cage is the hero of his own tragedy. He lives, dies, gamble with his health for the pleasure of his audience.
Most of the fighters, they are 10-3 or 5-15 they will tell you. Winning is fun, but the greatest feeling is to perform well. The greatest thrill is the fight.
