Obtained via Graffiti
Posted on 18th of February 2015
Fight Night: São Paulo
Our reporter stumbles onto an underground fight culture that's older than the country it's in.
Fist hits face, and blood from the struck gladiator flies all over my shirt. I stumble backwards, blinded by the harsh lightning and raw violence. I'm too close. This is too real. I try to retreat backwards into the crowd, but there's no space. I'm here, in the front row of an underground fight club in São Paolo, and there's no escape.
They call it Final do Jogo, and they say that these fights have run for hundreds of years, back when slaves would fight against each other and against the mysterious foreign strangers who would appear, fresh from the ports, and disappear after the fights were over.
There is talk of a conhecimento secreto, a secret knowledge, but no one can tell me what that is, and I bet they don't even know. There's no knowledge about how to hurt a man with your fists.
But there's no time to think about that. Because I'm watching a small Asian woman called Kali beat the snot out of a behemoth from the docks. She is the fastest thing I've ever seen. Her fists register as blurs, not even solid until they meet flesh. But the damage they do is considerable. The crowd is in a frenzy, shouting as she demolishes four men in a row. Then she bows, sneers, spits.
- There is a mention of Final do Jogo. This stands for Endgame in Portuguese