The Toughman Contest: When Violence-as-Entertainment Becomes Deadly

In Civilization and Its Discontents, Sigmund Freud wrote of the "eagerly denied" truth "that men are not gentle, friendly creatures wishing for love, who simply defend themselves if they are attached, but that a powerful measure of desire for aggression has to be reckoned as part of their instinctual endowment." Georges Bataille explained in his book, Erotism, that "only a spectacular killing," violence for the purpose of religion of ritual, "has the power to reveal what normally escapes notice." Violence is revelatory in that it exposes what William James noted in a 1903 letter to the editor of The Republican as our "aboriginal capacity for murderous excitement." We love violence—violent television, film, novels, video games, music, and sports. I echo Harold Schechter who points out that the argument that people love violent stories does not mean every single individual in the world and throughout time, "but humanity in general." A brief survey of literature, from Aeschylus' Oresteia to The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, and sports, from chariot racing in ancient Greece to the NFL, demonstrates that 'humanity in general' enjoys horror and violence as entertainment.

In the majority of our violence-as-entertainment consumption comes from what we may deem either professional or fictional venues. Fictional relates to stories, even those based in truth, and do not pertain to this particular piece. But professional violent entertainment, such as football or boxing, for the most part, take place in the realm of the practiced athlete. Sure, a group of guys can go out and play football at the park and get injured, but for the most part, the playing of that game will not include the type of tackles seen in the NFL. And that is because in the NFL or any other organized sporting league, there are rules and regulations in place to protect the participants. Fighting sports are no exception; in fact, fighting sports tend to have a surfeit of health and safety regulations because the risk of injury is deemed higher than that of most other sports. Whether this is true or not, since football and certain other sports, including competitive cheerleading, have a high percentage of injuries related to participation. But fighting sports, especially MMA, require its athletes to adhere to strict health and safety protocols. As the sport of mixed martial arts became more organized, the emphasis on fighter safety was necessary not only to protect athletes and comply with standardized Boxing Commission rules, but also to distance itself from another fighting sport venue that arose around the same time—the Toughman Contest.

The Toughman Contest originated in 1979 under the auspices of being a legitimate amateur boxing event that allowed anyone to enter the ring; the only limitation was that no competitor could have more than five amateur bouts. According to the West Virginia Toughman website, Art Dore, a former boxer turned promoter, created the Toughman Contest in 1979 because Dore "was fed up with listening to the armchair athletics talk about how 'they coulda beat that guy.'" Dore's solution was to join with his friend, Dean Oswald, and rent a small venue in Bay City, Michigan, where regular guys could get in the ring to prove just how tough they really were. Men from a variety of backgrounds punched each other silly, and as the brackets diminished, the last man who won all of his bouts was declared the winner—the toughest man. Dore's competitions would spread to over a hundred cities in the U.S. over the next few decades, but the events quickly drew criticism and spawned outrage. Not only were the participants untrained, they were unprotected. They wore boxing gloves, but there was no true corner support for fighters. No one threw in the towel when a man should have stopped fighting. No referee or official called a fight when there was an obvious mismatch or danger of injury.

A 2003 article in the Wall Street Journal compares Toughman to Karoke, a sloppy method for letting dilettantes pretend to be the stars they so revere. The difference, of course, between the two is that Toughman fighters encountered potential injury or death, while karaoke singers merely faced embarrassment and gentle teasing from friends. But the comparison is not that far off from how the Toughman Contest was billed, as a fun and safe way to see just how tough one really is.

In fact, the West Virginia Toughman website continues to boast that its events are safe:

"Because the Toughman Contest is basically amateur boxing with shorter rounds, more protective gear, and more safety precautions, the event boasts the best safety record in boxing, including pro boxing, amateur boxing, and gym sparring."

"Fights consist of 3 one-minute rounds, with a 60 second break between each round. Standard Marquis of Queensbury Boxing Rules apply, with three judges scoring by a 10 points must sytem (spelling and grammar errors on website). Toughman provides the 16-ounce boxing gloves, a padded kidney belt, and headgear."

Headgear was not enough to protect the eight individuals who died in Toughman Contests by 2003. That same year, at the Sarasota County Fairgrounds in Sarasota, Florida, Stacy Young, a 30-year-old mother of three, entered the Toughman Contest at the urging of the promotions officials. Three days later, she was dead.

On June 14, 2003, Stacy arrived at the Roberts Arena in Sarasota, Florida, with her husband, Chuck, and their three children, Stacy's sister, Jody Meyers, and her brother-in-law. Originally Chuck was the one who wanted to fight, but upon arrival, Toughman officials invited Stacy to participate as well. Stacy was not an athlete—at 5'7, she weighed 240 pounds, but she was also full of life, and thought it would be fun. Besides, all Toughman participants wear headgear and 16oz gloves and are told by the event officials, after signing liability waivers, of course, that it was all perfectly safe. Stacy's husband Chuck told reporters, "They tell us nobody's going to get hurt. The worst that could happen was to get a broken nose." Chuck's own Toughman career lasted 29 seconds before he threw in the towel.

