Author: Seanbaby

Last week, I talked about Dogfight Wild Tournament, the fight and fight-like thing promotion produced by a Spanish podcaster. If you missed it, don’t worry, I can sum it up in one gif.

That’s from after the main event where Zdravko “Bad News” Tarnadzhiev (0-0) was finished immediately by a twirling skull bonk by Aitor Gaspar (0-0). It was more of a ballroom dance class accident than a combat sports match, but it led to a friendship that will burn eternal. Their many, many hugs and several long chats were the perfect ending to a four hour event with less than 10 minutes of fighting. This is a real, non-sarcastic pie chart I made to show how the event played out:

In the USA, that pie chart would represent a great trip for a chicken sandwich, but a catastrophic MMA event. But I guess in Spain they consider it such a success they held another one. So let’s talk about Dogfight Wild Tournament 2: Second Impact.

Their first event had slapping, size mismatch freak shows, and 2-on-1 battles, so this time they knew they had to get extra crazy with it. The opening match needed to set the tone with something super weird and barbaric. They did the opposite.

Dogfight Wild Tournament opens with a rematch between best friends and brothers forever, Zdravko and Aitor. “I am as happy as I’ll ever be,” their faces seem to say as they approach their staredown. “My life was empty without you, we should have a group nickname, what do you think about The Get Busy Boyz, I’ve missed you so much” their mouths seem to say. Normally, this is where competitors make intimidating faces at each other. Trust me when I say it’s unusual for two fighters to sparkle with joy and shirtlessly reminisce as if no one else in the room, the two of them alone with their love.

The fight itself isn’t so friendly. It’s something called a “MUERTE SUBITA” match, which my Spanish profesora did not teach me and Google thinks means “Get the best shopping deals on subita, Mort,” but it can’t be good. It might mean “human bullfight” because Aitor throws a series of wild charges, all of them miss, and Zdravko takes his back and smashes his brain in. It was a bad game plan. Coming at a Spaniard with a bull charge is like trying to kill a Brazilian with a soccer ball or attacking an American with a pie eating contest. In less than three minutes, Zdravko avenges his only loss. You know what comes next.

The two warriors embrace. These men share the same 150 seconds of total fight experience, but they also share a love stronger than any hammer fist, more reckless than any bull charge. Their hug lasts forever, it lasts until the sun stops burning.

The two brothers finally break apart, thank each other’s teams, and head back to the center of the cage for the official announcement. They decide maybe there’s time for…

… one more quick hug. One more perfect moment of flesh-to-flesh friendship.

They announce Zdravko as winner by TKO, his record rising to 1-1, maybe. I’m not sure if these count as pro MMA matches or illegal pit fights they got away with. Most people would call it a decent start to a potential combat sports career. To Aitor and Zdravko, it is nothing less than the Most Honored and Treasured Best Friendship World Championships, they tied, and their celebration is only beginning.

Mighty veterans of nearly threes of combat minutes, they drop to their faces in honored reverence to one another. A soulless monster might call it indulgent, far too much reverence paid to a prelim match on an off-off-off brand MMA event, but anyone with a heart can see something beautiful is happening. After only seven or eight punches and two concussions, these men found each other. The purity of their passion makes every lover you’ve ever taken look like a cheap whore. They are already hugging again before they’re fully back on their feet.

Everything is all they can give each other, so they do, but it’s not enough. They hug so many more times, once for every wish on every star. Somewhere in the slapping, swarming center of their love they have to know they can’t do this forever. Other fighters need to use this cage, they must know. But let them wait. Let them watch eternity crumble in the hereafter of their brotherhood.

“Let time fall away around us,” their arms say as Zdravko’s chest tattoos transfer onto Aitor backwardsly. Dogfight Wild Tournament fans knew to expect hugs in the Aitor vs. Zdravko rematch, but this was beyond any Dogfight fan’s imagination…

… beyond any Dogfight fan’s dreams.

After a series of post-fight interviews, at least two too many, each one broken up by hugs, Aitor’s corner calls for a special announcement.

Here, after losing a fight by missing a takedown and getting violently out-grappled, his jiu-jitsu instructor promotes him to blue belt. It’s a weird time to do it. It’d be like interrupting a wedding to give a bridesmaid her merit badge for archery, right after she maimed the groom in an archery accident. Zdravko “Bad News” Tarnadzhiev, the winner of the fight, reacts to these drama nerds stealing his moment exactly as you’d expect:

He embraces his now blue-belted friend. This changing of the color of a losing rookie fighter’s belt here in Spain’s 28th greatest combat sports organization is so momentous, the Dogfight Wild Tournament host gives each of the men another post-fight interview about how it’s changed their lives. By my count, this is four interviews for the loser and three for the winner. There has never been anything like it. If this was a baseball game, it would be like stopping after one pitch so each infielder could write a book of poems about it, make firm, tender love to the center fielder, and present Kieran Culkin with a Golden Globe Award for playing the trombone.

