The cage fight saga between Mark Zuckerberg and Elon Musk got caught up in the “did this happen” phase, entertaining and fascinating millions of people. After saying the game would be live-streamed on his social media platform X (formerly known as Twitter), Musk announced he would first undergo an MRI to make sure he didn’t need surgery to “strengthen” the titanium plates in his neck (he Say, it was the result of sumo wrestling some nine years ago). “The exact date is still in flux,” Tesla’s “King and CEO of Technology” tweeted about the mixed martial arts competition. “I’m ready today,” Zach responded on his own social media platform, Threads, but “I’m not holding my breath.”
The delay might be the better part of Brave – considering the Facebook founder is in better shape, but it also raises the level of expectations for everyone hoping to see a billionaire-on-billionaire matchup. Often, these are achieved through the value of the stock they own in their companies (Musk is the most beatable plutocrat in this category). As my colleague Adrian Wooldridge recently wrote, the hand-to-hand combat between these tech giants could determine who is the best of all the alpha males in Silicon Valley.
I felt the pull of “mano a mano”. Monster VS Monster? I was there. (I woke up early in the morning to watch the world premiere of Godzilla vs. Kong). Does Novak Djokovic play against any of the top five men’s singles tennis players? I participated. Alexis vs. Crystal in Dynasty? Well, I’m showing my age.
Not too long ago—well, back in 2005—I was involved in the MMA revival. It was inspired by a reality TV show I wrote for Time magazine that ended with a Titanic cage fight. Here’s my account of the battle to revive a runaway movement that has now captured Musk and Zuckerberg:
Neither man would give in, so the crowd roared for the fighters to beat each other again: more kicks, punches, stomps, knees, and elbows. They said yes. When they’re too tired to fight, they grab each other and crash into the pads of the octagonal ring, wrestling, writhing, and crushing the cage’s netting like weird action figures. Then they’d be back on their feet, gasping for breath, counting the odds, their faces covered in sweat and blood. Both are bleeding men. A few weeks earlier, Forrest Griffin, 26, suffered a severe injury above his eye during a qualifying match that few expected to make the cut. He healed in time for tonight’s punishment, and when 28-year-old Stephan Bonnar punched him in the head, Griffin cheekily flashed a welcoming smile, turned the other face, and slammed hit back.
The fight turned Forrest Griffin (the winner) and Stephen Bonnall into the Muhammad Ali and Joe Frazier of MMA, and the sport became a business and sporting phenomenon . It was banned from television and major stages in the United States eight years ago after critics lambasted its bizarre brutality, pitting martial arts against martial arts (sumo versus boxing, Brazilian jiu-jitsu, muay thai, and more). The late US Senator John McCain called it “human cockfighting”. But the first season of The Ultimate Fighter on SpikeTV (now Paramount Network) not only reignited interest, it housed the gladiators in a house where they pitted against each other in brutal bouts. Fighting and destroying each other, sharing one’s own life, culminated in the Griffin-Bonnell ending. You root for them as fighters, but also for their role as influencers in the drama. This script works: It humanizes a notoriously bloody sport.
Griffin and Bonnard are the pioneers of the renaissance of mixed martial arts. Bonnard is handsome and brooding. Griffin is a smart-ass guy with an in-tooth charm. Amazingly, they were friends and still are, even though Bonnard lost a rematch a few months later (he named his son Griffin). MMA offered a way out of obscurity, near poverty. Griffin told TIME that he would sometimes get paid $100 a night on the dodgy cage circuit and see checks bounced.
The great appeal of the original Ultimate Warriors was that they were strong people with soft hearts. They transcended their gladiatorial and mercenary instincts, as well as economic adversity, and found brotherhood despite or perhaps because they had to inflict physical pain on each other. That appeal has certainly waned as the sport has become big business and fighters have become more cartoonish in public. I don’t watch it anymore for this reason and others. I’m tired of seeing people in my care hurt.
The ever-funny Griffin has landed a corporate job with Ultimate Fighting Championship, the Las Vegas-based company that started it all. Bonnard’s career took the opposite path: He went from mixed martial arts to wrestling to running afoul of the police. He died suddenly in December 2022, initially described as having suffered a heart attack. In March, the Clark County Medical Examiner’s Office in Nevada said it was the result of an “accidental” fentanyl overdose. Bonnard has said he takes 30 mg of oxycodone a day (modest amount) to ease the pain associated with his combat career. Griffin tweeted: “Steph has a lot going for him: he’s always the funniest guy in the room, he has the greatest heart and most of all, he’s my friend. I always love when people find us Excited to be friends really. I’ll miss you forever bro.”
It’s heartbreakingly poignant. That sentiment doesn’t seem to be the basis for all the trash talk between the two billionaires. But if a true friendship is formed in the end, let them fight.
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