- Men are designed for fighting, says evolutionary psychologist
- Catch the full episode of Insight at 8.30PM AEDT on SBS ONE or via live stream
When I was 56, I registered to become an EFC (Executive Fight Club) boxer.
I’d always been a novelty seeker – the previous year I’d become the oldest Australian bloke to swim the English Channel – and I was looking for a new challenge. I thought the boxing training would help me lose the 22 kilograms I’d gained to swim the Channel, but there were other reasons I joined too.
The itch to have a fight stems from when I was a young boy from a blue collar area of Melbourne, as well as confidence issues I had from being partly deaf.
My young life was full of aggression. My father, uncles and brothers were always bragging about fights they had. I was impressed with their stories, but I would rather play with my friends than get into scraps. Still there was the pressure to prove myself and gangs were always around.
Even at football training you got hero status for hitting someone. You were a superhero for playing well and decking someone.
I’d always been worried that I didn't know how to really protect myself. I'm a big man, 100 kilograms, and I could bluff or talk my way through confrontation, but I became increasingly concerned that one day there would be an incident in which I couldn’t defend myself.
The EFC is a place for guys to jump into the ring after a day in the office. As an office worker myself, it seemed like the perfect place to learn these skills with likeminded people. It was the whole package – training, stage lights, referees, music, opponents with intimidating fight names. It would take three months of training three times a week and I had a vision of being lean, fast and ready for my first big fight in the ring.
Initially I was smashed by my lack of fitness and total inability to box. It was a real eye opener and the task was bigger than I thought.
The grind started, the training, the learning, cardio, and boxing training. My fight name was "Inflictor" which was a play on my surname Payne, "Inflictor Payne".
Finally, fight night came. I watched the other fighters I’d trained hard with do their best and some were disappointed, but there were no hard feeling after each fight, just hugs and talking.
At last it was my turn. I entered the ring match excited and ready with my game plan and confidence that I knew what I had to do. Suddenly it was on. My music was playing and the ring master announced my name. The ring seemed larger suddenly. The bell was loud and it was on.
30 seconds in and I was scoring well. I went to throw a big right and my opponent drove his left glove into my right shoulder and snap, the tendon popped off my shoulder and I didn’t have a right punch for the rest of the fight. Ten seconds into the second round he delivered a terrific body shot to my fat gut which I couldn’t defend. Eventually I was beaten on points but no one knew what had happened to my shoulder until after the fight.
The smiles, the photographs and the spirit was great from both corners. I went home with my shoulder starting to bleed internally and I had to have my shoulder reconstructed but I tell you - no regrets.
Some people have a negative view of organised fighting. But I think that learning the skills to fight can be a positive thing. My experience taught me we can better understand ourselves and our abilities through organised fights. You discover a new dimension of yourself.
My theories on fighting and learning how to defend myself were proven to me six months after my fight in the EFC. I was on the train coming home from the city, in an empty carriage after a football game when two young men got onto the train. They scanned carriages looking for someone on their own.
I knew from their body language that trouble was coming my way. I positioned myself near the exit. They walked single file towards me with eyes of rage and fists clenched and they weren’t prepared to listen to reason.
I could tell that they thought I was scared of them but they didn’t realise they had set their own trap. All I had to do was focus on the front one. As he approached, I jabbed two punches into his face, the first on his nose, the skin split straight away and the second jab was on his cheekbone and this split his cheek. The punches weren’t hard but they were highly effective.
I didn’t want to hurt him. I only wanted to stop them. The other youth stopped dead in his tracks and seemed stunned. I yelled “get off the train!”, and I’m sure they were relieved that the train had arrived at the station.
If I didn’t have my boxing skills and the ability to know what I had to do, I’m not sure what the outcome would have been. It felt good to be able to stop it efficiently, without causing any broken bones, just a bit of damaged pride.
The cuts were minor but he would have to explain himself to someone.
Tonight host Jenny Brockie speaks to an all-male audience about the differences between fighting in and out of the ring and what’s behind the urge to land a blow.
Catch the full episode at 8.30PM AEDT on SBS ONE. You can join the conversation using #insightSBS.
