THE PROPHET'S TUESDAY TAPOUT: DAYQUIL INTERVENTION EDITION

by The Prophet, ProphetFighting

Everyone knows that the Epic Carnival is a funny website that talks about sports. But its so much more than that--it's a website about nurturing, caring and personal enlightenment. It's a place to go when you want to laugh, cry, learn or grow as a person. It's a warm, cozy and well lit place that you can go when you're lonely, feeling vulnerable, or just need a hug or a "cup of compassion". Not to ignore the women who write for this fine website and in our audience but its really an empowerment zone for men more than anything else. Women have Oprah, Dr. Phil, Ellen and "The View". Us guys have the "Epic Carnival"--and quite frankly, that's all we need.

I mention all of this because I have a very difficult subject that I have to address. I'm going to come clean about a personal problem I have. Last week during my "Tuesday Tapout: Drunken Brits Special Edition" I finally hit bottom. For the first time my "personal demons" adversely impacted my work as "the future of fightsport journalism". For that, I owe you an apology and an explanation. After that we'll get into the boxing and MMA news for the week. Besides, what better place to share my personal problems than here at The Epic Carnival? It's like sharing a hot cocoa on a brisk fall morning with a few friends before a day of shopping for antiques or hitting garage sales. It's a place where I'm free to be me...

Obviously life as a the Epic Carnival's fightsport journalist is a real pressure cooker. Sure, that's why all of us EC contributors pull down the big bucks but no matter how many seven and eight figure contracts you sign you can't put a price on your personal well-being. It's something that you wouldn't really understand unless you've been in the position where the hopes, dreams and livelihood of literally hundreds of people depends on your performance. Frank Sinatra wore this mantle of responsibility every time he hit the stage. The great prize fighters--Louis, Ali, Frazier, Foreman--felt it every time they made that long walk to the ring. Great athletes in any sport are familiar with this feeling--every time MJ threw on the "23" or the "45", or every time Gretzky pulled that "99" sweater over his head, or every time that "The King" Richard Petty strapped himself into his #43 stock car they felt the same mixture of pride, accomplishment and joy at being able to make a lot of money doing what you love tempered with the profound burden of overwhelming responsibility. I understand that most of you who read EC don't experience this when you're handing tacos through the drive thru window or pumping out a Slurpee but for a moment try to be empathetic. Put yourself in my shoes--I may have an "A-Rod" like contract with the EC management but with that comes the full weight of the entire fight sport journalism profession resting on my broad shoulders. Unfortunately, there are occasions when even a writer of my stature has a momentary stumble.

To be more specific, there's a pressure to perform at your usual high level no matter what. To a degree, I understand that--with the huge salary of a EC writer comes a commitment to show up and execute. In other words, we don't get to call in sick--it doesn't matter if we're hung over after one of the weekly EC topless supermodel hot tub parties, whether we want the day off to watch the first round of "March Madness" or, as in my case, when we're really sick. That was the circumstance that I found myself in early last week. I had a nasty cold/viral infection kind of thing--runny nose, cough, aches and pains. I've always been a bad "patient" but in this case it was more than that--I knew that there was no alternative other than "play hurt". And that's what guys like me do--much like back in 1997 when Michael Jordan went out with the flu after puking his guts out all night, scored 38 points, and evoked so much sympathy from the refs that they didn't call a foul when he pushed off on Bryon Russell and beat the Utah Jazz for the NBA Championship. I owed the same sort of mental toughness to the EC readership and to the EC brass who sign my insanely large paychecks.

THE PROPHET CONFRONTS HIS DEMONS: "DAYQUIL RAGE"

I knew what I had to do, but to do it I had to "dance with the devil". And that is what I'd like to confess to you today--I get really loopy when I take "non drowsy" cold medication. I also get really "on edge" and temperamental. "Dayquil" is my personal demon but there are others with street names like "Tylenol Cold and Flu", "Theraflu" and "Alka-Seltzer Plus Cold and Sinus". Once these drugs take hold of your life they don't let go for the duration of your illness. Sure, they may help alleviate your symptoms enough to go about your business--but this comes at a serious price. There's the literal cost--these drugs aren't cheap and are even sold in a cheaper "generic form" for those who can't afford the "good stuff". And then there's the bigger price you have to pay--risking your profession, your friends, your family and your self respect. I call the loopy behavior and changes in temperament "Dayquil rage". Confronting it is like a pre-fight stare down with no less than Satan himself.

I knew I had no option--I had to keep my cold symptoms at bay long enough to honor my commitment to the Epic Carnival, its readers, the fightsport journalism profession and to the fighters who suffer and sacrifice to compete. Even though I had been "Dayquil free" for nearly two years it didn't take long to locate a "source". Maybe its the intuition of a junkie, or maybe its luck or destiny--before long I had the familiar orange and white box in my hands. I was emotionless as I carved the orange gel caps out of their childproof wrapping with a large chef's knife and I instinctively remembered how to "dose myself" as if the two previous years had never happened. I was back in the grasp of the "Orange Dragon" but there was simply no other option. There was also no turning back...

It wasn't long before the drug took hold. The physiological effects came first--my cough subsided, my aches went away and my runny nose dried up. Not long after came the intellectual and emotional effects--I became loopy as hell, and at the same time tightly wound and argumentative. My words no longer made sense and even the most innocuous comments from others would evoke a strong emotional response. The dragon I had fought to escape once again had me where she wanted me....

Many of my friends and readers found last week's "Tuesday Tapout" very strange. Instead of my usual writing style--William F. Buckley had he turned his huge vocabulary and rapier-like wit to cage fighting rather than conservative politics--they noticed that it sounded different. Rambling, agitated, slightly insane and incoherent. One reader commented he could almost hear me slurring my words as I wrote. I sounded like the illegitimate bastard offspring of Jim Lampley and Hunter S. Thompson, and all over the world the millions of EC fans, Prophet fans, fighting enthusiasts and professional journalists had one recurring question: Why?

