The Debt of Kalib Starnes

"Yes" to all of the above. Welcome to the cranially irresponsible world of prizefighting.

There is a tacit agreement every combat athlete makes when he commits to a fight -- that he'll do his very best to win the bout. That doesn't preclude them from defending themselves, but it does mean that one can't assume the disposition of a drugged puppy simply because some hurt is coming their way.

Consider Tito Ortiz, a fighter whose persona has generally grated this particular member of the audience. Facing Chuck Liddell in 2004, Ortiz's prior training sessions with his opponent had congealed on his brain. From reports, he was unable to ever take Liddell down and was batted about like a tethered balloon standing.

Despite overwhelming evidence that he wouldn't be able to exchange successfully with Liddell, Ortiz gamely trudged forward, doing his best to evade damage while meting out his own. It didn't work -- Ortiz was struck down early in the second -- but he tried. He gave effort. He fought. Didn't shy away from Liddell the second time, either, even after he had tasted his own blood.

Nobody wins a fight going backwards. And if victory is the ultimate endgame, whatever a fighter does and however he does it should be predicated on putting one foot in front of the other. It might leave a cut, a bruise or a slightly engorged brain. Damage is the currency of combat.

There is a point where a motivated performance gives way to manic, misplaced courage. The Japanese fighters are famous for engaging against warhorses that -- because of size or skill -- could easily turn them into premature assisted care residents. Other fighters are obstinate in playing to their opponents' strengths to prove they have what it takes. Not healthy.

Show up, be in shape, try your best without taking foolish chances: not complicated arithmetic.