Feeding off scraps in the desert of documentaries

TV View: Is it any wonder sports-crazed channel hoppers can feel a bit like fast-food junkies? When it comes to sport, our TV screens are mainly filled with a diet of live, quick-fix matches (of whatever code) that might get the adrenalin flowing but, let's face it, hardly test the old brain cells. The dearth of good sports documentaries is appalling, writes Philip Reid.

Anyway, for those with insomniac tendencies, the satellite channel Bravo at least attempted to stave off the hunger with a short and not-so-sweet documentary series last week called Ultimate Warriors. It examined such niceties as unlicensed boxing in Britain to backyard wrestling in the US and, most interestingly, the phenomenon in Japan that is the Pride Fighting Championship, which attracts up to 90,000 spectators to its live fights.

Certainly, those "athletes", for want of a better term, who participate in this spectacle must need their heads examined. The rules of engagement are simple - 1, no groin strikes; 2, no eye gouging; 3, no hair pulling.

Otherwise, anything goes; and the footage used from numerous fights proved it. As the narrator Anthony Green told us, "it's the closest thing to all-out street fighting" you will find.

Granted, the fighters wear gloves - akin to boxing gloves, but lighter and less padded - but the all-out intensity of the exchanges is frightening.

The ideal fighter for this form of warfare, we were informed, is someone who can combine elements of many different disciplines and martial arts, from Brazilian jiu-jitsu to Russian sambo to Thai boxing to pro wrestling to tae-kwon-do.

Fighters include men like Ken Shamrock, the self-styled "Most Dangerous Man in the World" and Don "The Predator" Frye.

When these two came up against each other, Frye suffered a broken leg - in the last round, when Shamrock got him in a lock and he refused to submit - but still won a split decision.

In one contest known as Pride Shockwave, the Brazilian fighter Antonio Rodrigo Noguiera - "the best pound-for-pound fighter in the world", apparently - took on an American by the name of Bob Sapp, known as "The Beast".

Sapp is a former American football linebacker who played in the NFL but had his career shortened by injury. He is an imposing man, 6ft3 ins and 25 stone. He was persuaded to take up extreme fighting and in only his second fight was pitched in against the unbeatable Noguiera. The fight ended only when the Brazilian, with both eyes closed, managed to get Sapp into a lock and it was a case of "either quit, or suffer a broken arm". Sapp submitted, but became the biggest draw in Japanese sport.

Once, when he emerged from his chauffeur-driven car outside a hotel, a riot ensued as 5,000 people converged on their hero.

This giant of a man has milked his new-found fame for all its worth. "In 10 months here (in Japan)," he told us, "I've had four fights, done 14 commercials, conducted over 1,000 interviews, and made 200 television appearances."

For good measure, he is also the subject of three books.

These all-out, no-holds-barred brawls take place in front of sell-out crowds, a contrast to the murkier world of unlicensed boxing, which featured in another episode of the series.

Here, we were introduced to Roy "Pretty Boy" Shaw, who ruled this discipline two and a half decades ago. Now 67, he recalled, "My doctor once told me 'there'll be no cure for you, you'll always be a nutter'."

He still gets into the ring for a workout.

The unlicensed boxing world in Britain has a large following, but not the glitz or massive crowds Pride attracts in Japan.

It's a tough old station in the unlicensed boxing world - and some bouts would have you run for cover behind the armchair. So, why do they do it?

"You have 400 people screaming your name, you can't beat it," said one pugilist.

"You can't beat the buzz," said another monosyllabic fighter.

"You've got something to tell the grandkids," said another.

But, according to the shaven-headed, pinstriped promoter, "the boys do it because they get the glamour, they get the razzmatazz . . . their posters go up in local pubs, in local cafes. They're like local heroes."

Strange old world, all the same.