Relatively few people argued when the UFC implemented five-round non-title fights (instead of the normal three) for all main events in 2011, but I was skeptical, because those extra two rounds could have short-changed other deserving fights. Sure, the fact that the fighters have already suffered head trauma might make their brains easier to smash after three rounds, increasing the chances of a satisfying splat, but the concomitant muscle fatigue reduces the power behind their blows, equalizing the odds of a gore explosion. With so many deserving contenders, why extend just one fight when it might have already petered out after the first three rounds? I certainly thought the suggestion of making all title eliminators five rounds was a bad idea, because that would double the number of fights with extra rounds and so reduce the number of fights we get to see.

Nevertheless, while watching UFC on Fox Sports 1 2 a.k.a. UFC Fight Night 27: Condit vs. Kampmann 2 as I usually do (alone, in front of my computer monitor, drying my tears with used panties I purchased), I had no suspicion that the fight would fail to deliver in what would have previously been the “championship rounds.” Condit stopped Kampmann less than a minute into the fourth round, meaning the extra time was what allowed him to close his story arc in satisfying fashion.

Was Kampmann going to come back and win after the third round was probably a 10-8 in favor of Condit? No way. It was clear that Kampmann was getting positively manhandled by the end of Round 3. Although anything is possible with a seasoned athlete like Kampmann, it would have been pretty damn unlikely after the third for Kampmann to do anything but accelerate his descent into wheelchair-bound blabbering about how everyone he meets is his son or daughter. It was kind of fun to see the Shark Week cameltoe on Kampmann’s forehead explode and gush repeatedly, but what does it say about me if I am amused by such things? More importantly, what does it say about me if I enjoy writing about this forehead cameltoe and anxiously await the slow-mo cam vids of it flopping open from punches? Stay tuned for more of my pathological ravings, in which I will provide further details on collections of body parts and other ghoulishness.