Regrettably, some sporting rivalries become so intense that they erupt into violence – witness the recent World Cup final between Spain and Argentina. Rugby players often have on-field scuffles as well. It’s even been known in humble pub dart matches.

When it comes to MMA, these tensions can be settled in the ring or the cage, thus "civilising" the savagery of an unregulated fight. But there are even exceptions here, where disputes get settled outside the formal settings. Tabloid newspapers lap things like that up (whereas more "serious" newspapers indulge in the sensationism in the middle pages). But there must be some that we don’t know about which, by agreement between those involved, remain a secret.

This gallery unearthed such a one in an MMA club (or rather, outside it). It concerns an unusual type of sporting rivalry, in that it was between a man and a woman. What the origins of it were no one knows, because men and women didn’t compete against each other in the club. But it had an outstanding young woman as a member, Holly. She had more cage wins to her name than anyone else in the club, man or woman, and she was responsible for the ladies’ team winning inter-club tournaments. Her weight training equalled, if not surpassed, the men’s.

Not unnaturally, the men didn’t like that, and it drove them to greater effort, much to the benefit of the club. But Holly was fiercely competitive, with an evil sense of humour, and she loved to embarrass men. It delighted her to see their unease when it was pointed out that she had overtaken some of them.

One man, Daryl, had enough of it. They disliked each other anyway, and many people thought she only pushed herself to humiliate him. He went over to her and spoke his mind plainly:

"Give it a rest, can’t you? We all know you’re good, so be content with that."

"Have I touched a raw nerve?" she goaded him.

"No," he lied, "you’re just embarrassing yourself. You’re like a child demanding attention: ‘Look Mummy, no hands!’"

It earned a few laughs and, for once, made her look foolish, because there was some truth to it. But she fired back:

"Whereas in your case, it’s ‘Look Mummy, no skill.’"

"Very funny," he scoffed.

"Or, ‘Look Mummy, no girlfriend.’" Daryl had been "jilted" a few days ago, and it still hurt.

"You are one weapons-grade bitch, aren’t you?" he condemned her, getting right ‘in her face’.

"Back off," she warned him.

"Well shut the fuck up then."

"Make me."

"What?"

"You heard, make me. We can’t go in the cage, but we can go outside."

"Let’s do it then."

*****

They stood staring at each other, exchanging threat and counter threat. Daryl had trouble focusing, because outside, the sun’s rays seemed to dance on Holly’s blue-black, shiny leotard. She had beautiful, large breasts and the flashes of sun on the leotard positively sparkled. He struck, possibly to drag his attention back to fighting, and she dodged, sweeping her curvy body around his attempted right cross.

She stunned his next attempt with the flat of her hand before he had even launched it. Having stopped him in his tracks, she hooked her right leg round the back of his right leg, pushed him hard in the face, and knocked him off balance.

Daryl landed on his backside and Holly seized his right arm, twisting it over his shoulder from the elbow joint. The people inside the gym heard the first yell of the fight and winced. (If anything, their sympathies were with Daryl, and they disliked Holly’s boasting the same as he did. At the same time, they respected her fearsome strength and stamina.)

Holly straightened his arm, but only to lock it through her thighs as she stood either side of it. Inside the gym, they heard another yell as she proceeded to bend and manipulate his fingers. This was really amusing for her. The amount of effort it took to render him a shrieking loser was practically nil.

She thrust him down onto his front, keeping hold of his hand, so that his arm was still locked above and behind his back. She continued her own private game of inflicting agony on his fingers, sometimes bending two at a time for variation. 

She pulled him to his feet by that right arm, and continued to lock it in the crook of her right arm. She heaved on it so fiercely that it felt as if she would wrench it out of its socket, first dragging it hard to his side, then behind him. Neither would she leave those fingers alone. Her preoccupation with them bordered on sadism.

Still, there are other parts of the body where you can inflict pain, and one of Holly’s favourites was the groin. She suddenly let go of his arm, which flopped, shaking and useless to his side, and kicked him in the balls from behind. She smiled for the first time, sure in the knowledge that her boot had done the trick.

Daryl gulped down the pain, like someone taking a tablet that tasted hideous, steadied himself, and attempted to strike back. But his left cross sailed over the elusive young woman’s left shoulder. 

Frustrated, he fired a similar attempt with his right. It went so closely over Holly’s head, as she stretched back and down out of the way, that it temporarily ruffled her attractive auburn hair. And still he had scored no hit.

"Is she programmed by a computer?" he thought, as she warded off a powerful left with her elbow. (In fact, she was programmed by an ever-alert, extremely intelligent human brain, more reliable than any clanking computer.)

