A day in the life of ‘Mr. Wonderful’
We’re having a pleasant little breakfast when Phil Davis offers to “dislocate” his nose. No big deal, he says. Just…
We’re having a pleasant little breakfast when Phil Davis offers to “dislocate” his nose. No big deal, he says. Just a trick of the cartilage that leaves it looking twisted and mangled and, well, awesome.
It’s a great party trick he’s developed over the years thanks to old wrestling injuries and the peculiarities of his personal physiology and hey, as long as we’re just sitting here, would I like to see it?
Answer: of course I would.
So Davis puts both hands up to his nose, feeling around for just the right spot, then crack. The sound is like someone snapping a pencil in half.
‘Oh no,’ he says into his hands. ‘Yep, I’m bleeding. Uh-oh.’
Here’s where my mind drifts off into worst-case scenario mode. I imagine Davis leaving the restaurant with a bloody cloth napkin pressed against his face. I imagine dour athletic commission officials examining the nose and shaking their heads in disapproval. I imagine someone from the UFC asking me, ‘Is it true you encouraged one of our main event fighters to break his own nose two days before the fight, purely for your own amusement?’
There’s no way for this to end well.
‘Nah, I’m just messing with you,’ he says. He takes his hands away, and nothing. His nose is unscathed as it was when we sat down, and a gotcha smile stretches across his face. It’s a trick of the wrist, he explains. He can snap it hard upon command, creating both the sickening sound and the visual impression of something important giving way. Apparently I’m not the first person he’s fooled with this.
