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Tag: Sean McCorkle’s Bruised Ego

“Fight” of the Day: Soa Palelei Destroys Sean McCorkle at AFC 4


(Palelei vs. McCorkle, as reenacted by The Incredible Hulk and the mythical God Loki, respectively. The actual video is after the jump, but this is basically what happened.) 

When we last checked in on Sean “Big Sexy” McCorkle, he had just lost a cardio battle to an amorphous blob and vowed to retire from the sport if he ever gave such a pathetic showing again. Unfortunately for Sean, his next scheduled fight was against Soa “The Hulk” Palelei — a fellow UFC veteran who was far more dangerous than the tomato cans McCorkle has padded his record with over the years — at AFC 4 last weekend. Fortunately for Sean, his piss poor cardio had absolutely nothing to do with his downfall this time out, so at least he won’t have to go back on his word. It’s a small victory, sure, but one that most of us would probably cherish if we flew all the way to Australia to land roughly zero punches and get smashed through the canvas by Palelei’s megaton fists of fury like McCorkle did.

Video after the jump. 

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Pointless Beef of the Week: Sean McCorkle vs. Kit Cope

When Anderson Silva called out George St. Pierre a little over a week ago, the MMA blogosphere’s reactions ranged from overwhelming enthusiasm to bitter resentment. Being that this is the Internet, the majority of those who voiced their opinions apparently sided in the latter category, dubbing Silva –whom you may recall is a UFC champion — a “lazy coward,” a “bitch,” and a “pussy” whose “bitchassness” would hopefully lead to GSP “smashing his skull through the canvas.” The main issue seemed to be that Silva was calling out someone below him in weight, which therefore made him a bitch considering that Jon Jones would be totally willing to fight him if he were to move up to 205. In your humble opinions, Silva was basically being an O’Doyle and picking on the smallest kid in gym class, which is totally not cool behavior for a supposed pound-for-pound great.

That being the case, we’d just love to hear what you think of this. Last week, former MMA fighter Kit Cope declared that “MMA dudes are vaginas” compared to kickboxers in the above video, successfully drawing the attention and ire of any MMA fighter or fan dimwitted enough to take anything that Kit Cope says seriously. One of those people was CagePotato aficionado Sean McCorkle, a can crushing super heavyweight who spends more time arguing on the UG than any grown ass man ever should. McCorkle took it upon himself to defend the honor of the hundreds of thousands of tens of fighters who found themselves reeled in by the whimsical musings of Kit fucking Cope and posted a lengthy diatribe on his old stomping grounds while “bored on a Friday night.” As is often the case in Internet warfare (and therefore Sean McCorkle), the rant was little more than a series of personal attacks and gay jokes culminating in a futile challenge that has zero chance of coming to fruition in any country other than Japan.

Here’s just a little taste:

Hey, here’s a fun fact for you. You lost to Tiki Goshen. Let me repeat that. You lost to Tiki Goshen. In a fight. That means that if Tiki Goshen broke into your house, and you did not have a gun or other significant weapon readily available, Tiki Goshen would have little trouble subduing you, and rendering you completely helpless in a short amount of time. Then he would he proceed to take your belongings, and/or harm your family in any way he chooses.

This of course begs one to ask what would happen to McCorkle’s family if Brian Heden were to break into his house. You see, Sean? We can pick the low-hanging fruit too!

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A Game of Fighting

“I want you to hit me as hard as you can.”

 

I am Sean McCorkle’s Bruised Ego.

Anymore, you learn about bruises in comic books — all heavy cross-hatching and lilac purple contrasting American Red and Cornflower Blue.  Children today never get a chance to know hurt.  The woods are clear-cut.  Toys are shatter proof and non-toxic. The playgrounds are low.  Rounded.  Cushioned.

Twenty years ago, you cut your hand open on an axe and ran a mile back home, and maybe you got stitched up.

Twenty years ago, nobody knew anything about game-planning for a fight.  Men who all knew little pieces of fighting tactics — what would they know of strategy?  To plan past the third haymaker was beyond many of them.

Anymore, people fight like it’s some kind of job, like they’re trying to make money out of it.  People who watch these fights, they talk like it’s some sort of highest form of competition with safety rules and scoring rules and “Octagon control”.

Not for nothing, but these guys don’t want to talk about how those early days were so special.  How watching two walking slabs of beef hurl themselves at one another was like watching Wild Kingdom with people.  Survival of the fittest.  Kill or be killed.  No one wants to talk about the boner they get for names like Paul Herrera, Steve Nelmark, Jeremy Bullock.

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