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43. People Watching... Dogs to Sean Strickland to Gordon Ramsay. WTF?

Updated: Mar 5


An innocent morning having breakfast, or?



My son and I suddenly decided to head up to McDonalds for breakfast. It was a Sunday and there isn't much to do around here but that.


So, we got our McD's order, sat down and my eyes instantly met those of a little Jack Russell terrier bitch. A cute white and brown one. You know, the sort that is usually full of energy and noise, the dogs that used to get shoved down holes to fight badgers. Probably still do. This one, however, was very mellow. Looking up at its folks, who also seemed very laid back, and when they got up to go, it trotted along wagging its tail as though life was completely chipper.


I liked that dog. And I wanted it.


And as they left, an older couple came in with a dog. They were probably in their late fifties or early sixties. This was a little black dog, not much bigger than the Jack Russell. But its face was grey, turning white, and so was its arse, like the middle of its body was five years younger.


It looked shocked to be in here.


Too much going on. Like it had PTSD.


And it looked like it had a life full of tension. Its face was in a constant snarl like it wanted to fuck you up at any moment. Like it was chewing a wasp and wanted to chew you instead. Little dog syndrome? Thinking it's a big wolf? Don't know.


And I looked at its folks. They had worry lines on their foreheads and had an air of tension about them - which at that age, and in these parts, was a common feature, to be honest. And I wondered if their arse was also lined with worry, like the dog. Didn't follow that train of thought.


Bit into my egg burger and watched this little wolf walking around like it was in a war zone. Anyone who went to stroke it would end up at destination fucked.


And that got me thinking about Sean Strickland.


I don't know much about him as I hadn't heard of him until two weeks ago when I happened to see him fight some YouTube content creator gobshite called Sneako. I put two and two together and came to the conclusion that Sneako had been disrespecting Strickland, and made that he could whoop his arse or something.


Strickland who, to me, is like Walter from The Big Lebowski movie. You want a toe, I can get you a toe, dude. There are ways. He's like a yob with a job. Probably going to kick the shit out of me if hears that. Though he should know that I am a grand master at Dude-Jitsu, the world's most laidback, yet astoundingly effective martial art.


So, Strickland's like this king of UFC. Is or was, I don't know. Ultimate Fighting Championship. I personally watch the One Championship, though that gets seriously tense man, Rodtang vs Superlek, WTF? Ikr?


Strickland toys with Sneako. I mean, if you watch the video (click the picture below, yeah that one), Sneako didn't have that killer instinct in his eyes. He had nothing, man. He was fucking beat before the first second.



Strickland walks around like a gnarly old bastard wolf that's stalking its prey like he can't wait to lose some shit on this stupid fuck who thought that he could take on a honed world champion fighter, who without his professional experience and patience, would probably need to be held back to not rip this guy's head off.


I bet that dog was called Sean.


I mean, are you so desperate to get YT clicks, and so full of your own hype that you put yourself in a cage with a guy who could force you to eat soup from a tube for the rest of your life?


I've got this anger right below the surface.


I can feel it now as I type. Like it's on a lead and I have to keep pulling it back so I don't turn into a gnarly fucked up dog with a grey face and a grey arse.


If by some cruel twist of luck, I'd find myself in a ring with Strickland I'd loose that hound from its grasp, kick Strickland in the knackers as hard as I could, and give him a round of fucks before running as fast as my little legs would carry me. I certainly wouldn't be standing there going toe-to-toe at his own game. Fuck me. Death wish or what?



Yeah, I'm getting to the point. Believe.



Strickland reminds me of a neighbour I once had. Let's call him Chris.


Chris looked a lot like Strickland and he was up his own arse with self-importance, his desperate need to be seen as loaded, and to look like a mini-gangster. He was well-known in the area, and I saw him fight once, and he's crazy fast. And fucking angry.


He married this woman who was like the real deal. She was loaded. Like princess rich. She spoke with a plum in her gob but was very down to earth. And she had Chris wrapped around her little finger. The local gangster had found the mafia boss and was hypnotised. She was the only one who called him Christopher. And she said it in a way like a mother would to a seven-year-old who had just pranged something precious and was blaming it on the cat.


And we have this idea of who we are, or want to be, don't we?


And with guys especially. If they aren't that hard, that direct, that masculine, they put on this show, and then when they meet the real deal, they recognise that's who they want to be. That's what they would love to be like. And they become like the pack wolf who licks the piss from the alpha male.


Ever watched Gordon Ramsay laying into one of these American restaurant owners on Kitchen Nightmares? He tells it to them directly. Marco Pierre White (who taught Ramsay) was also like this - if you fucked up, you'd have him right in your face telling you exactly what you had done and you'd better not do it again.


At Manchester United (a team I followed since Bestie played), the lads would call it the Hair Dryer Treatment when Fergie was letting rip with some sagely advice you didn't know you needed. He would be right in their face blowing their hair back with the power of his voice.


But if you are good at what you do, and you are prepared to put your balls on the line and can dish out the shit to idiots who are getting things wrong - well, those idiots tend to love you for it.



Begrudging a Judging


Many people can't stand to be judged but in my experience, it's because deep down they know they'll get found out. I couldn't give a shit who judges me or what they think. I'm happy as I am.


With Ramsay, people know he's right. Even if they can't see it to begin with. Their little ego groans and grumbles but they can't give it back to him because they know that they fucked up and that he's the best at what he does. Then they begin to turn around and start to act like lap puppies, yes Chef, no Chef, whatever you say Chef.


It's tense though man. And that's why I don't manage people. I can easily let rip on someone when they could have done better.


And that my fine dudes, is not very Dudeist. It's all about achievement shit.


Strickland played with Sneako and was very condescending to him. Even at the end when he unleashed a few 7-move combo powerups he said "At least you didn't go down" - or something like that. That's not a compliment, dudes. It's a backhanded one, like, you were a fucking sissy and the only good thing you did was to not collapse.


But some kudos needs to go to Sneako for having the balls to enter the lions den and test his belief. I can respect that.


But it's all ego, ego, ego.


It all leads to tension.


A grey face with a grey arse chewing a wasp looking like everywhere is a battle about to happen. A look-at-me content creator with too much to say thinks he can lay down some dragon strikes on a seasoned pro who has spent his life dishing out advice with his fists rather than his mouth. Then the ego wants to show Sneako for what he is, not a fighter. Couldn't Strickland just say, like man, you're probably right, you could beat me but if you want to have a crack at me, you've got to earn that right and get in the ring with some lesser dudes to prove yourself.



Calmer Than You Are

People watching.


Dog watching.


Domesticated dogs seem to take on the shit, (or mellowness) of their owners.


A cat couldn't give a toss what you are like as long as you put the fire on and give it some meat.


What's the take-home here? Not sure. What have you got at the other end of the lead? What has not quite settled into the ever-calm of your eternal Dudeness? What puts on the squeeze that could be let go of a little?


Letting go of it instantly relieves the world of a little tension.


Until next time.


Peace



Rev. Thomo



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