IT came out of the blue: a request to be the doctor at a cage fighting competition at the Sydney Entertainment Centre.
My knowledge of this extreme sport was fairly limited, apart from the hysteria I’d seen on TV.
Mixed martial arts permits all sorts of disciplines to be used together. It involves striking and grappling techniques, so it looks like kick boxing, regular boxing and many other fighting traditions rolled into one.
These amazing pugilists have been around since the time of the ancient Greek Olympics: Pankration was introduced in 648 BC.
What was known then as the most extreme combat sport is now one of the fastest-growing spectator sports in the world.
The program in Sydney was to be broadcast live on pay TV in the United States.Men from the US, Brazil, the UK, Australia and Samoa were matched against each other in 10 separate bouts.NSW combat sports coordinator Craig Waller brought me rapidly up to speed at the weigh-in held the day before the bouts were to begin.
These were big men. They all had an entourage of coaches, attractive women and hangers-on. Most were heavily tattooed, with many of the Brazilians having religious motifs across their backs. They had been fighting since they were in their early teens in poverty-stricken favelas, where an aptitude for fighting was a meal ticket out of squalor.
Luckily I brought a large cuff for checking blood pressure, since most had biceps the size of my thighs. All 20 fighters had to be checked for HIV and other blood-borne infections before being weighed. On examination, all were extremely fit. Nobody swore or spat on the floor. I expected exponents of the martial arts to be wild men, but somewhat surprisingly, they were charming, well mannered professionals.
When I cheated and watched a short bout of cage fighting on YouTube, I thought it was a free for all, no holds barred competition, something like human cockfighting. I soon discovered that it is a strictly regulated and controlled sport. Up to a point.
Assisted by my practice nurse Matt and medical student Nici, we entered the waiting rooms of the Entertainment Centre armed with a hefty medical kit that contained sutures, local anaesthetic and skin glue. We wandered through the waiting areas observing the fighters prepare themselves for the combat ahead.
A number of them were meditating, others shadowboxing and some dancing to Brazilian music. Hooded tracksuits were the fashion order of the day.
Young female dancers in skimpy outfits completed the picture. They were, apparently, employed solely to entertain the punters between rounds and encourage the innumerate audience to count to five.
A cage fighter enters the ring with no boots and half-gloves. Each fight consisted of three five-minute rounds, with a minute in between where the seconds patch up their battered charges.
The brutality of these bouts at ringside was mesmerising. Four paramedics and two ambulances were in attendance, and the screams of the crowd soon had my pulse racing.
Fighters can use their fists and feet and entire body weight to either knock down their opponent or force him to submit.
Ringside doctors must observe the fight closely and have the authority to shut it down any time, should a combatant be badly injured or unable to continue.
At the beginning of each fight, the referee looks to the doctor for the thumbs-up sign to indicate that proceedings can begin.
The star attraction was Ken Shamrock who aged 46, still managed to trade blows with a younger opponent. He had a considerable fan club in the audience. His nose had been pulverised a number of times and looked like it could use the services of a reconstructive ear nose and throat surgeon. I figured that his flattened proboscis was not a major issue under the circumstances.
After each fight I would return to the change rooms with Matt and Nici to check for damage and my medical student in her final year became wide-eyed when she entered the backstage area that had been turned into the post-fight lounge.
There was a palpable odour of spent testosterone. The fighters slumped on chairs, their entourages of up to 10 people applying ice packs to swollen soft tissues and massaging tortured muscles.
I treated minor emergencies, such as reducing a dislocated finger. I wasn’t keen to apply traction but the Brazilian fighter looked at it with a pained expression and said with a strong Portuguese accent: “Just do it, Doctor... when I was growing up in the favela we did it all the time.”
Advocates of cage fighting reckon it channels young men's aggressive impulses and the training provides them with a tough discipline. Others suggest it is barbaric and risks serious head injury.
Certainly, the broken noses and cauliflower ears testify to sheer tenacity of the bouts. For me it was one of the most exciting experiences of my medical career, but not one I could repeat on a regular basis without ulcer medication and tranquillizers.