In no rush to leave after only a few dozen interviews, ceremonies, and snuggles, the two men start doing silly poses. This is too much, far beyond my ability to describe. It’d be like stopping a hockey game after one minute to film a children’s show about two prison enforcers fucking, only it’s all bloopers. So I guess never mind, I had the perfect way to describe it.

You already knew this, but the silly posing eventually turns into sincere hugging. The announcer thanks everyone again for coming out for this great nigh– holy fuck, has there only been one fight so far? All these ceremonies and heartfelt speeches… I feel like I’ve watched 70 beloved Turkish bath owners retire.

They really need to get things moving. But first…

Yes. Tonight, there is no other place than Zdravko’s arms, no other blue than Aitor’s belt.

After only one hour and 32 minutes of broadcast, I’m not fucking kidding, Dogfight Wild Tournament 2: Second Impact moves on to its second event. And it’s nuts.

It is a two-on-two match with three referees, and not a single one of the seven men have any idea what the shit is happening or should be happening. These men are tumbling, twirling, and grabbing so randomly I think maybe they’re fighting by sense of smell? I looked up how to say “blind” in Spanish, but according to Google, “blind is a pizza that can be cured with sunlight or bleach, find horny blind widows in your area.” So, yes, everything in our modern world is broken, but nothing more so than Dogfight Wild Tournament.

It doesn’t really matter who won this fight because bashing someone in the back of the head while they’re busy isn’t sports. It’s rad as fuck, but let’s not belittle the chaos by awarding its lucky survivors with points. Next up is nothing less than the greatest thing I’ve ever seen.

These goddamn maniacs have fully recreated the set of Bloodsport. Suddenly, and for three fights only, the Dogfight fighters will battle like they did in the based-on-a-true-story movie, Bloodsport. It’s better than a brilliant idea. In an instant this makes it seem ridiculous for any fight promotion to have ever had a different idea.

It’s obviously not a perfect recreation of Bloodsport since it’s only a four-man tournament and, as we all know, the real Kumite had more competitors than that. Due to secrecy and protective magic, we’ll never know the actual size, but we know from Frank Dux that he holds the world record for most consecutive knockouts in a Kumite at 56. And that’s easy math. It means a Kumite has to have at least, let’s see, 2 to the 56 fighters… so about 72 quadrillion competitors to be a true Bloodsport. But four is close enough. Let’s see how a real fight plays out on this stupid ass ramp from the best film Bloodsport.

Jesus goddamn Christ. Five -five- seconds into the fight, “The Monkey King” throws a knee from halfway up the ramp and hits “El Ninja” so hard he immediately knows he fucked up. “I think we ran over a rotten pumpkin,” say the signals from his leg to his brain. These promoters were so worried about the set designer getting the nameplates and little katana sword right, they never checked to see if it was safe to do Muay Thai on an inclined plane. I’m not a physicist, but I’m good at reading faces, and this is the face of a man who was not expecting to turn a human skull inside out with his opening move:

The Monkey King looks like he walked in on his parents having sex with a cobra and they all leapt at him. He realizes what he has done so instantly, he is already dropping to his knees to pray to his Spanish gods before El Ninja’s lifeless body is done bouncing. This Bloodsport section went from fun to tragedy faster than sex with a cobra. It was like a birthday magician asking a boy if the eight of spades was his card while accidentally ripping his throat open with a jack of diamonds.

The next event is a women’s bare knuckle fight. It goes a full five rounds of brutal, cumulative hand and face trauma, and here is your winner:

You know a sport is great when someone is interviewing a colony of lumpy bruises growing on human remains and it was the WINNER.

Next up is a “NO RULES” match, which is strange because there aren’t a ton of rules in MMA already. In fact, there are so few that you could basically call this a “NORMAL PLUS DICK AND EYEBALL BITING” match. But since no one threw an eyeball bite, it ended up being a “JUST NORMAL” fight.

For about two minutes, “El Rey De La Calle” sat on top of “Hercules” and punched him in the side head, nagging the referee to stop it the whole time. “Sure, good idea,” the referee eventually agrees. Hercules is cranky about the loss, so he decides to start a new battle. This time Hercules will fight using the art of pantomime, and he will suffer a defeat far more painful than 80 punches to the ears.

Hercules begins his pantomime attack by standing in the center of the cage and staring at the man who just kicked his ass. Blankly. If he meant to do anything cool or interesting, he never got around to it before El Rey De La Calle started humping his dick at him. Round one of battle two goes to El Rey De La Calle.

Hercules answers back with a couple nods and a few aimless steps and El Rey De La Calle easily counters by making fun of the way Hercules gets punched. “Wah, wah, I’m a little girl who gets punched in the skull like this,” he expertly communicates. “Darn it, you’re right, I suck,” says the body language of Hercules. It’s a grotesque display of unsportsmanlike conduct, but remember: THIS MATCH HAS NO RULES.

