“You know what you should do? You should let me take you to certain events so you can write about them from an external perspective,” an American friend of mine said.

You may know him better as Mr. Advice Man or Nostradumbass. And although he bailed on us Saturday, I ended up visiting the first of (hopefully) several events that I added to my American experience.

I understand that mixed martial arts is not unique to the U.S., or Kansas for that matter. However, given that it was the first time I attended an MMA fight, I did not know what to expect from the event.

I wondered what the crowd would be like. Would the higher adrenaline levels make people want to fight outside the ring? I assumed my do-not-mess-with-me posture.

Unlike the regular confrontational male, my do-not-mess-with-me posture involves looking extremely timid, so that people are too embarrassed to pick a fight with me to begin with. It is highly effective, if you ask me.

Walking behind my friends with my back slouched, I reached my seat unnoticed. I recognized the fenced ring from the televised fights I had seen. It was not long before the fights began.

During the amateur fights, it was hard to tell who the audience was more excited about, the ringside girls or the fighters. Instantly, I judged myself for simply attending.

Tailored to entertain, one of the amateur fighters showed up in a Captain America costume. I was unsure if he was there to fight or to endorse the shorts he wore. I hoped he would lose. Unfortunately, he did not. After striking enough poses to fill up an entire issue of GQ, he left the ring.

After half a dozen amateur fights and 400 cuss words from someone sitting a few seats from us, the pro fights began.

The fights got bloody at times, and I was left thinking about how circular our evolution is. Even 2,000 years later, we still line up for these gladiators as they take blow after blow for a moment of glory. Bleeding and limping, they take a bow, while we walk out fixating on our plans for the next day.

Remember the first and second rules of Fight Club, and don’t tell my mother that I wrote about mixed martial arts. She lives halfway around the globe. But trust me on this, she will ground me.

I’m kidding about my mother, she’s cool.

But, seriously, don’t.