Within minutes, the organisers took our ticket money and then motioned to one of the buses waiting to take us to another secret location. There, I anticipated spending the next few hours being me, being happy and being free.

I took a quick look around the bus. It was mostly men with plenty of ink and piercings—pretty much my polar opposite in every way, barring their desire to be there. I wasn’t an extrovert by nature, and to blend in as much as I could, I’d worn my fitted black suit with a black sleeveless silk shirt to work. I had changed from heels to flat shoes in the cab, removed my jewellery and switched my suit jacket for a hoodie. Men noticed me and I wasn’t arrogant enough to pretend otherwise. I certainly didn’t want to dress in a way that would get me any extra attention.

Jim called out, gesturing to an empty seat across the aisle from him and Shorty. “Hey, Jules. Over here.”

“Thanks,” I replied, gratefully slipping into the seat near my racing buddies.

Despite being one of very few women, I felt no physical threat from the men.

The bus reached its destination in around fifteen minutes—a deserted warehouse in an industrial estate. I was completely disoriented. We all assembled in front of the buses, awaiting further instruction. I noticed far more women in the crowd than I’d been expecting. From what I could tell, most were wearing very skimpy outfits and were draping themselves all over the men.

Within five minutes, we were told by the organisers to enter the warehouse through the side door. The chivalrous ‘ladies first’ rule definitely didn’t apply to this situation, and I took no prisoners getting in as quickly as possible. I wanted to be front and centre. The excitement was palpable as I left my usual persona behind and entered the outlandishly exciting world of illegal cage fighting.

I’d done some research during the week in anticipation. From what I understood from the few articles available on the net, the main reason for cage fighting to be illegal here was the perception of it as a blood sport. Despite the fact that the Professional Boxing and Combat Sports Board is made up of ex fighters and industry members, they are bound by the current legislation and how the media represents the sport. New South Wales recently took over from Victoria as having the strictest rules due to a recent death in the sport. Knee-jerk reactions were unsurprisingly common, so promoters had no alternative but to say ‘up yours’ to the government and go underground.

A functional moral compass knew the fighters’ safety should be paramount, but I also knew it would drastically change the scene. Every fibre of my being rebelled against it. According to my search results, the fights were brutal and atavistic. The mere idea of it sent raw energy pulsing through me.

Jim and I took our places against the cage. I could barely stand still I was so excited.

“I’m gonna go say g’day to Bob,” Shorty squeaked over his shoulder as he disappeared into the crowd.

“Right, Jules,” Jim said. “This is a Cage Muay Thai Elimination series. It’s one of the most brutal and exciting sports in the world.”

“Okay. So, what should I expect?”

“There’ll be eight fighters who will pair off in the first four fights, halving the number who continue. The next two fights will be the winners of the first four, giving us our final two. The ultimate winner has to win three fights. There’s strategy and a lot of psychology involved. The fighters want to do enough to win, but not too much. If they get too many injuries, they might not be able to participate in the next round.”

“Are there any rules for what they can and can’t do to each other?”

“Cage Muay Thai has almost everything—the kicks, the punches, grappling. They can smash their opponents with their elbows, and even head butts are permitted. The wrestling and Jujitsu elements you’ll see in the more famous Mixed Martial Arts comps have been removed.”

“I can see why they’d do that. It must be harder to see what the fighters are doing when they’re on the ground.”

“That’s it. Exactly. Cage Muay Thai is a much better spectator sport, in my opinion, but I’m sure wrestlers and Jujitsu enthusiasts would disagree.”

“What about dirty tactics? We’re at an illegal fight. Surely it’s all pretty loose.”

Jim laughed. “Bloody hell, Jules. Are you for real?”

“What?” I gave him my most innocent puppy dog eyes.

He shook his head. “Yes, we’re at illegal fights, but there are still rules. Cage Muay Thai doesn't have many, and of course they might not always be strictly followed, but you don't hit the groin, you don't punch in the back of the head, no contact after the bell or when a man's down. Usual stuff—and oh, kidney shots are out.” Jim winced as if he were in pain. “Bloody hell. You can be pissing blood for a week after one of them."

“Have you seen much of this kind of thing?”

“Let’s just say, the last fighter seen punching his opponent in the back of the head after the bell has disappeared off the scene. The repercussions here can be far greater than getting disqualified.”

I clenched my teeth. “Got it. Don’t mess with the bad guys.”

“Pretty much.”

“Thanks for getting me on the list, Jim. I’m totally pumped for this.”

“Feel bad I didn’t ask you sooner. I wasn’t really sure if it would be of any interest until you mentioned your own training.”

“I’m just full of surprises.” We were both laughing when I felt the energy in the room change.

I scanned the warehouse for the first round of fighters. In the far left corner, I could see two groups of people in huddles. Bingo. The MC’s voice filtered through the sound system, momentarily quieting the dance music to introduce the prize fighting meat for round one. My excitement hit fever pitch. Feeling the heat from so many bodies still jostling for the pole positions, I pulled the beanie off my head, allowing my hair to spill free.

The crowd erupted with a chaotic mixture of encouragement and abuse as the first pair of fighters made their way to their cage. The men who entered the cage were of similar build and height. One had a shaved head. The other had a mop of ginger hair tied back in a ponytail. They both looked like they were on prison release from maximum security. I barely registered their introductions because to me, they were faceless bodies. Their names were of zero consequence.

When the fight began, I studied their defensive stances, first engagements, their footwork and their use of dirty tactics in a bid to decide how best to overcome them. It had been one thing watching professional fights on the TV, but this was a different experience entirely. This was dirty, rough and primal. I was in heaven.

It didn’t take a great deal of my headspace to envisage my comparatively tiny body defeating either of these two thugs, and in my mind, I had them flat on their backs with their eyes rolling in their heads within a few minutes. If you put me up against Zac in the cage, I would defeat him too. My wonderful trainer would never fight dirty, but the same couldn’t be said for me. I would do what was necessary to fuel my adrenaline addiction. A snap kick to the family jewels was the quickest way to end a fight, but I would always keep my eyes on theirs and be prepared to change tactic if necessary.

Romper Stomper and Ginger were evenly matched, so the crowd was getting a good show. I’d seen several opportunities for both of them to end it, but they’d overlooked them all and I was getting frustrated.

I yelled out to Ginger, “Spit in his eyes.” For some reason I’d decided he was marginally more skilled.

“Love your enthusiasm, Jules, but how’s he gonna do that with a mouthguard in?” Jim asked, clearly trying not to laugh.

Slightly embarrassed, I grimaced. “Oh yeah. Got a bit carried away.”

In a back alley brawl, throwing dirt in your attacker’s eyes drastically increases your chances of walking away and them rueing the day they chose you as their victim. We weren’t in a back alley though; we were at a paid fight.