We are born in confused tears, struggle to awkwardly mature, and just as things seem to be going well, we become virtual infants again. We emerge from the birth canal bald, spend decades growing full, luxurious heads of auburn hair, then lose it all just when our expanding bellies most need the counterbalance of a bulging pompadour. Life is a darkly comedic story about broken physiological promises: illusive evolutionary adventures followed by embarrassing regressions. It happens every time.
By the way, Ken Shamrock is possibly becoming a boxer again.
According to a press release, Ken is “going back to his roots as a fighter” to meet James Quinn in a bare-knuckle boxing match. That is one way to look at it for sure. Consider it a brave double-back from the modern chess board of MMA, a return to the unpretentious black and white battleground of checkers. After all, bare-knuckle boxing, according to Shamrock, is a potential growth area. It has “great potential to grow well beyond where the sport is today.” (http://www.cagepotato.com/oh-for-the-love-of-christ-ken-shamrock-reportedly-facing-james-quinn-in-a-bare-knuckle-boxing-match/?utm_medium=twitter&utm_source=twitterfeed )
Then again, Shamrock may be on a more profound journey, retracing his steps back to the womb of combat entertainment, until he is crawling again, clawing his way back into the dark ages, somewhere between the urethra of UFC 1 and the cervix of gladiatorial combat. Or maybe he is just dying like the rest of us.
