Welcome to Tuesday Night Fights, a weekly celebration and analysis of street-fight videos found on YouTube. Tonight's fisticuffs: "Brawl," or "4:39 of mostly shirtless foreign dudes re-enacting a dust bowl food-ration war of attrition." Tonight's commentator: Your favorite Dead Wrestler of the Week chronicler and mine, The Masked Man!
Here's what he had to say:
This video starts with a beautifully ominous opening sequence, wherein what looks to be a juvie football team is reenacting Michael Jackson's "Bad."
But, wait — No, no, Jesus, that's a freaking jump kick, and now they're really beating the shit out of each other.
Holy mother of god.
I do not know what in the hell I am watching right now. Seriously, Hickey, what the fucking hell is this? You know I write about FAKE violence, right? This is a goddamn Lord of the Flies snuff film. That guy just punted that other guy's head while he was lying on the ground already in agony! That's Randy Orton shit! That cannot be in the rules!
A hundred rubles says Gregg Williams is coaching the skins team. Has anybody seen him in the past month? Without the NFL, he's been left to perform his experiments on Psychomathia and violence in some hinterland youth camp.
Maybe this what the world has come to in the Hunger Games era. It's not good enough to dress up like nerdy wizards and hang out at your local bookstore casting spells with confetti and glitter anymore — you have to find an abandoned athletic field and beat the living fuck out of your friends? Thank you, Suzanne Collins. Thank you, Koushun Takami. Thank you William fucking Golding.
Hey, at least all those kids who were pissed off that Rue was a black chick will appreciate this video.
And who in the hell picked these teams anyway? All but two of the shirts were lying on the ground functionally dead after one minute. Who the hell is in charge here?? The the guy in the grey shirt and jeans? The asshole holding the camera and screaming at the top of his lungs? The dude who materializes at 1:00 in the green polo shirt? That guy's the worst. That guy was like, this is going to be fine, Mr. Grey and Mr. Cameraman have this covered and OH MY GOD THEY'RE BITING EACH OTHER'S THROATS OUT AND DRINKING THE BLOOD I HAVE TO DO SOMETHING AND oh well, it's probably not that big of a deal.
I can't believe everybody on the shirts team wasn't smart enough to take off their fucking shirts. Make yourself look like those you hate the most, that's the oldest trick in the book — I learned it from the fucking Sneetches.
To be fair, they probably don't have Dr. Seuss in this backwoods — they just give their babies a brightly-colored razor blade and a shot of vodka and tell them to act like a man. And it's basically over except the bastard with the camera keeps screaming at them to keep going, and that poor shirts-team guy in the red hand-tape decides to step up only to be gang tackled and punched in the head and — Hey, you know what?
Here's the lesson: Don't be a hero.
Now you're concussed and blind in one eye and the shirts team still isn't getting their fucking dinner tonight.
I hope you're happy.
Maybe the third time you get curbstomped into the dust of that second-world Lapta infield, maybe it should occur to you that trying out for the Soviet Youth Ultimate Fighting League was probably a bad idea.