It’s official. You can’t mess with Norman “Chef” Wessels. Neither can you complain that your food is bad; he might tell you to step outside for a few rounds.
The heavyweight fighter from Johannesburg, a chef by training, defeated Danie van Heerden at the EFC Africa Extreme Fighting Championship on Wednesday night.
The championship — also known as extreme fighting, cage fighting or, even more gently, “mixed martial arts” — was held at the Coca-Cola Dome in Northgate, Johannesburg.
As Wessels ferociously pummelled his opponent, a fan aptly using his culinary metaphors shouted: “Come on, chef, this food is kak.”
The event, only the second to be held by EFC Africa, was watched by a bloodthirsty crowd sporting its own rippling muscles. The men, that is, not the sprinkling of gorgeous women who attended. Extreme fighting — a mishmash of fight disciples with gloves almost off — is claiming a foothold in South Africa, judging by the full house on Wednesday.
Perhaps it’s stretching definitions a bit to call this a sport. It’s a short walk away from being a free-for-all brawl. Its other name, cage fighting, perhaps more accurately describes what it really is. Cage fighting was previously an underground American combat pursuit — a bit like cock fighting for humans — that has always boasted a bloody reputation.
The first fight in South Africa was held at the Dome in November last year. Feet, fists, slam-dunking — all were allowed in the matches that were broken into three rounds, each lasting five minutes. The beginning of each round was announced by slim, saucily dressed girls.
The packed venue was dimly lit and reverberated to the sound of heavy rock and hip-hop. The crowd, an excitable lot, bayed and shouted for blood to spill. When a fighter was slammed to the floor there was a roar of pleasure.
Twelve matches in the weight categories of welterweight, lightweight, middleweight and heavyweight were fought out. Each match ended before the regulation three rounds, thanks to knock-outs or fighters fleeing for their lives. There are no towels to throw in — this game makes boxing look like a crochet class.
If one describes the matches as blood-and-sweat affairs, there’s a risk of losing the desired meaning. But blood and sweat is no idle metaphor – sweat poured from the torsos of the heavies and, occasionally, blood was spilled.
The lightweight match (both fighters weigh 70kg), the second of the night, between Wentzel “The Animal” Nel and Terrance Gressil set the tone. The Animal easily overpowered his opponent in 43 seconds.
“I am The Animal. I am going to test everyone,” he said to approving yells. “He tried to intimidate me, but I am from the jungle,” he said in a curiously rabbity voice for such a large beast.
Leo Gloss, after defeating Paul de Vos, was asked whether he had a game plan. “No,” he replied. “When you go into the ring, you don’t have a game plan. You just go in there to fight.”
The crowd, quite civil at the bar or in the toilet, became menacing at the ringside. “Finish him, finish him,” they would shout when an opponent showed enough gumption to try to postpone the inevitable.
When welterweight fighter Nolan Swanepoel had dispatched 21-year-old baby-faced Remo Ralph he was asked how he felt. “Like shit,” he replied tersely. I was quite relieved to find that someone felt as I did.
The sport is faintly homoerotic, too. Men and men, beautifully built, twisting and turning, would sometimes end up in sexual poses, which brought no small amount of cheer.
One of the highlights of the night was the match between JP Joubert and Bernard “The Black Panther” Mikixi. Both fighters weigh more than 95kg. Mikixi showed brutal, catlike efficiency and won the match in just more than a minute. The Black Panther (he is Angolan) hoisted his opponent and then suddenly thrust him to the floor. Joubert went down with an elephantine thud.
“He’s just too strong,” one spectator said. As the Panther walked away, the crowd gasped and then broke into a bout of sustained applause.