Holly sensed his frustration. That was good. So long as she was careful, she could tempt him to waste precious energy in useless punches. It was risky, of course – one successful strike from a powerful man like Daryl could cause serious harm – but she trusted to her own razor-sharp anticipation and reaction. They didn’t let her down, either. Yet another right cross sailed past her face, with her head slightly inclined out of harm’s way.

A left hook fared no better, flying short of her, roughly halfway between her chin and her breasts, noticeably agitated with the drama of the moment.

It was time to respond, and Holly aimed for his ribs with her right knee. But perhaps it wasn’t time to respond after all, because Daryl hadn’t yet exhausted himself enough to be defenceless. He blocked it with his left arm. Although it hurt considerably, it was worth it, because it protected the vulnerable ribcage.

If anything, she was getting a taste of the annoyance she had been giving him. She attempted a high kick at the same time he tried another punch, and each strike deflected the other one. It was honours even, and unsatisfactory for both of them.

She flashed a kick at his thigh, but he pulled himself sharply out of the way. It was a contest after all, and Holly’s self-esteem had drawn her into that age-old fault of so many generals to underrate the enemy.

The winner in this cameo sequence was surely defence over attack. Both had sought to strike a decisive blow, and both had been repulsed by versatile, flexible adaptation. Even Holly had to concede (to herself) her opponent’s skill as he blocked an attempted kick to the body with his recovering right arm. 

Daryl shot at her with a left; she swung herself out of the way. She noticed him panting, calculating instantly that he wouldn’t be able to adjust quickly enough to deter another attack if she was quick. She was quick, and landed a solid left fist on his left cheekbone. He had tried punching and failed. She had tried kicking and failed. But she was the first to swap methods, and it cost him dearly. The woman’s fist felt as if it exploded on the man’s face. 

Crouching under a right from Daryl, Holly made his eyes water with an overhand right to the nose. For all her formal training, she seemed to be just as much at home in a free-for-all street fight. 

"Bitch!" thought Daryl, his eyes full of tears. He struck wildly with a left, but she had gone again, her lovely breasts swinging teasingly, mockingly with her swift evasion to the side.

She was instantly back at him with a right hook to the jaw. By this time some of the people in the gym, attracted by the noises of the fight, had gone to see what was going on. Some stood in doorways, others craned their necks out of windows.

"She looks bloody sexy when she fights, doesn’t she?" a young man murmured to the man next to him.

"She looks bloody sexy when she isn’t fighting, too!" his friend replied.

"She’s murdering him!" the first man reacted, shaking his head, as she cracked Daryl under the chin with a left uppercut. They could hear the thud of her fist landing, and they could see the agonised, despairing look on Daryl’s face. They were torn between sympathy for their friend, and admiration for the beautiful, ferocious fighting female.

Daryl prepared a massive blow with a left, but she completely disorientated him with an angled right uppercut under the jaw. It seemed to take her as much time to deliver two punches as it did him just to decide which one to use.

Crouching low again, Holly almost had him over with a rising left cross to the jaw. He staggered backwards in his confusion, somehow just managing to keep his balance. The two young men watching from a doorway caught the view from behind and gaped when she bent down.

"What a beautiful arse she’s got," the first man commented, she seems to be waving it at us!"

"I’d give a year of my life to spend a night with her," the second one said, shaking his head in admiration.

"Yeah, and you’d have to take the next day off work to get over it!"

"Okay, a year of my life and a day’s wages then," he concluded longingly.

Daryl launched a left hook; Holly leant back and kicked him in the balls, causing the onlookers to exchange sympathetic glances. Once again, tears entered Daryl’s eyes. Well they might!

You could see why Holly had the highest tally of victories at the MMA club, with the spectacular super kick that she now unleashed on Daryl’s face. Pivoting on her right foot, with her body facing away from him, but looking towards him, she caught him where she intended, on the chin. Of course it was where she intended! You don’t get to be feared by men and women alike without having the strength of a lion and the precision of a specialist technician.

Her kick sent Daryl onto his back, and she ruthlessly kicked him across the forehead when he tried to get up. 

At this point, a decent person would probably "take the win" and leave off. But unfortunately, Holly wasn’t a decent person. Her sadistic smile returned, as she obviously enjoyed stamping on the stricken man’s balls.

Daryl passed out with the pain, and it was only now that Holly "took the win". Still with her boot on his groin, she celebrated and posed over him, knowing that she was being watched. She also knew that her victory would be unpopular, and she didn’t care. When you "carry" your club in inter-club matches, people soon forget they dislike you.