Nightfall was making its final ascent, as the thin purple shades of the sun’s last dominance faded into midnight blue. Tonight I found myself at the Salisbury Center, looking forward to witnessing the modern-day gladiators go about handling their business. So distant do we claim to be from our barbaric routes, but our nature always reveals our innate desires with striking subtlety.
I step inside a crowded bar area, where the concoction of nerves, relaxation, excitement, and misery can be felt from all over. Some attempt to drown their surmounting pain in booze whilst others chat about in a fidgety state as if a break in discourse would rip through their fleeting rationality. After some confusion, I made it to the main stage, a well-put-together arena with plenty of seating. The capacity had to be around 300, and that’s about the number of people who filled the arena.
There’s a fleeting calmness that can be felt in places like these, where individuals understand what’s about to be witnessed but utilize what’s left of their sanity to act normal. You can discuss plans, complain, give advice, and meditate on personal matters before the carnage ensues. It almost acts as a sensible coat that protects against the harsh nature of the social force.
I’m no consummate pacifist. Even if I wish for there to be no wars or unnecessary turmoil, one can’t help but enjoy the combat between two (or more) human beings. It sends this adrenaline and sense of pride that can be seldom compared to any other activity. And to be in such a state whilst surrounded by hundreds of other people who also share that same experience; there’s no doubt the social force will eventually tickle one’s rationality. There’s no enjoying an event like this if you aren’t prepared to activate the primal senses of your being.
The screams of the crowd hint at the fighter’s support group. It’s safe to say I experienced a fair share of irritation from my eardrums being ravaged by the exclamations of a fighter’s dear mother, brother, sister, and sometimes even father. This is all done in good faith though, for irrationality can sometimes be a great tool for decompression and bonding. The fighters remain stern and focused, yet the crowd assumes the apparent fighting spirit. Some maintain a fair irrationality, others make stupid, obscene comments to demoralize the opponent of their beloved. I must give props to the majority of spectators who quickly quieted down the unhinged, and made clear the limits there are to enjoying this professional barbarism.
It’s amazing how intricately we can perceive violence. So many components go into the sport of destroying one another, it can almost seem inhumane. But this is an integral part of our nature. We must maintain a competitive, irrational edge to our character, whether that be favoring a sports team, fighter, or cause. Some moments call for us to be the champion stoic in the room, and others call for us to shout for our people.
All in good faith.