The New Fight Club

One by one they give in. At first the women look almost bored, but then they too become animated and are drawn into the violence.

 It is the second fight of the night and Andy from Newcastle is the object of their attention. “Come on, Andy!” they call to the modestly-sized man with the sculpted figure, known as The Little Axe. On his front, above the six pack, are two large tattoos. On his side is a quotation from Theodore ­Roosevelt, a call to action that he’d liked enough to have all 140 words inscribed down the left of his torso:

“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood . . .”

The Little Axe isn’t doing well. In fact, if anyone needs reassurance from Roosevelt – if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly, it says just above his waist – it is 25-year-old Andy Ogle. His evening began with a flying kick from his opponent seconds after the fight started. The kick missed his head but the statement of intent it represented didn’t. Ogle’s rival, a Venezuelan called Maximo Blanco, then jumped on him and Ogle spent the next 25 seconds in a condition known as ground-and-pound – “ground” because you are crawling around on it trying to defend yourself, “pound” because a wrestler with a mean expression, having got you there, is trying to beat you into ­unconsciousness.