So today I am giving you the answer. I wrote last week's column in an extremely loopy and agitated state as a result of a large dose of Dayquil. It's not easy to admit that I wrote my "Tuesday Tapout" in an impaired state, but I have no choice--much as I had no choice to drug myself up on cold medication so I could keep writing. That's just the kind of guy I am....

I ask for your forgiveness, understanding and prayers during this difficult time. My cold has subsided and I have been "Dayquil free" for five days now. I know its not much, but its a start. And this column is being written drug free--assuming you don't count the caffeine from a Starbucks triple shot latte as a "drug".

Initially, I felt somewhat apprehensive about devoting so much of my column to my own personal trials and efforts to overcome them. I then considered the standard set by ESPN and personalities like Stuart Scott, Chris Berman and Tony Kornheiser. ESPN has taught us that you come here for *us*--the writers--and that the actual sports are secondary. Like ESPN, we'll make a perfunctory effort to cover sports news and offer commentary, but we know why you're here--you're hear for our smirks, our smart-ass comments and our banal catch phrases.

Thank you for understanding, and you have my vow that I will not write a "Tuesday Tapout" column under the influence of Dayquil until next year's cold and flu season.

KIMBO SLICE DOMINATES, NICK DIAZ BLEEDS AT ELITE XC ON SHOWTIME:

Elite XC brought us their latest Showtime special event headlined by Nick Diaz taking on KJ Noons for their new 160 pound title and featuring the promotion debut of Internet street fighting phenom Kimbo Slice. If you want to...uh..."relive history as it was made" you can check out my live blog play-by-play of the fight as it went down last Saturday here. Kimbo dominated his hapless opponent, which we wrote about on the night of the fight here. In the main event, KJ Noons became the first Elite XC 160 pound champion when the ringside doctor determined that Nick Diaz's cuts were too bad to continue. The live fans roundly booed the decision, exposing themselves for the drunken, ignorant hicks that everyone knew they were. Granted, Nick Diaz is a bleeder--in his last PRIDE fight he bled like a stuck pig before he pulled a gogoplata submission out of his ass to win the fight. It was pretty sick--he was bleeding so much that his opponent, Takanori Gomi, appealed several times to the ref to stop the fight either in the interest of safety or because he was sick of punching the disgusting bloody mess where Diaz's forehead used to be. If you haven't seen this fight, which took place at PRIDE 33 in Las Vegas, check it out as its one of the better MMA fights I've ever seen. Making it even more amazing is that fact that Diaz was stoned at the time--the fight was later ruled a "no contest" by the Nevada Athletic Commission after Diaz tested positive for the sticky green.

That bloodbath was minor compared to Diaz's performance of last Saturday. He suffered two gnarly gashes over each eye. He looked like a circa mid-1980's Dusty Rhodes who bled buckets nightly during his legendary Florida Championship Wrestling feud with Kevin Sullivan. Those of you over the age of 30 probably remember the "Apter mag" wrestling magazines from the pre-WWF/WWE domination of the pseudo-sport--every month these magazines (and there were dozens of titles published by a few companies) featured a picture of some wrestler's blood splattered mug. That's what Diaz looked like, but the damage was caused not by a concealed piece of razor blade but the knees of Noons. Despite the outrage of the bloodthirsty meth addicts in attendance, I don't have a problem with the stoppage. Noons is a fine fighter in his own right, it sets up a potentially very entertaining rematch and the bottom line is that you've got to protect the fighters. I'd rather see a fight stopped prematurely than watch Nick Diaz bleed out like a field dressed deer.

The highlight of the night came after the stoppage where Elite XC color commentator and former pro wrestler Bill Goldberg entered the ring to talk to Noons. He first yanked the cageside physician into the ring to explain his decision, and after the doc finished talking he took the crowd to task for booing and jeering his decision. He even issued a veiled threat to the fans in the audience that if they didn't shape up they'd have to deal with him. I'm not sure if he was planning to go section to section hitting unruly fans with his WCW-era finisher "the jackhammer" or what. He then lectured the crowd on sportsmanship, respect for the fighters, and general deportment. This came shortly after a pissed off Diaz stormed to the back, stopping long enough to hurl a two handed "one finger salute" in the general direction of the cage.

It's not a good sign when you have to rely on Bill Goldberg to restore a sense of dignity to the proceedings...

FABIO V. CLOONEY, COTTO V. MOSELY THE HIGHLIGHT OF A SLOW WEEK IN MMA/BOXING

If you didn't catch the Miguel Cotto/Shane Mosely fight last Saturday night make sure to steal cable from someone before next Saturday, as HBO will be replaying the fight. I've talked to a few people who questioned the outcome (a narrowly scored but unanimous decision for Cotto) but the consensus is that it was a "fight of the year" candidate and well worth watching. I watched it out of one eye while I was live blogging the Elite XC card out of the other so I'll reserve judgment on the decision but it definitely was an exciting as hell fight and well worth tapping in to the coaxial cable of a neighbor with HBO.

Also, Hollywood A-list actor George Clooney and bulked up, long haired former romance cover model and current butter pitchman Fabio nearly came to blows in a trendy LA restaurant. The hairy behemoth dropped a "diva" blast on Clooney and it was go-time...almost. A waiter stepped in to restore order and the balance of power in the celebrity universe was restored. Most observers suggest that Fabio would have prevailed--he's a big, bulked up dude. You can read about the whole shabby situation here...

Back next week with more boxing, MMA and entertaining Prophet commentary. If you can't wait that long get your daily dose of boxing and MMA news/commentary at ProphetFighting.com