Maybe it would’ve been different if I grew up in a boxing gym. Maybe it would’ve been different if I had been around to watch the glory days of Ali and Frazier, or Tyson and Foreman.
I just can’t get into fighting.
Whether that be boxing, UFC or any other form of legal brawling, I don’t understand the appeal. Is it this dated masculinity complex that tells us we should enjoy seeing fellow human beings beat each other to a pulp? Possibly.
Is it that we learn about the old days of the Roman gladiators in school and try to find our version of that by pitting two people in a ring (or octagon for that matter) and revel in their quest to inflict as much pain upon each other as possible? Maybe.
But I’ve never subscribed to either of those sentiments. Floyd Mayweather is possibly the greatest pound-for-pound boxer of our time, and I couldn’t care less.
Now, maybe I’m hypocritical because I love watching football, but I’ve already written before on how I’m starting to no longer enjoy the constant brutality of it. Call me powder puff, but violence has no place in sports. Sport is meant to be a competition between two opponents who both exhibit grace and class. There’s no grace with blood on your hands.
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