(Photo courtesy of the author.)
By George Tibbles
CagePotato has allowed me to write an article for its legion of reprobates and cretins — well, in the eyes of some leading industry figures anyway — and I’d like to use this opportunity to issue an open letter to our second-favourite, no wait third-favourite, ahh fuck it, one of the many stoners in MMA, Matt “Deep Waters” Riddle. Matt and I shared a brief moment in time last year, and I want to publicly apologise to him for my actions that night. Hopefully, I didn’t wreck his career.
Allow me to introduce myself and set the scene a little. Initially you may notice my vocabulary may be a bit different. This is due to myself being a typical Limey wanker. So I’ll clear a few things up though before I proceed: I can’t stand tea in any form, in no way are my teeth perfect but they’re not bad either, I think Bisping is awesome, I’m fully aware I may be writing this in German were it not for The US of A’s (late) involvement in WW2, I also whole-heartedly apologise on behalf of my country for this this twat and I am quite susceptible to the lay ‘N’ pray strategy. But I digress.
So let’s rewind back to February 16th, 2013, to the Barao vs McDonald card at the Wembley Arena in London. Now the UFC only comes to my little island once or twice a year and normally brings with it a pretty sub-standard card in terms of name recognition. So, me and my band of merry men turn it into a bit of a “boys” weekend and end up in all types of debauchery, eventually returning home with our tails between our legs and feeling rougher than a badger’s arsehole.
This particular card is pretty much a drunken haze, and I can only remember pieces of it. The Snake’s leg internally combusting. Watson repeatedly kneeing Nedkov. During the Poirier/Swanson fight, there was an equally good fight going on in the stands. (In the third round, Swanson put his hand to his ear thinking the crowd was cheering him, but in actual fact the crowd was cheering the huge fella raining down bombs on some poor twat.) And a delightful member of bar staff named Shaniqua who had tickled my fancy and was evidently turned off by how unbelievably twatted I was.
It was at UFC 138 where we discovered that, at UK events at least, the UFC puts the fighters in the closest Hilton Hotel to the event stadium. So for each event we go to, we always head to the nearest Hilton and have our post-fight/pre-club drinks there. After this particular card, the strategy paid off in droves.