FIGHT! Magazine‘s February issue hits newsstands today, featuring a long cover-story on Brock Lesnar, steamy photos of Arianny Celeste, a behind-the-scenes look at American Top Team, and a profile of Jon Fitch. But our favorite article is “Mayhem’s Best & Worst,” where Jason “Mayhem” Miller describes what really goes into living as a fighter, from groupies to sponsorships to psycho fans. Check it out below, and then go out and buy the issue — trust us, it’s worth your $4.99.
MAYHEM’S BEST & WORST
By Jason “Mayhem” Miller
Flashing lights, TV screens, ring girls clamoring for your jockstrap; the world of fighting seems quite enjoyable from this particular angle. But we live in a three dimensional world where we sometimes have to look at things from all angles, even, at times, the ugly ones. I decided this month to dig down and inspect both the positive and negative aspects of being a professional mixed martial artist. Not that it’s a far journey for me; I don’t have to follow anybody around for a week documenting everything he does and how he feels at each moment. Well in a way, I suppose I do. So here goes my attempt at listing the best and worst parts of being a fighter.
Girls Girls Girls
Oh man, your teenage desires may all be met, if you are lucky and hardworking enough to become a popular MMAer. Hell, even if you don’t fight, you can ride the poon-tang wave caused by your buddy who made it into the fight game. Ask my friends, now that I’ve shacked up with my ol’ lady. Back in the day, I was the only fighter in my hood, so I was the fighter, until some local tools figured out that they too could get some booty by saying things like, “Yeah, I’m a blue belt. It’s kind of a big deal.” My lines were much more subtle, like “I’m sorry, what was your name, I get punched in the head for a living.” Girls are as dumb and horny as you are, so it is possible you could be in for a wild ride if you play your cards right.
If it wasn’t for Triumph United, Pro-elite, and Osiris shoes, I would have been either panhandling or hookin’ on Santa Monica Boulevard in West Hollywood to make ends meet during my recent sabbatical from the cage. Sponsors are like a beautiful welfare system for those addicted to violence. I cash in my food stamps on the first of every month so that I can support my habit for just a little while longer, and inject a fresh batch of face punching right into my vein. I hope my parents don’t read this and schedule an intervention.
“Here Mayhem, I got this one.” I respond, “Okay,” without even pretending to reach for my wallet. Where were all these nice people when I was starving between training sessions? Ah well, best not to ask too many questions and just soak up the limelight while I can, until I have to buy my own over-priced filet mignon. “Dude, Mayhem, I just want to give you a t-shirt.” I respond, “Duh, okay,” adding another one to the ever-expanding pile in the back of my truck. If I would’ve known that at my age I would be running a goodwill donation center that specializes in fight fashion, I would’ve bought a bigger truck. I have enough skull printed fabric back there to decorate a haunted mansion for a decade.