So let's talk THE HOT LIST. What is it, who makes the cut AND is there an order? First things first. What is it? When my brother decided to start this site, I told him that the acknowledgment of hot guys in MMA was completely non-existent on the standard MMA news site. And since I'm the older sister, he has to do what I say and give me, and all the other women who love MMA a voice...or at least pictures of the hottest guys in Mixed Martial Arts. Hence, THE HOT LIST.
As for who makes the cut, well that's easy. If he's hot, he'll make the list.
Last but not least, the order the hotties come up in is random. So don't be offended GSP because Patrick came up first. January will we put the guys in order. Then it will get even hotter. If YOU want your voice to be heard, write. 300 words or so of who YOU think should make THE HOT LIST. So here we go.
PATRICK "The Predator" COTE
In the sea of hot MMA fighters, Patrick Cote is a killer whale. I wont say he's a shark, because he's much to sweet. But he is a killer. A sweet killer like the Shamu at Sea World, who jumps up and tongues a tourist from Ohio then later that week, snaps his trainers leg off. Sweet but very dangerous.
I love grapplers but there is something oh so sexy about strikers. A guy that is willing to stand up and bang, well, need I say more. With a thunderous punches and an iron chin, "The Predator" has earned his nickname. Taking Anderson Silva into deep water? That's hot right there. Oh and his accent is adorable. Those Canadians can just talk and talk. It never stops being sexy.
So let's talk Patrick's stats. 13-5-0, 5 feet 11, and 185 lbs. That's nice, I mean really nice. His birthday is February 29th in case you want to send him a present and he's still a youngin at 29 years old. Thick dark hair, great trustworthy eyebrows and abs that you can break boulders on, Patrick "The Predator" Cote is definitely hot and is easily skates onto THE HOT LIST.
For those of you who were around last week, you may be aware that I have undertaken a little social experiment, seeing if this highly touted season of TUF would be compelling enough to attract even the most girly of new fans. The result after a somewhat lackluster first week was that we had a girl, squeamish on all the blood, whose attention was hanging on the golden toothed thread of seeing what “this Kimbo guy” was all about.
Enter week two and what I hoped would be a show more reflective of some of the excitement seen in seasons past. Jessica’s wish to find out more about Kimbo was answered right away as the show began with a copious helping of Kimbo waxing philosophical regarding the target on his forehead. Still not convinced that size isn’t the most key factor, Jessica kept asking what the big deal about him was in a house surrounded by men quite a bit larger than he. Again, I assured her it was about technique and skill and not physical prowess.
Speaking of which… How about that Monday Night Football watching, beer guzzling, jiggle-while-jogging, 30 extra pounds of an affair with pasta that “Big Country” sported while running around the mats in the next segment? If it were not for having been so impressed with his previous performances and ability to not gas out, I might have joined my lady in the guffawfest as Nelson got berated by his coaches for being “un-coachable.” Roy has been bucking the system and taking his roundish physique into the ring for 13 wins out of 17 tries since April 2004. He might, arguably, be the top pick to win this season of TUF. The problem seemingly is that Roy has been doing it his own way for so long that he’s having a hard time listening when anyone one else tells him what to do. The “sit down” with him made for an interesting look into his personality and ego and got him the, “What a tool!” remark from my right.
The drama with Slice and Nelson over, we moved into more reality show fun in the form of a quibbling Rampage and Rashad. Once again, the verbose Jackson chose a fight that seemingly pitted his goliath versus one of Rashad’s Davids. This time the match-up’s behemoth was espousing his utter dedication to the sport instead of his great computer job back home. The ex-NFLer, Wes Shivers stated he would be entering the cage at 280 (on a 6’ 7” frame) to face off against the Londoner, James McSweeney who just about came up to Shivers’ chin. As the show went into both training camps, it became clear that Rashad has absorbed plenty from his mentor, Greg Jackson. His training sessions looked crisp and his cool-down, talk sessions, where he brings the team together mentally, seemed to really have positive effect. Once such session was interrupted by a ticked off Rampage who was insiting that Team Rashad vacate the gym due to being there over their allotted time (by five minutes, no less!). Some verbal sparring ensued and, once again, from my right I heard the declarations of, “What a tool!” I didn’t get to ask which verbal jouster she was referring too, however, because it appeared my message was finally sinking in…
“You know, that NFL guy is huge, but I don’t know if he’s going to be able to beat Rashad’s guy. His whole team looks more prepared.”
Ahhh, now she was getting it! But was she enjoying it? Would the UFC have a new fan? Perhaps we’d be treated to an epic brawl with these two and she’d be sucked in by the excitement of it all. Then again, maybe not.
Our fight for the night, while certainly better than one from the previous week, was not exactly an instant classic. Shivers came out executing a game plan to keep range on the much shorter Brit. He succeeded to a degree while McSweeney danced in and out, trying to score points. At times, though, McSweeney’s dancing out involved turning his back and nearly running. When the fight did make it to the ground, Shivers didn’t know how to put his considerable size to use, controlling the position, and he even blew an easy Americana attempt when he forgot all about controlling his opponent’s hips before working the submission. The whole first round had me screaming out instructions, as if I could help either of these guys. The positive side of that was that the ever curious subject of our experiment asked me to explain what I was talking about and, thus, she got an education in what she was seeing. We took one step closer to the realization that this wasn’t some dumb basher street fight, but that there was a world of technique involved.
Enter round two and lesson two: Much like in real estate where it’s about location, location, location; in MMA it is often about cardio, cardio, cardio. Following a brief scrum on the ground, both fighters spent the last half of the second frame gasping for air and trying like hell to muster the energy to pounce while both their respective coaches urged them on frantically. So much for the proclamations of dying before quitting. My wise guru advice to the lady upon witnessing this? “Fatigue makes cowards of the bravest men.”
And so it ended in a majority decision. McSweeney apparently doing less sucking wind than Shivers and pulling out the win. Our girl was more impressed than last week but still not buying into the “big hoopla” about the sport. I did, however, do my part to get her stoked for next week, explaining how the match-up between Kimbo and Big Country is something many people would have got a pay per view ticket to see. Much is on the line for both these men and their need to prove something. We can all hope that the end result will be a fight that shows why we all love this sport so. For now, the hype of it all has future Mrs. Me intrigued…
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Mark "The Ezequiel" Figula is the biggest wuss to ever enter a cage... the most spindly chickenass dude to ever tap out at NAGA... the boy who was told that the pen is mightier than the sword... and thus he writes. Check out his home page of scribblings at www.markfigula.com