The Pension for Punishment
The ultimate fighter at 25 has a body with a good temperament for training. He can take repeated abuse and…
The ultimate fighter at 25 has a body with a good temperament for training. He can take repeated abuse and repair himself. He can fight four times a year — or five, or seven — if he wishes. If he suffers a significant dent (broken bones, damaged eyes, muscles torn from their adhesive) he’ll be ambulatory before long.
And he gets attention. Lots of attention. From sponsors, from fans who admire his abilities and from women. He can close a nightclub the week of a fight and not suffer the consequences. He makes a decent wage, gets his training subsidized by sponsor money and splurges when bonuses crop up. He’s not a champion, so he can’t afford to buy the Escalade outright, but he can make the lease payments.
The ultimate fighter at 35 has recurring injuries. He’s slower to get out of bed, favors aching knees in the gym and makes frequent apologies after fights for his performances — often mediocre, often the result of a body that won’t do what it’s told to do. The title shot was a squash match. His head is scraping the ceiling.
The ultimate fighter at 40 doesn’t know what else to do for a living. He takes fights in regional shows for a flimsy check, but he collects a lot of them, and they add up. So do the concussions. So do the pain medications.
At 45, your knees are gone, so you can’t shoot your way out of a fistfight. Your hands are arthritic and you beg the corner to wrap them carefully. You traded your body out for some bonuses and some women and some cheering. And when that hits — whenever that hits — you’re going to burst.