Trading Shots: Downes and Fowlkes on fighters, brain trauma and weighing the risks

It was a relatively quiet weekend in the MMA world, which affords the perfect opportunity for MMAjunkie columnist Ben Fowlkes to discuss some deeper issues with our resident fighter-turned-writer, Danny Downes.

Fowlkes: Danny, maybe this is only on my mind because I just finished a story all about the ongoing brain research being done on pro fighters, but I find myself wondering how much fighters really consider these risks. We hear about chronic traumatic encephalopathy (CTE) in football players, hockey players and boxers, so it’s only reasonable to think that eventually a few MMA fighters will be added to the list. As a former fighter, does that scare you? As a fan of the sport, does it affect your ability to enjoy a night of fights?

Downes: When it comes to traumatic brain injuries, I tend to alternate between genuine concern and panic. I worry about the long-term health consequence of my fight career, but I’ll also overreact if I lose my car keys. “Oh no! It’s because of MMA that I can’t even remember where I put my things!” The honest answer is that I don’t know what type of brain damage I’ve suffered, and that’s probably the scariest thing of all. These health concerns were a major reason for why I decided to retire and why I don’t really have the desire to compete again.

When I fought, I subscribed to that, “You’re going to have to kill me, because I’ll never quit,” type of philosophy. It served me well because it allowed me to achieve something beyond my limited natural athletic ability, but objectively speaking, it was stupid. I think that’s why, when I watch fights now, I’m much more willing to let the referee stop it. Watching the last two Junior dos Santos vs. Cain Velasquez fights made me cringe. Having said that, while MMA fighters may not know all the health consequences, who really thinks getting punched in the head is good for you? In a lot of ways, MMA is stupid, but so is riding a motorcycle. Isn’t that just life?

Fowlkes: I get what you’re saying. If we looked at life as something that is to be preserved at all costs, something that no one has a right to shorten or diminish for themselves with their own actions, then sure, we would have to outlaw MMA and football and whiskey and motorcycles – basically all the fun stuff. We don’t do that, which means we recognize that the freedom to take some risks is an important aspect of personal liberty. You get to do dumb, dangerous stuff that other people might not understand, and you also get to live (or, you know, not live) with the consequences.

Here’s where it gets tricky for me. MMA isn’t “Fight Club.” It’s not a bunch of people blowing off steam after work, killing their brain cells in order to suck the marrow out of life. It’s an industry. Look at all the people who don’t take the physical risks, yet still make money off it. From the UFC to the TV executives to managers and lawyers and trainers to jerks like me (and now you) who get paid to write about it, there are a lot of us who owe our livelihoods to this thing. So what do we owe to fighters who hurt themselves forever while competing in our sport?

The NFL may have handled its concussion crisis terribly at first, and it paid a (relatively small) price in court for it, but at least the NFL has a players association. It has some way of caring for its wounded, albeit begrudgingly at times. What does MMA have? You mention the last two JDS-Velasquez fights. Say, gods forbid, dos Santos develops some of these problems later in life, whether it’s CTE or something else. Will anyone a) be surprised, or b) lift a finger to help him?

Downes: I think that raises an excellent point, but what’s the MMA equivalent of a players association? The NFL has a centralized structure. MMA has none. If I had to venture a guess, I would say that the “stars” of the UFC and other organizations would be taken care of, and not just in cushy executive jobs like Chuck Liddell. I think you could make a direct link for responsibility for the fighters who have competed in a specific organization for a number of years, but what about the others? If you have a 20-fight career and have competed for World Series of Fighting, Bellator and the UFC, who’s responsible?

Do the promoters have a moral/fiscal responsibility to the fighters? When we discussed Georges St-Pierre’s situation last week, both of us were in firm agreement that he didn’t owe the UFC anything else. He fulfilled his contract and shouldn’t be forced to fight again. If GSP doesn’t owe the UFC anything more, why does the UFC owe him something if he develops health problems?

These are all important questions that the sport (and everyone involved with it) will have to face in the coming years. I definitely have a personal interest in how things pan out, but I can’t help but wonder how much of this concern is sincere. Fighters, fans and journalists all try to avoid the term “bloodsport,” but isn’t that all MMA really is? How much of this concern about health is a way to assuage our guilt for cheering two men pummeling each other? Why are “lay-and-pray” fighters held in such derision? Is it because we find them uncreative and one-dimensional, or is it because they don’t satisfy our bloodlust when they step in the cage?

Fowlkes: Well, it’s depressing as hell to think about it in those terms, but you have a point. An awful bummer of a point, but still a point. Those of us who like this sport don’t enjoy it in spite of the violence, but in large part because of it. It’s like Greg Bishop wrote in a recent New York Times story following boxing’s latest tragedy of the week: “Violence is not simply a part of boxing, it is the best part, the most visceral part, the backbone of the sport. It is what people pay to see.”

We can talk all we want about the skill and strategy and technique of MMA fighters, but there’s a reason more people don’t turn out to watch jiu-jitsu tournaments. We like to see people inflicting brain trauma upon one another. We jump out of our seats and go all Joe Silva when it happens. So how can we then turn around and wring our hands about the long-term effects of that awesome, spectacular trauma? I guess my answer is, how can we not do that?

Even if it is a bloodsport and even if that’s what we like about it, I don’t see how that prevents us from feeling a genuine concern for the consequences, or even planning for how we’ll address them. To me, that’s where responsibility and a reckless pursuit of individual liberty meet. Yes, we can play ball in the house, but first we must all pay a quarter into the Fixing Stuff We Will Inevitably Break Fund. Figuring out who pays into that fund, how much, when and what the process is for getting some out when you need it, yeah, that’s going to be tough. It’s not impossible, though.

It also feels pretty damn necessary, both as a moral obligation and a practical concern. You see the public ringer the NFL just got put through, and that’s our nation’s most popular sport by a long shot. I’m not so sure MMA could survive something like that. If I’m the UFC, I probably don’t want to wait for the first big lawsuit in order to find out.

Downes: Obviously much of this is speculative since MMA (thankfully) has never had a high-profile tragic figure like the NFL’s Dave Duerson or Junior Seau. As the continued bearer of bad news, though, I think we have to add a “yet” to that statement. People will say, “They knew the risks,” but I think we’ve already established that we don’t. I have a whole host of physical injuries from my fight career. None of them are particularly debilitating (e.g. loss of range of motion in shoulders and elbows), but they are a constant reminder. They are consequences for my actions, and I accept them.

Having said that, there’s a big difference between not being able to give a proper high five because of my shoulder, and living with pugilistic dementia. Fighters know that there’s an element of danger, and they’re willing to risk certain things for glory or money or whatever their motivation may be. I think that as more and more research comes out, though, the calculations will change. Having cauliflower ear is one thing, but having gaps in your memory and displaying pathological paranoia are much more serious. Fighters aren’t heroes, and they aren’t martyrs. They are people, though.

Ben Fowlkes is MMAjunkie and USA TODAY’s MMA columnist. Danny Downes, a retired UFC and WEC fighter, is an MMAjunkie contributor who also writes for UFC.com and UFC 360. Follow them on Twitter at @benfowlkesMMA and @dannyboydownes.