But that’s where the agreement ends. Officials across the country, led by Sen. John McCain of Arizona, are crusading against what some call human cockfights. Promoters insist that the fights are legitimate pro sporting events and are safer than they look–as safe as, say, football or hockey. And, unlike in boxing, nobody’s been paralyzed or killed. Not yet, anyway.
Last week the front lines were in New York City. Battlecade, Inc., a subsidiary of Penthouse publisher Bob Guccione’s General Media Inc., planned the city’s first extreme bout, to be held Saturday night in a state-owned armory. But the firm soon found itself ejected from the armory and scrambling to find a backup site. The Brooklyn D.A. warned would-be gladiators of assault prosecutions, and ultimately organizers opted to move the contest out of state. “We have tapes in which one contestant is downed on the mat and another kneels on top of him and either kicks him in the head or punches him until he’s virtually knocked senseless,” says State Sen. Roy Goodman, who persuaded the armory to cancel Battlecade’s lease and is pushing laws to ban future events. “This is a clear invitation to permanent injury, if not fatality.”
The men behind the melees disagree. “Safety is more important than anything else,” says Bob Meyrowitz, president of SEG Sports, which originated the format two years ago with its Ultimate Fighting Championship. The fights lost money at first, but the most recent of seven UFC bouts enticed about 300,000 viewers to plunk down a $20 PPV fee. Now imitators are jumping into the ring, looking for some of those young male dollars. (It’s no coincidence that Penthouse and Battlecade are corporate brothers.) Meyrowitz says his contestants, who vie for purses of up to $60,000, are trained martial artists, many with years of pro-right experience under their multiple black belts. Doctors and refs can stop the carnage. Fighters can surrender, or “tap out,” at will. And fighting without gloves–a big complaint–is actually safer, proponents claim. Striking with bare knuckles hurts an assailant’s hands, thus skull-punching is a self-limiting proposition, or so the reasoning goes.
Nobody denies that the events appear terrifically savage. Blood flows like beer in a frat house, and choke holds that leave even spectators gasping are de rigueur. “I understand how some people are feeling, because it is scary,” says UFC champ Ken Shamrock, 31. “It looks vicious. But we’re not out there to beat each other up–we’re out there to compete.” To compete at beating each other up, anyway.
