The future's bright, the future's a chain-link cage

The New York Times today carries an article on the increasing popularity of Cage Fighting, in which two thugs hack at each other for as long as it takes for one of them either to come to his senses, or to lose all sensibility whatsoever. In the UK, we had a similar sport that was popular during the 80s, except that it was carried out on a large rectangular piece of turf with goal-posts at each end, rather than in a cage. Remnants of this sport still exist, e.g. Millwall, Sheffield Utd, but apart from the odd international fixture the fire seems to have gone out.

I think by not embracing cage fighting in the UK, we're missing out on a fantastic opportunity. Saturday night in a provincial British town is a terrifying experience for anyone not familiar with Beirut*. I think back to my last evening out in Reading. I grew up in a fairly rough seaside town, the holiday destination of choice for people who find the high-falutin glitz and glamour of Blackpool a bit pretentious**, but even I was impressed. From my vantage point in the bus shelter, I could see skinny, spotty teenage lads in Ben Sherman shirts vomiting copiously in the gutter. Similarly attired but rather larger males squared up against each other and against the enormous, psychotic doormen stood outside almost every entrance in this part of town. The violence I could handle, but what was on offer from the two cackling harridans in short skirts staggering towards me, kebab in hand, I was not tempted to risk. About a dozen police officers were parked just around the corner, cowering from this Dante-esque scene in an armoured minibus. On reflection, what is most shocking about this is that it wasn't shocking to me at all - it was just another Saturday night.

Now imagine if this uncontrolled violence were to be channeled in some way. Bedeck the Majedski Stadium in Burberry colours***, stick an octagonal cage in the middle, and off you go. 'Ladies and Gentleman' (note the irony), 'Thames Valley Police Constabulary, in conjunction with Yates' Wine Lodge and Carlsberg Special Brew, is proud to present...' No more CCTVs in our town centres, no more running street battles. Those who want to fight may, for the entertainment and erudition of their peers (any crowd trouble would be easily dealt with by a gentle tap on the shoulder, and a quiet reminder that there's still plenty of room in the schedule for one more cage combatant). The inevitable injuries could be dealt with on site, instead of cluttering up the local casualty ward****. And of course, to the victors the spoils - an evening of passion with their pick of the enormous thighed, short-skirted harpies in the audience.

There's a fortune to be made here - gate fees, savings in police and ambulence service budgets, sponsorship, foreign TV rights, the list goes on. It's the future I tell you. Oh, I'm sure the bleeding-heart liberals will bemoan the inhumanity of it all, but to them I say this. Go and visit your local hospital at midnight this Saturday, and then tell me about inhumanity.


Notes for my American audience
* I'm talking about the real British Night Out, not most tourist's view of nightlife UK-style i.e. a couple of pints of London Pride in Piccadilly and then being chatted up in Equinox by an Australian barman.
**Blackpool is a holiday resort in the north-west of England, who's most notable cultural contribution is the 'illuminations', an endless parade of gaudy, tasteless lightbulbs illuminating streets desolated by discarded burger wrappers and used condoms. I've never been to Tijuana, but I would imagine that there are distinct similarities.
*** Beige Burberry plaid is the official badge of mindless British violence
**** Casualty = Emergency Room