Last time I went to Strikeforce, I didn’t have a good time. Bobby Southworth and Anthony Ruiz fought an interminable battle of who could lay on someone else the longest, a woman peed herself, and a degenerate moron tried to fight me in the urine soaked restroom of the Shark Tank. But lately it has been good to be Andrew Wallace: an auspicious beginning to the judo competition season, a promotion in spite of the financial kristallnacht, my studies go well.

And now I am back at Strikeforce. Oh Strikeforce, how I missed you. Did you miss me, my darling? You have been cruel to me in the past but I have come back for more because I have seen the real you, the you that loves me when you’re sober and haven’t had a hard day down at the plant. This event is subtitled “Destruction” and no doubt that is accurate for many of the delicate maxillofacial bones and intricate neurological motor pathways of the competitors. But they’re all Brazilian or college wrestlers and so no one liked them for their looks or brains to begin with anyway. Let’s go, Cali!

I timed this so perfectly, by the way. I get there, go in the press room, Dave Meltzer is discussing the business of the Observer with some total scrub. (Good news: The economic downturn hasn’t affected Wrestling Observer subscriptions, also everyone hates the Affliction guy. There are ears everywhere, Dave.) This would not be my last cursory experience with the elusive Mr. Meltzer, and it would also be my least rewarding one! Read on!

Our first fight of the evening is Zakary Bucia vs Adam Steele. I am really into the last name of “Steele” but his theme music is “Break Stuff” by Limp Bizkit which, okay, ironically I can kind of enjoy. Ironically I can enjoy just the hell out of. But there is some problem apparently and the next song on the CD plays and though I also enjoy “Rearranged” also by Limp Bizkit in the same, both of them in a row is hard to deal with. Bucia is a kung fu fighter and so I am fully taken aback with the decidedly un-Crouching Tiger guillotine he finishes with in all of 35 seconds. Life is amazing, isn’t it?

Moving right along, Alvin Cacdac shows his face. So does Jose Palacios! This fight rules because there is a bit of judo done in it. Both guys are busy on the ground and standing. A guy with face tattoos is in Cacdac’s corner and if he is Maori, and surely he must be, that advantage will surely grant Cacdac an inevitable victory. Knowing a guy with a face tattoo is a guaranteed difference maker. This match is fun because neither guy is particularly great but they will both fight like hell. Cacdac gets it in the second with a rear naked choke. Surely the advice of Face Tattoo was the deciding factor.

Brad Royster comes out, with his theme music informing us that though they have come to snuff the rooster, he ain’t gonna die. “Rooster” and “Royster” sound a little similar, I guess, but not so much that I think “sure okay” with that song. It’s a good song, but I know why he picked it, and he chose incorrectly. Sitting next to me are a couple of boneheads from 102.5 KDON and they have a youthful personal style but they are not youthful at all! People that work in radio are the lowest form of monsters that tread this earth. Royster’s opponent is the pretty awesome Darren Uyenoyama who has fought in Dream and if I am not mistaken will be fighting in Dream again soon! Japan! Can you believe that? In this match, Herb Dean orders an unpopular standup. Poor Herb Dean. No one should ever boo such a gentle man. A gentleman who is a gentle man, that is this Herb Dean who stands before me. But it was a bad standup. Uyenoyama’s shorts have a belt printed on them, not unlike BJ Penn’s black belt shorts, except Uyenoyama, like myself, is merely a brown belt and his belts reflect that. Someone buy me those shorts. Royster’s shorts perplexing state “The Ultimate Image Hickory Twig” and I honestly have no idea what that means. I don’t even know what “hickory” is, really. It sounds like something the protagonist in Summer Of The Monkeys may have eaten, who can say. That chimpanzee sure was hard to catch, wasn’t he? In the third round, Uyenoyama’s nose gets busted open and like a Create-A-Wrestler in the N64 classic, WWF No Mercy, his reaction to the blood is anger and he finishes with a pummeling, furiously ground and pounding Royster into.. nothing because the round ends. I have it 30-27 and so do the judges and once again I must wonder why I’m not a paid MMA professional. Post fight, Uyenoyama greets the children. Like Gamara, they love him.

Our next fight is on the telly, eh wot.

The modern day Spartan, Nik Theotikos is out. He has a beard and tattoos that make it appear as though his pecs have gigantic goddamn eyes. As far as tattoos that make me go “…whoa” that is one of them! Luke Rockhold has no beard and comes out to “Sad But True” which isn’t one of my favorite Metallica songs. Rockhold wins with a…………wait……….Gina Carano is in the building, I am seeing her on the screen and she is being interviewed and she is Gina hi my name is Andrew Wallace listen uhhhh can you… aww forget it never mind, well be seeing you.

Gina Gina Gina Gina Gina Gina Gina.

Joe Riggs! An honest to god MMA star! He is 2 years younger than I am yet looks 10 years older. Getting punched in the mush, eh? He is fighting Luke Stewart and can I let you in on a secret here? Luke Stewart sucks. He does. When first I came to Strikeforce, he lost to Tiki Ghosn. Tiki Ghosn. He has nice tattoos though. The referee for this is Big John McCarthy. This is McCarthy’s first refereeing gig in, what, 50 years? But that fact isn’t announced so he gets a nice little ovation but not what he deserves. He is immense, this John McCarthy. Stewart starts with a lovely little o uchi gari, to use the noblest parlance. But it isn’t any match for Riggs punching skills and McCarthy has seen enough. I am not surprised. Are you, dear reader? Stewart needs help out of the ring. Such is the power of Joe Riggs. The diesel power.

