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So far, so good. The first two weeks of this seventh season of The Ultimate Fighter have exceeded my expectations, in that they have contained pretty much nothing but fights, ranging from the not-so-hot to the perfectly enjoyable, and very little of the general meatheadery that has become the show’s calling card and which makes the entire sport look like fucking amateur hour. Can this trend continue? Can the rest of the fights this season be as spirited as some of those we’ve seen already? Can the overall meathead level be kept within tolerances? Find out, as we move into . . . the house! I am not hopeful.

Some hopes are dashed early: I had mistakenly assumed they’d ditched the BOOM ANUTHUH HIT IS LANDED BOOOM theme song, but here it is. This is a problem. In that it sucks. And is dumb.

Boy, Matt Brown is kind of a chilling dude to behold. There is something about his countenance, you know? Like he is taking this about 30% more seriously than any body else here, and everybody else here is taking this pretty damn seriously.

Rampage wins the coin toss and uses it to select C. B. “Mrs.” Dolloway with the first pick. Tim Credeur is Forrest’s first. From there it breaks down like this (I’m not going to front; I got this from MMA Junkie rather than retyping it all — you’re only blessed with so much time on this earth):

Team Forrest
1. Tim Credeur
2. Amir Sadollah
3. Jesse Taylor
4. Matt Brown
5. Cale Yarbrough
6. Dante Rivera
7. Nick Klein
8. Luke Zachrich

Team Rampage
1. C.B. Dollaway
2. Matt Riddle
3. Paul Bradley
4. Daniel Cramer
5. Gerald Harris
6. Mike Dolce
7. Jesse May
8. Brandon Sene

Jesse Taylor, for one, is pleased to be on Forrest’s team, because Forrest is known for his conditioning: “He’s known for being a warrior, and a conditioner.” Like an MC Conditioner? New to me, but I’m here to learn.

Paul Bradley seems to be infected with the dreaded neckstaphAIDS already, and his teammates are rightly unwilling to roll with him unless he gets that checked out. Good on them. You need to take that kind of thing seriously.

Rampage’s first words of coaching that we’re exposed to: “Push him off like you were in prison, and he trying to get your booty. Think about it like that. You don’t want that.” Did you know if you google search “homosocial anxiety,” Total-MMA.com comes up on the first page of results? It’s only right. We’re introduced to Jaunito, who knows from your spit what you’re eating, and Zach, who I guess doesn’t, but who knows how to wrestle, which is a less impressive but nevertheless vital skill.

Back the neckstaphAIDS: Dr. Jason Michaels (no relation to Shawn — Rampage asked!) is of the opinion that it is not, in fact, neckstaphAIDS but rather herpes, which is a far less serious ailment, but still no laughing matter. Paul is going to have to run and workout on his own until he is less of a “walking herpe,” as Dana White has it. This could work to his advantage in the long run, as Juanito is going to help him with is hands, which are apparently his weak point. “Everything happens for a reason” is the single most often repeated phrase on reality television, and we have it here again. It’s the philosophical underpinning of all reality contestant lives.

Cameron Diffley is Team Forrest’s pretty dreamy jujitsu coach, and Mark Beacher (striking) and Gray Maynard (wrestling) round out the coaching staff. They are less, much less dreamy than Cameron.

Forrest Griffin is the greatest coach I have ever heard ever (ever): “Just know inside that you won’t quit on yourself. That’s all there is to it. There’s nothing else. Shakespeare said, ‘To thine own self be true.’ I don’t know what the fuck he meant by that. Just don’t quit on yourself. You’re gonna get frustrated, you’re gonna fucking hate each other. It’s worth it. The juice is worth the squeeze. I assure you. Alright? I’ll see you tomorrow.” clap clap clap. “There will be absolutely no clapping.”

And the thing about “To thine own self be true,” and all the rest of Polonius’ oft-quoted instructions to Laertes is that, well, that it’s Polonius. Nothing but good advice in that speech, when you take it out of context, but in context, it’s Polonius, you know? And Polonius is like, well, he’s like . . .

an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—
Almost, at times, the Fool.

. . . as another guy said one time. It’s always tricky with Polonius. So when Forrest says, “Shakespeare said, ‘To thine own self be true.’ I don’t know what the fuck he meant by that,” I think we have to respect that. Hamlet isn’t a revenge tragedy, Harold Bloom would remind us, but Shakespeare’s revenge upon revenge tragedy. It’s a fucking mess. Everything is all over everywhere. Forrest is grappling with the same questions as the rest of us on this one (lol “grappling”).

