Producer's Diary: The Birch Reserve - Bobbin'
“Let your boys be country,” sings Jason Aldean.
“How?” you might ask.
Easy.
Sign ‘em up for Redneck Brawl.
For those whose Instagram feeds skew pacifist, Redneck Brawl is the latest iteration in a lineage of underground fight promotions. Fueled by viral video, small-town fury, and, in the case of one fighter, Wheaties, it follows in the footsteps of last decade’s Streetbeefs—and even recalls the early days of Worldstar.
Unlike mainstream combat sports, Redneck Brawl’s lifeblood is the anti-pro. In fact, the commercial success of the UFC and professional boxing has heightened interest in the type of fighter who can knock out a tallboy of Natural Ice faster than they can spell “Fuck Boone County!” (That’s in West Virginia, for those who didn’t know.)
Those three words became the rallying cry of one Redneck fighter, Lil Smokey, in the lead-up to his bout against Boone County resident, Macho Man. Notable commentator quotes from the fight include:
“A lot of ineffective punches going on.”
“That mo’fucker’s like a skeleton wrapped in white tape.”
“They’re so little, they probably couldn’t honestly rip a Wheaties box in half.”
Hooks landed with the force of pillows, lungs wheezed like whoopee cushions, and the sheer amount of hugs made some attendees wonder if they had bought tickets to a family reunion. If that sounds like the type of fight you could watch for free at your local 7-11, why would anyone pay for Redneck Brawl?
Like most things in America, the marketing.
What Redneck Brawl lacks in prowess, it makes up for in personality, passion, and, well, psychosis eyes. Fighters don’t have to be great, they just have to believe they are. And belief like that can do a whole lot to counterbalance athletic mediocrity.
In promotional videos, fighters glare straight into the camera lens to assert the superiority of their area codes: We’re real country boys over here. None of that Tractor Supply shiny-boot-and-no-spur-costume-party bullshit. To Texan fighters, Oklahoma might as well be home to New York City. (Please try to hold your vomit.)
When the bell dings, we’re treated to bar-fight levels of skill. Fighters rarely have the power or stamina to back up their trash talk, but that’s kind of the whole point.
Now, is any of this ethical? Is it not a kind of voyeurism for the middle class? A peek into the kind of ferocity that rural poverty and a brittle American education system can create? Would any of these people be fighting if they had loving, provided-for childhoods?
Probably not.
But pain pays the bills, and when people want to watch, there’s money to be made.
So, Aldean, if I have one piece of business advice for you, it’s this: Host the next one at your Nashville bar.
And make Hardy - “Rednecker” the theme song.