Ultimate Fighter 10 Episode 6: 16 Sharks
Written by Ryan Anthony on October 22, 2009
After Wes Sims’ elimination last week, we were led to believe that everything taking place in the Octagon is good if it’s followed by a sleeper hold. This week, we’re led to believe that everything taking place outside of the Octagon is good if it’s followed by beer.
We open at the beginning of our fighters’ most recent televised day, on a montage of bacon on the table, wake-up coffee being imbibed, and Darrill swaggering about with a triad of beer bottles in his hands. I refuse to make any pronunciations on whether Schoonover is an alcoholic, because I have it on good authority that a stiff morning drink proves nothing, but I don’t want to see this guy turn into another J.T. Money – or worse yet, the recently UFCanned Junie Browning.
Zak, however, wants to see an easy victory turn up in the form of picking off the weak man – whether physically, psychologically, or otherwise.
Two glasses of whiskey, plus Rampage harping on the Lone Star Stater’s signature he humps – a possible creation of all that EtOH – more than Anita Dunn harping on Fox News, equals a bumpy ride, and we’re only eight minutes gone!
Phil Nurse, man behind the madness of GSP, is called in to help with Team Evans’ training, during which the effects of Darrill’s drunkenness start to show. Rampage, bringing the man aside, admonishes him to keep the chugging to a minimum until – at least – the hard work is behind. Later on, though, all attempts to help Darrill get his head straight would devolve into pushing him back toward the bottle.
The all-time world record for usage of the word “titties” has now been broken and none of the parties involved are too pleased – except for Quinton, with himself. It’s clear that relations between the coach and Schoonover are approaching critical mass; made none too clearer with threats to drop down a weight class and kick Rampage’s backside, which in my opinion isn’t something the Texan should jump at doing if he wants to stay on the show.
Time for our combatants-in-training to accentuate the mat in their customary right angle. Schoonover and Jensen selected to fight next. The jury’s still out, though, on who is selected to go crazy next. Darrill, candidate for spine transplant, has become the subject of relentless psychological warfare: let it never be said I don’t understand when something is taken much too far and beaten senseless, but I think we’re seeing a theme here. As all feeding frenzies go, our metaphorical sharks will be driven insane by blood . . . sweat . . . and whining. To wimp out and crumple in a corner would only agitate matters and let us in front of our plasma TV sets know you can’t make it in the UFC, Darrill. So SUCK IT UP!!!
On the other hand, there’s a house poll going to determine the day Jensen is going to lose it, with guarantees of care packages thrown in for the one who comes closest without going over. Will Zak go off his rocker? Only time will tell, because Zak’s diary – what kind of man keeps one, anyway? I’ve never understood the purpose – sure isn’t.
Morning again. Darrill shows off his nightmare fuel of an arm tattoo; training for both teams takes place later in the day; a collage of Team Rampage is presented, complete with D-cups for the D-man; Jensen gets a huge (and unintentional) cut above his eyebrow while rolling around during practice. Weigh-in proceeds without a hitch.
Fight day, and Darrill’s birthday: Religion-tinged pep talk from Rashad precedes the undefeated 24-year-old’s arrival to the eight-sided ring, where Zak is already in wait to lay the hurt down.
Round one: Darrill pretty much maintained control for the early part, until being brought down by one leg a minute in. Blood began spilling on the prostrate Jensen’s upper arm by 2:54, I’d say the cut on his eyebrow re-opened. It only took twenty seconds after that for Zak to be submitted by a choke, however if that hadn’t happened I’m sure it would have been stopped via ring-side doctor.
Jabs, and head blows aplenty, throughout. Fight followed by unmanly emotional outburst on Zak’s part, going all the way back to the dressing room.
And then there were ten. That’s it for another one, folks.
Until next week, when we witness Matt Mitrione’s trip on the highway of divine retribution catch up with him.
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