‘Why do men fight?’ is not a simple question. There might not be one easy answer. Different men fight for different reasons, as a room full of them (and one Jenny Brockie) demonstrated on last night’s Insight. It’s also worth pointing out that some, perhaps most, men don’t fight at all.
The men that do fight do so in different settings and there’s an obvious difference between fighting in a pub or car park and taking part in a regulated competition or training at a gym. Conflating the popularity of mixed martial arts with alcohol related assault is the worst kind of kneejerk reaction. I don’t accept that argument that combat sports are just sports like any other (the point is to hurt someone, after all), but they do at least involve two consenting adults in a relatively safe environment.
I’ve never been in a street fight, but I know why men punch each other in the head. They do it to feel powerful and look cool. If you have very little control over your own life and you don’t empathise with other people, of course beating someone up will be fun and make you feel big. The ‘king hit’ is the logical extension of that mindset, because it removes the risk of you losing and being humiliated.
Watch Insight: why men fight - what motivates them, and what stops them
Some of the men on Insight, I believe, know that mindset very well. They, like many people, get into combat sports to give themselves the same advantages as the ‘coward punchers’ without explicitly breaking an unwritten code of honour. You know the type: the guys you see at the pub re-enacting scenes from the silent action movie that is their life (though sometimes you’ll get sound effects as well). For these guys, violence is at the very heart of what it is to be a man.
What I found surprising on Insight, though, was the almost universal agreement with the notion that men’s inherent desire to fight (“Boys love to fight”, in the words of Father Dave Smith) is responsible for the popularity of combat sports. That’s part of it, but you’ll find that gyms are also full of people looking to lose weight, learn discipline and gain confidence. (It’s also worth briefly pointing out that though Insight focused on men, there are an awful lot of women involved in fight sports too - many of them have punched me in the head).
I have a strong belief in the transformative powers of combat sports. I know it’s trite, but there’s a list of former juvenile delinquents turned boxing world champions as long as my arm. They all credit the sport with saving them. It works because the dedication martial arts require changes your priorities.
You can’t half-arse boxing or MMA or Muay Thai like you can five-a-side soccer or touch footy. Not turning up to training can mean real pain down the line, so you have to change your life to fit your sport. It’s also an outlet. Many men who come into gyms violent and angry leave calm. It may be that combat sports are part of the solution to the problem of real world violence, rather than a contributing factor.
Personally, I have to admit to myself that I’m fascinated with violence on some level - I guess all boxing fans are. That’s not the same as wanting to deliver it, though.
I was a wussy kid. I played soccer. My twin brother stuck up for me in the playground when I got picked on. The closest I got to danger was sticking a seed in my own ear in year five and mum taking me to the hospital to have it removed.
But I got in to boxing when I was 19, after I saw a boxing match between Miguel Cotto, a Puerto Rican welterweight, and Ghana’s Joshua Clottey. The fight was at Madison Square Garden, which conjured (in my mind anyway) images of Frank Sinatra and Norman Mailer. There was strength and skill and lots of blood. It was drama like I’d never seen before.
I found a gym and had a few fights. So I feel like I’m qualified to say that while violence is obviously part of the attraction, it’s not the sole reason men (and women) fight.
You need extreme fitness to fight competitively, so you feel great. Every day you’re in the gym you’re learning new physical and mental skills, which is satisfying on the same level as picking up a new hobby or musical instrument (and it’s difficult to explain how strategic and mental fighting is). There’s an element of masochism to the training as well; you feel great after getting belted in sparring or pushing yourself to a new limit.
And then there’s the fight. I can’t even look at a fighter’s dressing room on TV anymore without getting a shot of adrenaline. At the time it’s crushing. But you walk out of the tunnel and face your fear. And when you’re in the ring, it really isn’t about violence. Standing in the ring before one of my fights, my opponent touched gloves with me, winked and said “10 minutes ‘til we can grab a beer”.
As Tongan Olympic silver medallist Paea Wolframm said on Insight: “It’s hard to explain to someone who hasn’t been in that situation, but when you’re in a fight you don’t want to hurt someone.”
Alex McClintock is a freelance writer from Sydney and the deputy editor of boxing blog queensberry-rules.com.
