Tyed

There are some crazy hot pictures of him on Google Images, including a few where he’s in a tux at an MMA charity ball two years ago. I also find lots of YouTube videos of him thrashing his opponents to knockouts and submissions. He is the darling of winning by decision too. Ty’s ring nickname is “The Zombie.” It suits him perfectly, with that ugly, snake-skull tattoo. To add a personal touch, he always breezes out of the tunnel and enters the ring to “Zombie” by the Cranberries, an angry grunge tune I overplayed as a teenager.

It sends a chill down my spine every time I watch him walk out of those tunnels in one of the videos, beer dripping on his head as the crowd erupts with screams, people clutching their beer cups, roaring and chanting. His lower face is always covered with the skull bandana, and he’s looking at his opponents like he’s going to butcher them alive. Every time the cage door shuts and I hear the secure click, the audience leaps to its feet in anticipation.

Not everybody is rooting for Ty, but everyone respects him.

He frequently wins by decision, which is prestigious, I guess. His wrestling and Muay Thai background makes him lethal in the cage, and his left hook is the best in the XWL, if the rumors online are true.

One of the commenters in a video where Ty sends a dude straight to the ER with a broken nose and blood streaming from his forehead points out: Man, Wilder is ruthless. He shattered the dude to pieces like taco shells!

Another commenter adds: I love the intensity in his eyes. Truly, the gladiator of our time. He is an animal, and tall for the welterweight division. Most strikers don’t stand a chance getting inside his reach.

I read comment after comment. People praise him, curse him, love him and hate him, fear him and respect him. I seem to share those mixed feelings. He attracts me and repulses me at the same time. Like a car crash. Only I worry I’ll be one of the casualties involved.

I quickly realize why Jesse was oh-so-amused with me thinking women don't find this sport attractive. Desperate, female fans are found in toxic quantities with every video I watch. Nearly every match online of him knocking out an opponent bears endless comments from adoring women, like: I watched this video three times. Once with the door locked ;-) And the less understated: I want to sit on his gorgeous face!!! CALL ME TY.

Cue to pass the puke bucket, please.

Evidently, I was wrong. Women like men who play hockey, football, basketball and golf (okay, scratch golf). Women love men who know how to fight.

Ty’s ranking in the welterweight division is impressive, with experts predicting that he or Irish Eoghan Doherty could take the title from Brazilian Jesus Vasquez this year.

I spend the night gorging on info about Ty Wilder, creating a self-feeding monster. The more I find out about him, the more I crave. It’s 3 a.m. when I finally slam the laptop screen with a bang, exhaling sharply.

Yes, I will research Jesse and Dawson. But I'll do it tomorrow. Tonight, I've seen enough.

***

On Wednesday, I decide to bite the bullet and take a class at the gym. The workout is both research and minor damage control, seeing as Shane is coming over tonight for our delayed Walking Dead marathon and he’s bringing enough junk food to clog every artery in my body. Yeah, I guess Sunday is forgiven, despite the thigh-gripping incident.

Plus, I'm pretty sure taking a class will get Dawson and Jesse off my case, and I want to play nice with them. They’ve already helped me a lot, even when I e-mailed them each three times on Sunday.

I park my pink Mini in an exceptionally busy XWL parking lot, but this time there’s no sign of Ty. Not that I’m looking for him.

Ginger-Bearded Guy welcomes me at the desk with a big smile, and even calls me “Blaire” a few times just to prove that he remembers my name. He also introduces himself as Scott, which, I admit, is far catchier than Ginger-Bearded Guy.

“So what class should I take?” I study the schedule on the board behind the desk. Every single class sounds foreign and intimidating. Muay Thai. Brazilian Jiu Jitsu. Tae Kwon Do. I run my hand over my hair with frustration. Guess there’s no point asking when the next yoga class is.

“There’s either kickboxing with Jesse or jiu jitsu with Tyler. Both start at six o’clock.”

I think I'll get a better grip of how things work if I take kickboxing. Plus, Jesse is a cool dude, so that's a no brainer.

“Kickboxing, please.”

“Cool. Go all the way straight, and it’s the first door on the right. Ask Jesse for the gear. Break a leg, babe.”