I got 253 Likes on my Facebook post announcing my victory Saturday night. I look at it constantly. I compare it to other people’s announcements – especially engagement photos. I got more Likes than that picture of your new ring, I think to myself. Take that!
I am a terrible person.
If you are a follower of this blog, I am sorry to say I’ve been lying to you. Well not really lying, but omitting important details. I’ve talked many times about why I came to Peru to fight: I missed the competition, I wanted to prove I could do it, I wanted adventure. Those are all true, but I left out some major reasons.
I have this image that plays out in my head sometimes. I show up at my ten year high school reunion. Everyone else is talking about their passion for selling insurance, or whatever. They turn to me, “What have you been up to?” I take a deep breath and respond casually, “Cage fighting in South America.” They want to hear more and I tell them some stories. The girls that used to pity me now wonder why they never dated me.
“Sure, it’s dangerous,” I say coolly, “But it’s just my job.”
When I came down to Peru for the first time to visit my friend Ben, he was stopped multiple times on the street and asked for his autograph. He makes television appearances all the time. He gets tons of daily Facebook messages from fans. A lot of them female. “It’s so annoying,” he says.
If you think for a second that those things didn’t play into my decision to come to Peru, you’re crazy. But, you may ask, are you really inspired by such petty motives? Yes.
In this day and age, it seems that everything has to have the noblest of intentions. Or at least the appearance of it. It’s a lot of hypocrisy, if you ask me.
Donald Trump said, “I don’t do it for the money… I do it to do it. Deals are my art form.” Yeah Donald, you’re a true artist, a regular Da Vinci.
On the other hand, I’ve always liked the Adam Sandler movie The Waterboy. In the movie, Bobby Boucher imagines all the people who have teased him and uses it to “open up a can of whoop ass” on the football field. He calls it his “tacklin’ fuel.”
I will leave you with one image that I think about all the time. I imagine that someday I have a daughter. She brings a boyfriend home for the first time. I sit him down and show him a video of me fighting. No stern talk needed.
That is my tacklin’ fuel.