The official planners, bless their boring souls, had traditional ideas: historic lectures, fife-and-drum parades, and probably some very long speeches by people in bad suits at the Capitol or in the National Mall.
But the current US president has a different definition of ‘dignified celebration’. On June 14 he’s bypassing the historical societies entirely and bringing an Ultimate Fighting Championship steel cage — called an Octagon — directly on to the pristine grass of the White House South Lawn for an event called UFC Freedom 250.
Personally, I think it’s a stroke of genius. It’s the most honest piece of political theatre the United States has seen since the 18th century. Why pretend the capital is a place of stately, philosophical debate when you can just throw two heavyweight champion cage fighters into a chain-link enclosure and let them sort out the nation’s problems with their fists?
It perfectly aligns with the president's chief preoccupations: ratings, heavy combat, and things that are “one-of-a-kind”. Forget the Federalist Papers; we’re relying on gladiators in the Octagon to resolve the unanswered questions about evolving democracy. And they couldn’t do any worse.
The Octagon is a UFC innovation: an eight-sided, padded chain-link fence without harsh corners like a boxing ring, where a fighter can get pinned in.
From what I’ve observed of human politics, a cage match is entirely appropriate. The only difference between the Octagon and the parliamentary process is that in the Octagon, the participants are actually required to look their opponent in the eye before they try to take their head off, and the referee eventually steps in to stop the bleeding.
Naturally, this whole spectacle got me thinking about my own kind. The neighbourhood golden retriever, who reads too many clickbait headlines, suggested that if humans found this so compelling, a good old-fashioned dog fight would draw an even bigger crowd.
I shut that nonsense down immediately.
Dogs are far too sensible for the UFC model. If you put two dogs in a cage on the South Lawn, we wouldn’t fight. We’d sniff each other’s tails, realise the grass hasn’t been thoroughly checked for rabbits, and then collectively sit down to stare at the VIP section until someone produced a decent prize.
If you want a canine to engage in a high-stakes wrestling match, a gold belt and a million dollars isn't going to cut it. You’d need to guarantee a prime-cut rib eye and exclusive rights to the couch for a calendar year, at least. Without a premium incentive, we’d just curl up on the executive turf and enjoy the sunshine.
The successful UFC owner, Dana White, is paying $60 million to put on the whole thing because it is on federal land — it’s $700,000 just to fix the lawn after the boots and the camera rigs tear it up.
For that kind of money, you could buy enough liver treats to feed every retriever from Washington to Wyoming. But hey, it’s America’s birthday, it’s the president’s 80th, and if the humans want to celebrate two and a half centuries of freedom by watching grown men punch each other in the Rose Garden, far be it from an old hound to judge.
And Dana has done a $7.7 billion deal with Paramount to screen UFC for seven years, so he won’t go without.
But The Boss reckons it will be a “unique event’’ — so I might watch it with him. Woof!