When it was his wife's turn, Stacy faced a woman, a local cake-decorator who weighted sixty pounds less than Stacy, but was also ten years her junior. Spectators agreed that the woman appears to have had some fight training. Within the first few seconds of the three-round fight, it was obvious that Stacy was outmatched. The younger woman punched Stacy repeatedly in the head and knocked her down three times. Stacy staggered around the ring, but the referee allowed her to continue fighting. A physician's assistant from the local hospital was present, according to the Orlando Sentinel, but he never stepped in, even when Stacy staggered groggily around the ring. In the final round, spectators recalled, she was struck three times after turning to her corner to quit and she collapsed, one final time. She remained lying on the ring floor, dying, while the young cake decorator was declared the winner and presented with a trophy. Her sister told reporters, "I watched my sister get beaten to death in front of me." Stacy Young was flown to a hospital in St. Petersburg, where she died three days later.

Toughman fighters bear responsibility for their own participation. They have to go to the venue, sign a waiver, and even pay a $50 entrance fee. Stacy Young and other men who died competing in Toughman opted to fight. But that does not release Toughman, Art Dore, and his staff from culpability. Dore purposefully set up his events so that he did not have to comply with regulations that assure fighter safety. There was no doctor present, the referee did not actively check in with Stacy to determine if it was safe for her to proceed, and no matchmaker to vet fighters and arrange appropriate opponents. Yet Toughman Contests continue to claim that their events are the safest of all fighting events. Owned by the crassly-named parent-company, AdoreAble Promotions, Toughman and Art Dore denied culpability, since participants sign waivers and have their heart rate and blood pressure checked by a physician on-site.

New Jersey's Commissioner of the State Athletic Control Board and former Golden Gloves champion, Larry Hazzard, told NBC News shortly after Stacy Young's death, Larry Hazzard, that the Toughman concept was "a terrible idea" since the participants were "ordinary people" who lacked "training, conditioning and skill." New Jersey banned Toughman from the state long before Young's death. "We want no part of Toughman," Hazzard said. "Would it be a surprise to anyone that you'd find these type of injuries are occurring? Not to me," he said. And in the wake of the Young tragedy, more states quickly followed New Jersey, banning Toughman and other non-sanctioned fighting events from conducting business.

By the time Young passed in 2003, nine competitors had died in Toughman Contests since its founding in 1979. On May 20th, 2004, Florida Governor Jeb Bush signed the Stacy Young bill into law, requiring official oversight by the Florida State Boxing Commission over all amateur kickboxing and boxing competitions. All fight competitions were required to meet safety and health standards, and any promoter in violation of those standards could face third-degree felony charges.

Despite the controversy of Stacy Young's death, heightened by a media frenzy decrying the death of a mother of three children, Toughman Contests persist in the remaining states willing to host the promotion. In 2008, 23-year-old Brandon Twitchell died after competing in a Texarkana Toughman show. According to the Arkansas Times, he had one bout on Friday evening and three the next day. Only a month after Twitchell's death, Toughman put on another match in Arkansas, which enraged some of the residents. By the time Twitchell died, numerous states already banned Toughman and set their laws in a way that did not allow the crafty promotion to eschew regulations. In Arkansas, Toughman was permitted to bill itself as an exhibition event and it continues, as entertainment, in that state and many more.

The controlled violence in sports may titillate us, but it typically does not provide viewers with the reality of death. Fans of Toughman Contests most likely do not attend the events in hopes of seeing a person get beaten to death. But the presence of officials at professional sporting events practically guarantees that there is careful moderation by officials, doctors, and promoters who, if nothing else, want to ensure that there are no grievous injuries that could incite litigation.

Violence-as-entertainment is as integral to humanity as stories of love. In a boxing match or MMA fight, we watch the skill of the combatants and for the vast majority of spectators, we cringe and cheer at the pummeling that ensues, knowing that the fighters are essentially protected by those around them. Yet professional fighting events are so beyond the reality of the 'everyman' who, despite the boastings of numerous frat boys or internet-trolling couch champions, would become a quivering mass if faced any of the UFC fighters. Dore's "armchair" athlete can attempt to fight and thus confirm (or have squashed) his assertions of greatness. Or a housewife, who thinks it would be fun to hop in the ring with another untrained fighter to duke it out for a few minutes, can lose her life. Are the participants to blame? Partially. But the Toughman Contest misrepresents itself when it claims to be safe. Fighting is not for dilettantes and while it can be fun, it cannot be safe if it does not create a culture of safety. A promotion that admittedly would rather skirt regulation than protect its fighters has no business operating in any state that cares about the lives of its citizens. If a person is so determined to fight, why not compete in a regulated venue? And if the Toughman Contest is a legitimate fighting venue, why not conform to the rules and regulations that govern all other boxing promotions?

Humanity may love violence as entertainment, but the tragedy of the men and women who died or suffered injury in Toughman Contests is not fiction to be snickered at or a thrilling spectacle. The tragedy and the horror of the Toughman Contest is that it still exists.