Tonight is really zipping along, which is all I could ever want.

Oooh, now it’s time for ladies to fight. Lina Kvokov who boasts an impressive 0-1 record will meet the similarly credentialed Kim Couture. However Mrs. Couture is wed to Randy Couture, one of the most esteemed MMArtists of all time. One has to think that may be somewhat of an advantage. Kim is much prettier than Lina, I am sorry to say, and she comes out to Rihanna and it’s the Rihanna song that samples the numa numa song. This fight calls to mind the Celebrity Boxing where Tonya Harding fought that little broad who had some manner of Bill Clinton scandal and the Clinton harlot kept turning her entire body around so as to not get punched in the face. I thought then as I think now: if someone simply cannot stand getting punched in the face, simply call the fight. There’s no shame to it, I can’t take getting hit in the face either. My belief is shared by the referee who calls the fight. All the women cry, I think, and Lina seems fairly destroyed. I am not at all certain that Ms. Kvokov should have ever fought. She just seemed… hmm.. terrible? And she fully got her ass kicked. My concern is her ear drum but not TOO concerned. A scant whatever months ago, I was soliloquizing on the brutality of women’s MMA and now I feel charitably neutral. I got problems of my own, a lady gettin’ her brain shoved down her magnum foramen doesn’t rank anymore. My ethics…. where did you go? Perhaps it is time for a spirit quest.

Yves Edwards! Master of thugjitsu! (I am not positive but I think maybe he invented it and may be the only practitioner.) He is fighting Duane Ludwig who is no chump. Or is he? They are both chumps, this fight is garbage! Here are the only cool things about this fight: Josh Rosenthal, presiding. Josh Rosenthal… where did he come from? Who is he? He is always grinning slightly. The other cool thing is the ring girls. The audience loves the ring girls. Should the ring girls fight? Yes they should! I get up to pee during this fight and see Lina Kvokov drinking an ice cold mixed drink, so you can rejoice in the fact that she is not dead. Ludwig wins the fight. And I lost the fight because I had to watch most of the fight.

In the distance, the blueish glow of a laptop screen illuminates David Herbert Meltzer’s cherubic face. How I long to be near him.

The crowd sucks tonight, by the way. They are, let’s say, tepid.

Now we are gettin down to business! Renato “Babalu” Sobral, too monstrous and sadistic for the UFC. He comes out to Danzig and I feel like Copernicus realizing that the earth revolves around the sun. Babalu is the sun. Bobby Southworth is responsible for the worst fight I have ever seen live (a short list to be sure but regardless) and so my allegiance is clear to you, reader. Babalu elbows Southworth so much in the face and Southworth bleeds and this is exciting what the blood and the punching and BABALU winning between rounds because of a doctor’s mercy. I am 3 for 3 in going to Strikeforce and seeing title changes. The transitive nature of MMA. Things come, things go. Wider and wider in the turning gyre. People boo Babalu, unaware that he can and will murder everyone in the arena for the slightest offense.

For some reason, our main event is Terry Martin (Is he the guy who wrote the A Song Of Ice And Fire series?) and Scott Smith. I am told, via text message, that Scott Smith loves to fart, a crude yet pertinent fact. A man who can enjoy his bodily functions is a man who is willing to win a fight in, like, 20 seconds or whatever via punching in the head.

After the main event, there are non-televised dark matches but I opt for the press conference! I have never even been to a press conference before! Dave Meltzer and I get lost together and it is my life’s dream. A magical moment. Also wandering around backstage, I come into spitting distance of Randy Couture, Gina Carano, Cain Velasquez, and Josh Thomson. Being so near Randy induced a visceral reaction not unlike when once as a child a neighborhood dog halfheartedly sort of attacked my dog and I had to separate the savage curs. I can’t explain why he did that to me but he did. He did not look huge to me!

In the press conference room, Meltzer impatiently drums his fingers on his notebook. He is a jewel of a man.

Bobby Southworth comes out first, and he is grateful that the referees and doctors stop fights when they do. If this was ancient Rome, he says, they would have fought til the death. With Babalu, that IS a concern. Southworth is a nice guy! Do I still hate him? I am afraid that I do not. Babalu comes out and they shake hands. And I am 10 feet away from Babalu.

Maybe 15 feet. Babalu comes across very charming actually, yet slightly murderous. A charming murderer, which probably describes most of the Brazilian population. “When I throw my elbow, I felt his skull on my elbow.” That is a way to know if your elbows are being thrown effectively.
Strikeforce! It is a thing! It is my local MMA promotion and you know what? Gosh bless em for it. They do it all really. They have the ladies fighting, they have the crappy journeymen, they have the awesome local guys, and that is all I could ask for. Also their salad in the press room is really really good.

In conclusion, here is a picture of the back of Dave Meltzer’s head: .