Sensing victory, El Rey De La Calle unleashes a full dick pump assault, humping his groin at Hercules five different ways. On any other night, in any other place, this would be unthinkable, but NO RULES. Hercules desperately tries to communicate, “Let’s go back to fist fighting,” but there are enough rules that El Rey De La Calle knows that will never happen. He’s confident it is safe to ignore the threats and keep pumping, and all Hercules can do is nervously pace as he gets torn apart by pelvic thrusts. It’s the most unpleasant moment of the night, and we saw a woman’s head get slowly chiseled into a raspberry and watched a man fully die on the set of Bloodsport.

Next up is a five-on-one match, but not like you’re thinking. It’s one competent, experienced fighter taking on five much worse fighters, one at a time. There’s a way to spin this like it’s cool, but it’s basically a five round fight against a master of disguise with decent cardio and no chance in hell. It reminds me of ’80s pro wrestling when the Ultimate Warrior’s entrance music would kick in and he’d sprint to the ring and go apeshit, his muscle tassels flapping, his action makeup glistening. Then we’d meet his opponent, Tacoma’s Gus Hornsby, a man wearing gray panties who had already been in the ring the whole time and no one noticed. Gus would wave, get hit by all three of the Ultimate Warrior’s moves, and no one would ever see him again. Only the promoters of this fight league were brave enough to consider… what if you had to face five Gus Hornsbies in one night? “Don’t even joke about that; I can barely get the skidmarks out of his wrestling trunks with one of him,” ribs “Howling” Elenor Hornsby, his wife and local comedienne.

Oh no, what the shit is this:

Are these madmen going to seriously do a 3-on-1 fight!? This never goes well. It hasn’t been tested much, for a lot of good reasons, but the maximum amount of men you can fight seems to be a number less than three. For instance, here’s a 3-on-1 match they tried in Poland a few years ago:

That looks like a gun smuggler taking on a local high school’s yearbook staff, and the event’s director barely had time to switch cameras before the man was held down and mauled unconscious by six arms. This is just too many hands to be grabbing you when you’re trying to do something. And sure enough, here in the Dogfight Wild Tournament, the exact same thing happened as soon as they hit the gong. Oh, I should have mentioned they have a gong.

Eduardo Riego has already been tackled and pelted with elbows and fists before the clock has started to tick. It is obviously hopeless. But no one stops the fight. Maybe the referees believe in Eduardo, maybe they can’t see what’s going on in the Heathcliff cloud of violence, or maybe they lost perspective on how much injury is “dangerous” after a long night of head disasters. Whatever the reason, they let these three men pound on Eduardo for the entire first round. As he was pulled around and pinned down, Eduardo managed to land one (1) punch to the three little guys’ ninety-eight (98!). Not all of them were clean, and none of them were very powerful, but ninety-eight. It’s a troubling amount of damage to take, but to look at it another way, if you punch someone 98 times and they’re still coming, you and your shitty baby hands should have run away 97 punches ago.

Seven seconds into the next round, Eduardo says fuck it and starts pulling one of their heads off. He eats a lot of shots while he does it, but what’s twenty more punches at this point? If you look closely here, you can see why 3-on-1 matches might be a bad idea– none of those referees can tell if the man being choked is struggling to escape, trying to tap out, or already long dead. They look like first day zookeepers at a chimpanzee orgy. This is awesomely, stupidly unsafe. It was closest to the third one, by the way. He gets fully choked out and they have peel this poor comatose fucker out of Eduardo’s grip. And when the guy wakes up, he thinks he’s still in a fight. Everyone does their best to explain to him what happened, but he won’t accept it, and he remains confused the whole time they’re shoving him out of the cage.

This sad spectacle is not a morale boost for the doomed men remaining. They spend the rest of the round trying two different submissions on Eduardo at the same time and Eduardo uses their feeble attacks as an opportunity to rest.

Going into the third round, Eduardo has studied his opponents and formed a game plan– ignore their attacks and strangle one of them. Using this strategy, it only takes him ten seconds to pull one into a guillotine. The crowd is going crazy. They’ve been here over five and a half hours and it was all worth it for this absurd, impossible feat they’re witnessing. Eduardo eats a few more shots while he waits for his opponent’s head to run out of blood, but the tables turned one bloodless head ago. All Eduardo has left to do is beat one more (much smaller, less skilled, fully demoralized) man.

Eduardo eats one last punch as a haymaker bounces right off his chin and into certain doom. He really did it! He fought through two and a half rounds and 150 punches to beat three men at the same time! Dogfight Wild Tournament has 1700% too many post-fight interviews, exactly the right amount of hugs, and the world will definitely someday know it as “the fight league where that horrible thing happened?” but as of press time, it fucking rules.

This article was brought to you by our fine sponsor and Hot Dog Supreme: Craig Lemoine, who only has a pathetic 54 consecutive Kumite knockouts.