Dana White calls aside Paul (he of the herpes) and tells him they’ve got to send him home. It’s . . . yep . . . it’s because of the herpes. He is devastated, obviously. I feel really, genuinely sorry for the guy — he gave up his job as a wrestling coach for this — but I must say I’m glad to see this kind of thing being taken seriously here. I am horrified at the prospect of picking up disgusting diseases from grappling guys with mysterious rashes and unwashed gis. Sucks to be Paul, for real, but it is what it is. (And what it is is herpes.) Oh hey don’t worry about it though, Paul, because “Everything happens for a reason.” Thanks, Rampage. Matthew Riddle has it right: “Just sucks for him right now, because he had the chance of a lifetime and he lost it just because of some funk.” No doubt.

The first fight is Forrest’s pick, and it’s going to be Jesse Taylor against Mike Dolce. Taylor looks an awful lot like John McCarthy, and not in the sense that that other guy last week apparently looked like Eminem (he did not). Taylor is close to finishing school, but has decided “fuck school” for this (not a bad call: school’s always going to be there). Forrest’s view: “He’s just a meathead, you know? He’s a raw, unadulterated meathead.” I mean, sure, let’s just put it on the table. There’s no reason to be shy about it.

Dolce was a municipal tax assessor for the state of New Jersey, and gave it all up after ten years “to become a professional athlete,” which — and all due respect to Dolce, who trains at Team Quest and so I’m sure is tough as all hell — shows you that “professional athlete” is not a particularly exclusive category. Like, that you can go from long-time tax assessor to professional athlete pretty much overnight — that puts into perspective the broad range that “professional athlete” encompasses as a category. Lebron James, ten-year tax assessor, etc.

Patrick Schultz is back with his frosted tips to replace Herpes Paul.

Rampage comes by the house to hangout, which is nice of him. He claims to be such a friendly guy that he can be friends with anyone or anything, so long as it isn’t trying to eat him. I can see that, actually. He just chills with his team for a while, and it’s pretty delightful. They swap stories. Matthew Riddle is 22 but lives with his mom and doesn’t have a driver’s license, for instance. Rampage was broke as hell as a kid and was 17 in the 9th grade (oh man, that is rough) when he started wrestling. Just talking and hanging out. Seems like a nice time.

Jesse’s weaknesses “are numerous, I believe,” Mike Dolce tells us. Foremost among these: “his mindframe.” I like it, it’s like one of those German compound nouns. Those things are awesome.

Jesse: “Mike I like you a lot but I’m going to have to beat you up.”

Mike: “Jesse’s standing in front of me, he’s going to need the blessing of the lord. So god bless you, Jesse.”

CHILLING SHIT FROM BOTH~

Rd 1

Jesse Shoots but Mike sprawls, a weird scramble ensues and Jesse takes Mike’s back and starts working for the RNC (a little poorly). Mike is up, down, but can’t seem to shake him, with Jesse still working for the RNC, but he can’t slip his arm under. You can hear Forrest saying, “If it’s not there, Jess, if it’s not there come up on top,” which is excellent advice, but Jesse sticks with the RNC attempt until Mike escapes, turning into Jesse’s guard. Small hammerfists, which, as Matt Serra would point out, are fine. Mike passes to side, Jesse tries to stand, and ends up in Mike’s half-guard. Jesse passes, Mike gives up his back, but Jesse is having trouble keeping his hooks in. Jesse in side control now and works some short elbows with 1:20 to go. He has Mike’s back again, but his RNC attempts are pretty poor, and Forrest tells him to just stay on top and work from there. Which he does, from Mike’s half-guard. Jesse lands some solid punches in the last thirty seconds. Round 1 is clearly Jesse’s.

Rd 2
Jesse takes Mike down within five seconds. He could probably just chill out in Mike’s guard for five minutes and win this thing at this point. He passes to side, takes the back, but he is not a man of the hooks, apparently. Who am I to judge, I reflect, as he moves to mount and unloads. He’s got the back again, and, at last, finishes with a strange RNC that looks only kind of half on, which Forrest refers to as the Dan Severn RNC, which is how it shall henceforth be known. Jesse throws up a little after the fight, and is awarded $5000 from Burger King for wining (he managed not to throw up any more when Dana mentioned Burger King — this guy is raw), and another $5000 for the submission.

You know what, three episodes in, this is totally a good season. The show is fine and the fights are good. I’m in. A dominant performance and good finish from Jesse Taylor, who must have had the blessing of the lord (ask Mike).

May peace be upon you until next week, friends.