Monday, 20 June 2005 | The sport of the future

David's fight started right after I arrived, and so I didn't have a sufficient amount of time to become jaded. (I'd kind of hoped that I would first get to watch two strangers kick each other in the head for a while, at least long enough to raise my threshold for other people's pain.) When David's opponent leapt on him and started boxing him in the ears, I thought, "Don't do that! That's my nice friend David," like I was David's mother, or like I'd expected kickboxing to be all hugs and friendly pats on the back.

It didn't take very long before the two people in the ring became cartoons, and the violence seemed as inconsequential as an episode of Itchy and Scratchy. It didn't even look like it hurt all that much, because no one seemed to react the way you'd expect them to when getting knee'd in the stomach; they just kept stubbornly going, bouncing back like inflatable punching bags.

David's opponent spent all of his energy in the first round and sort of wandered around the ring in the second and third, while David got even. In the end, they'd pummeled each other equal amounts, which seemed pretty fair. I kind of wanted all of the subsequent opponents to work out a similar arrangement, so that fighting partners had exactly the same number of bruises and undereye gashes: pain twins, who would leave the ring as best friends. (Or, failing that, I would've been okay with a Ralph Macchio moment in its place.)

I didn't know any of the other fighters, but I always chose someone to pull for, which I based on scientific criteria like the name of the guy's gym, the color of his shorts, and whether he seemed likely to brag. And since I ultimately sided with whoever was getting his ass kicked, I was disappointed with the outcome of pretty much every fight. In conclusion, I think I would make an excellent referee.

I took some photos.