Quickly grab your groin, ladies and gents, for I don't even think you need a ball bag to feel second-hand pain in the deepest part of your genitals as you both read and see the following...
— Bryce Mitchell (@ThugnastyMMA) August 21, 2018 What I do like about this gut-wrenching story, and I use the word "like" insanely loosely, is that it highlights exactly how psychotic you have to be to choose mano a mano attempted murder as your career path while knowing that the unfriendly confines of a cage will be your workplace. I say the following with the upmost respect to Bryce Mitchell, as I would never in a million years have the balls to do what he does. However, the fact that he damn near lost them to the live drill he voluntarily chose to pack next to his penis while doing manual labor is a pretty good sign that his grasp on an opponent's neck is typically a lot tighter than his grasp on the reality of what is or isn't inherently dangerous. I know I have always wondered what personality type is required to watch two people beat the consciousness out of one another and say to themselves "that's what I need to do when I grow up". Now I know it's the same personality type required to tuck a power tool in your waistband like it's an untimely erection, live to tell the tale of uncoiling your nut sac like it's a poorly manufactured slinky, and matter-of-factly act as if that's merely an unfortunate occurrence that could happen to anybody. Most people know not to put themselves in a position where a muscle twitch could result in a Saw-esque scrotum injury, but most people can't get in an octagon across from a trained killer with nothing to fear but fear itself. I deeply and truly hope he can learn that first lesson sometime soon, but - in retrospect - I'm not so sure we should have been totally surprised that a UFC fighter treated his manhood like it was immortal.
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