Mixed martial arts permits all sorts of disciplines to be used together. It involves striking and grappling techniques, so it looks like kick boxing, regular boxing and many other fighting traditions rolled into one.
These amazing pugilists have been around since the time of the ancient Greek Olympics: Pankration was introduced in 648 BC.
What was known then as the most extreme combat sport is now one of the fastest-growing spectator sports in the world.
The program in Sydney was to be broadcast live on pay TV in the United States.Men from the US, Brazil, the UK, Australia and Samoa were matched against each other in 10 separate bouts.NSW combat sports coordinator Craig Waller brought me rapidly up to speed at the weigh-in held the day before the bouts were to begin.
These were big men. They all had an entourage of coaches, attractive women and hangers-on. Most were heavily tattooed, with many of the Brazilians having religious motifs across their backs. They had been fighting since they were in their early teens in poverty-stricken favelas, where an aptitude for fighting was a meal ticket out of squalor.
Luckily I brought a large cuff for checking blood pressure, since most had biceps the size of my thighs. All 20 fighters had to be checked for HIV and other blood-borne infections before being weighed. On examination, all were extremely fit. Nobody swore or spat on the floor. I expected exponents of the martial arts to be wild men, but somewhat surprisingly, they were charming, well mannered professionals.
When I cheated and watched a short bout of cage fighting on YouTube, I thought it was a free for all, no holds barred competition, something like human cockfighting. I soon discovered that it is a strictly regulated and controlled sport. Up to a point.
Assisted by my practice nurse Matt and medical student Nici, we entered the waiting rooms of the Entertainment Centre armed with a hefty medical kit that contained sutures, local anaesthetic and skin glue. We wandered through the waiting areas observing the fighters prepare themselves for the combat ahead.
A number of them were meditating, others shadowboxing and some dancing to Brazilian music. Hooded tracksuits were the fashion order of the day.
Young female dancers in skimpy outfits completed the picture. They were, apparently, employed solely to entertain the punters between rounds and encourage the innumerate audience to count to five.
A cage fighter enters the ring with no boots and half-gloves. Each fight consisted of three five-minute rounds, with a minute in between where the seconds patch up their battered charges.
The brutality of these bouts at ringside was mesmerising. Four paramedics and two ambulances were in attendance, and the screams of the crowd soon had my pulse racing.
Fighters can use their fists and feet and entire body weight to either knock down their opponent or force him to submit.
Ringside doctors must observe the fight closely and have the authority to shut it down any time, should a combatant be badly injured or unable to continue.
At the beginning of each fight, the referee looks to the doctor for the thumbs-up sign to indicate that proceedings can begin.
The star attraction was Ken Shamrock who aged 46, still managed to trade blows with a younger opponent. He had a considerable fan club in the audience. His nose had been pulverised a number of times and looked like it could use the services of a reconstructive ear nose and throat surgeon. I figured that his flattened proboscis was not a major issue under the circumstances.
After each fight I would return to the change rooms with Matt and Nici to check for damage and my medical student in her final year became wide-eyed when she entered the backstage area that had been turned into the post-fight lounge.
There was a palpable odour of spent testosterone. The fighters slumped on chairs, their entourages of up to 10 people applying ice packs to swollen soft tissues and massaging tortured muscles.
I treated minor emergencies, such as reducing a dislocated finger. I wasn’t keen to apply traction but the Brazilian fighter looked at it with a pained expression and said with a strong Portuguese accent: “Just do it, Doctor... when I was growing up in the favela we did it all the time.”
Advocates of cage fighting reckon it channels young men's aggressive impulses and the training provides them with a tough discipline. Others suggest it is barbaric and risks serious head injury.
Certainly, the broken noses and cauliflower ears testify to sheer tenacity of the bouts. For me it was one of the most exciting experiences of my medical career, but not one I could repeat on a regular basis without ulcer medication and tranquillizers.
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