Shogun tames The Dragon-

Last night in Los Angeles, California, the two most deadly light heavyweight fighters in the world, Mauricio Shogun Rua and Lyoto Machida, finally fought for the light heavyweight crown. Waiting up to watch it while people with more sense slept, I was wringing my filthy liitle hands together- this was the first main event that had truly excited me since Big Nog and the Natural.

Machida, as with most good new things, was originally condemned by an established order. Preferring to watch fat man with mohawks knock out overmatched grapplers, fans and experts believed Machida was too elusive, too slow in his victories- boring and cowardly, even. However, during this period he had never lost a fight, not even a round in the ufc. He overwhelmed other hot light heavyweight prospects like trained killer Thiago Silva and predator look- alike Remy Sokoudjou, knocking out Silva using superior focus and lightnight quick hands. Rashad was made to look average and unprepared, which came as a suprise for those who saw him knock out Chuck, someone who by that time was old, slow and tired.

His moment came at last when he knocked out champion Rashad Evans, overmatching him from the start and putting him out in a flurry of pin point strikes that left the champion crumpled and snoring on the floor, mouth hanging open. It was a priceless moment for Machida, when ignorant experts and fans went from saying "This guy sucks dude, he totally isn't like Chuck or anything", to saying "Machida is awesome man, he can' t be hit, can' t be hurt, he' ll never be beat lolol. The best ever". Machida, the stoic karate character straight from a shonen manga, had hit the big time.

Shogun. For those who know anything about MMA beyong UFC, ( which is apparently the vast minority ) Rua is an icon. A demon in the ring, famed for his destruction of even the most skilled - Minotoro - and most poweful - Rampage - opponents. Stamps, unorthodox striking and a great chin had seen him literally kick some opponents out of the ring in Japan. He was the youngest pride champiuon ever, etc, etc. Fair enough, but following a freak arm break against Mark 'the steroid' Coleman and two crippling acl injuries, Shogun was finished with a rear naked choke by Forrest Griffin, a defeat which was to haunt his reputation in the UFC. After he recovered, however, he knocked out Chuck, just like everyone by that stage. Laughably, some though Chuck would "knock him out", nevermind that Chuck was way passed his best and Shogun would have killed him at any stage in his career. If you disagree, you are wrong, Shogun is faster, more aggressive, more accurate and more technical. To summarise, Shogun = not to be fucked with.

It was a fight I' d been looking forward to for ages, it had the potential to be the most explosive fight in recent memory. Both fighters are lethal strikers, super quick and merciless once they smell blood. I stayed up til 4 to watch it, I'm hardcore like that. I was bricking it worse than Franklin/Belfort, hoping not to see such a brief, one sided affair. By this time, those who had reviled Machida were lubing themselves up an getting in a low horse stance, swearing that karate was the way forward. Shogun, of course, had no chance, he got beaten by Forrest Griffin, for gods sake.

The fight itself, bizzarely, reminded me of a fight between two of Shoguns' earlier opponents Forrest and Rampage. Lots of circling, low kicks and counters, the promise of an explosion of violence at any second. Quickly they cancelled each other out in the grappling, Machida deceptively powerful and difficult to take down. Each time he came close to grapple, the Dragon punished Shogun with knees to the body, while each Machida assault was blocked and countered.

A few exchanges, lots of punishing leg kicks to Machida legs and some circling later, Machida looked confused, even a little unprepared. Crouched in his muay thai style, Shogun applied patient striking to the counter- striker, forcing him to be more aggressive. Still he was nuetralised by an equally fast, equally skilled opponent, the sound of the leg and body kicks ringing out with wince- inducing force. A quick exchange of punches in the second round saw Machida coming off the better, although a telling right to his jaw saw a look of suprise flicker across the champions face.

By the fifth round, much of the crowd, fickle as ever, was chanting "Shogun" the pride champion looking loose and comfortable, ready to go another five. Machida, while not significantly injured, had been tagged with increasing regularity and was starting to slow. What I wouldn' t have given for a sixth round. Shogun had proven himself against the best, as had Machida, circling the tiger like Leonard against the fearsome power of Duran. I had Shogun winning by three clear rounds.

The decision, when it came, was announced by a chorus of boos. Even Joe Rogan was suprised, although he seemed hell bent on hugging Shogun's nuts all night, Goldburg obviously just hyped whoever was winning at the time. The Dragon wins in the books, but the hype took a bit hit and many want a rematch, it was one of those nights when the judges seem to get it wrong. Winner Machida, but now at least both might be given the credit they deserve. To be honest, though, those who changed their mind based on last night probably don' t know shit anyway.

Death and sandwiches

"He doesn't look bad, he looks fine really" they lie. It's the first time I've seen a dead body. He is small inside the unassuming little box, you might even fail to notice him. His hands are crossed over his chest like Christopher Lee, the bruises on his face are large and dark. By his feet is an old vhs copy of 'Zulu', his favourite film. I almost laugh at the absurdity of it. Heaven's all blu ray mate.

His twin star laughs as she regails us with easy tales of their shared exploits. She makes it look easy, and will until the last of us leaves. "That is my dad, that, that is my dad" says his sister. Dead brother and father, eh? What do you say to that? I quitely decide that Terminator 2 will be my crypt companion.

The coffin is heavy, but it's nothing to do with what's inside. The top is on and it's on our shoulders, placed on the little alter like the dozen already that day. The worst thing in life is watching those you love spill their guts, I have never seen her cry before. Not ever. The music plays and the curtain camps it up with a scene stealer. Turns out the veil between life and death is purple.

Outside the weather is breathtaking. So many flowers wrought into handy platitudes. Others have smaller tributes next to their plaques, one has only 'Dad'. I don't look at it for long. I know there is something I should do, the handbook tells me so. Instead I clutch the jewellery in my pocket tightly and enjoy the sunshine. When asked what the difference was, the man with the gunfighters eyes beat his chest proudly and said "Corazon!".

We leave an old lady's house as quickly as is polite. I' ve eaten my fair share of sandwiches, all that death has made me hungry. Driving home feels like a getaway. I'm offered the chance to hear memories I don't share and I leave for a while.

I next become aware of myself as we stop on the drive. I'm in the garden. I want advice but there is noone there tonight, just the feeling of hands on my back again. I contemplate building an antenna to communicate with the deceased but I realise I have no wire coathangers. When I think about it, I haven't even seen one in ages.