Spilled Bag of Fights

bonesgusreach2Welcome back, my little shit ducks! For this SBoF, I’m gonna focus on the title fight of UFC 165:  Jon Jones vs Alexander Gustafsson. I will throw my opinion on the decision into the muck and mire of opinions that are gunking up the interwebs but I’ll also be delving into the so-called controversy of the decision. More to the point, why there is such a big controversy and why this always seems to happen when there is a close fight. Jones retained his title but a lot of people felt The Swede got a straffknulla from the judges.



By Spilled Bag of Ice

A couple of years ago, I used to write a weekly column called “Spilled Bag of Fights” for a website that no longer exists. I would wrap up the week in MMA with a nice blend of insight and snark with an occasional dash of straight up surrealism and hilarious photoshopped, errr, hilarity. In going back and looking at some of them, I realized that they were awesome and the obligation to write a weekly column, as much as it chapped my lazy ass, made me write. Strangely, the weeks where I thought ‘I got nothing’ were often the times I would get creative and wind up with some of my best work. Anyway, the long and longer of it is that I cannot, with a clear conscience, deny you my genius any longer. Ladies, gentlemen, transgender people, animals that can secretly read, the emerging sentient collective consciousness of the internets and, of course, the NSA…



[**Originally published on MMA Gospel Nov. 7, 2010]

This week’s Spilled Bag of Fights will be a recap of the last episode of TUF – in play form with all the dialogue in antiquated Shakespearean/Victorian style. What?! Don’t worry. You’ll love it.


“KOS In a Commotion” – a play based on The Ultimate Fighter


SCENE I  – The Ultimate Fighter Training Center.

JOSH KOSCHECK and BRAD TATE stand outside the Team Koscheck and Team GSP rooms.

TATE: I say to thee, sir, that when Georges bests you in combat that you should show honor in admitting such.

KOSCHECK: I shan’t be bested! Of that I can assure you!

TATE: If thou art so confident, then perhaps a wager is in order, sir.

KOSCHECK: A wager? I shan’t make a wager with your ilk. For who are you to expect such? You are a lowly Nurse! A trade that ‘tis in tradition the domain of the fairer sex. You, sir, are a male nurse. I scoff at your absurd expectation of respect from a gentleman of my stature.

TATE: Sir, my livelihood ‘tis honorable and in this modern of eras, not at all shameful for a gentleman to have –despite your pleas to the contrary. I ask you, sir, what ennobles you to such superiority?

KOSCHECK: I, sir, am a fighter! A warrior that commands fear and respect from peasants and noblemen alike!

Koscheck grabs Tate.

KOSCHECK: I shall show you my skill in the fighting arts and you will know misfortune, sir!

Koscheck and Tate scuffle.

KOSCHECK: Do not become frightened or enraged, Tate, for I only attack thee in jest!

Koscheck grabs a plunger.

KOSCHECK: While it may not be a sword, this plunger is capable of transferring filth upon your skin and is more than sufficient in further humiliating you, should it make contact with your face, sir!

Tate picks up a trash can.

TATE: As you have improvised a weapon, so have I procured a makeshift shield! You shan’t succeed in manifesting your malicious mischief today!

Tate closes the door on Koscheck’s plunger, trapping it.

KOSCHECK: Hark, swine! Return my plunger with haste!


AARON WILKINSON and MARC STEVENS side by side on treadmills.

WILKINSON: It is rather unfortunate that we who are compatriots fighting under the flag of the Kingdom of Kos must now face each other in combat. However, I do find solace in the knowledge that one of us will know victory and move forward in our quest.

STEVENS: When the heat of battle has cooled I would request that you join me so that the valiant men that are under my tutelage may fortify their proficiency in the art of striking with closed fists of which you hold such mastery!

WILKINSON: Indeed, friend, I would find it honorable to do the very same and in exchange you may endow me with the skill of wresting and both of us shall be stronger combatants thereforth!



It’s been three days since Nick Diaz lost to Carlos Condit for the interim UFC welterweight title. Three days of controversy, outrage and suffering…Well, for me it was suffering. I wanted Nick to win. I wanted Nick to fight Georges St. Pierre and to beat him. I wanted the fearless, scrappy kid from Stockton to overthrow the Canadian golden boy and bring some excitement and “fuck you” attitude back to MMA.

However, unlike most Nick Diaz fans, I couldn’t find solace in thinking that the loss was a “robbery” or that Condit just “ran away” the whole fight because both of those sentiments are ridiculous. I’m blessed and cursed with having the ability to see things from a lot of different angles and perspectives and not just the ones that fit into my desired reality. So, it’s not so easy for me to come to terms with certain things without that ability to just ignore certain facts. But after days of absorbing everything that I saw Saturday night as I sat in my awesome seats at Mandalay Bay like a pimp and all the different points of view that fans have shared via that beautiful yet diseased harlot I like to call “the internet”, I’ve got some things worked out. I suffer, struggle, and come up with answers and now share them with you so that you may be saved. Kinda like Jesus… okay, exactly like Jesus.


I was set to watch UFC 137 streaming on my computer like some pimply faced teenaged loser when I got an electronic mail from one of my connections at the UFC. I say this entirely to brag and make myself seem important. Whether it’s accurate is none of your damn business. The short of it: Two tickets have become available for you if you want them. Of course I want them! I was sitting with my dog, Carlos, watching the Game Show Network. Let’s get this shindig going, man! Carlos is a Chihuahua and because of his Mexican heritage and small size, a revolutionary at heart. Me, I’m also a revolutionary. Not quite an anarchist but that’s neither here nor there. I knew I couldn’t bring Carlos but I also knew that I had no other friends in this god forsaken town where dreams go to wander up and down Las Vegas boulevard until someone approaches them and offers them some cheap meth and they say “Why the fuck not?”