Well, let me tell ya ’bout this Greek Fighting Championship thing, or whatever they call it, GFC. Sounds fancy, but it’s just a bunch of folks punchin’ and kickin’ each other, far as I can see.
I saw some fellas on the TV, all muscled up, grunting and sweating. They were jumpin’ around like crazy chickens, then bam! One guy hits the other, and down he goes. It’s like a bar fight, but with rules, I guess. Don’t really get the point of it all, myself. Seems like a waste of good energy to me. Could be out there plowin’ the fields or somethin’ useful.
They say it’s a sport, this “Greek Fighting.” Sport? Back in my day, sport was chasin’ after a runaway pig or haulin’ hay bales. This…this is just plain roughhousing. But hey, folks seem to like it. They cheer and holler, just like they do at the county fair when the prize bull wins a ribbon.
- They got these fellas, fighters they call ‘em. Strong as oxen, some of ‘em.
- They punch and kick, wrestle and grapple. Looks painful, if you ask me.
- And the crowds! Screamin’ and yellin’ like the devil himself was chasin’ ‘em.
I heard tell you can watch it live, or catch it later if you missed it. Something about a “*” or somethin’. Sounds complicated. I reckon if I wanted to watch somethin’ live, I’d just go down to the chicken coop and watch the hens lay their eggs. That’s real-life excitement, right there.
They even got these “championships.” Like a big ol’ contest to see who’s the toughest. Reminds me of the time old man Johnson had that pie-eating contest at the town picnic. Folks stuffed their faces ‘til they were green. This fightin’ thing ain’t much different, just with more blood and less pie.
One time, I saw somethin’ on the news about a fight breakin’ out during some Greek Cup final. Soccer, they called it. But it turned into a brawl, just like this GFC stuff. Players and coaches all tangled up, punchin’ and whatnot. See? Even in their fancy sports, they end up fightin’. Guess it’s just human nature, though I never did understand it.
Somebody told me there’s this thing called “UFC fight pass,” where you can watch all sorts of fights. Champions, they got. Past and present. I don’t know why anyone would want to spend their time watchin’ that, but to each their own, I suppose. I’d rather watch the grass grow, personally. It’s about as excitin’ and a whole lot more peaceful.
GFC events, they call ‘em. They got statistics and fighters and bouts. Sounds like a whole lotta numbers and jargon to me. I reckon they keep track of who punches the hardest and who gets knocked out the fastest. Don’t see the point, myself. Seems like a lot of fuss over nothin’.
They even put this fightin’ stuff on TV. Cosmote TV, somebody said. Saturday nights, they show it. While decent folks are gettin’ ready for church, these fellas are beatin’ each other up on the television. It just ain’t right, I tell ya.
And this “weight cuttin’” business? Heard about one fella, “Poatan” they called him, strugglin’ to lose weight for a fight. Starvin’ himself, likely. Why go through all that trouble just to get punched in the face? Makes no sense to me. Eat a good meal, that’s what I say. Keeps ya strong and healthy.
They got these other fightin’ things too, like UFC. ESPN+ shows ‘em, apparently. Fight Night, they call it. And Pay-Per-View, where you gotta pay extra to watch. Sounds like a racket to me. Payin’ good money to watch people hurt each other? I’d rather spend my money on a good bag of flour.
They got this fella, Jones, fightin’ some other fella, Miocic. Big names, I guess, in the fightin’ world. Happened in Manchester, they said. Far away from here, thank goodness. I don’t need no fightin’ in my backyard.
So, that’s my take on this Greek Fighting Championship thing. It’s loud, it’s violent, and it don’t make a lick of sense to me. But hey, folks seem to enjoy it, so who am I to judge? I’ll stick to my chickens and my garden, thank you very much. At least they don’t try to punch me in the face.
