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EDITOR’S NOTE: Freelance writer Bobbi Parry was new to mixed martial arts and ultimate fighting when 225 sent her to write about Capital City Carnage.

My editor called me not too long ago and asked if I wanted to attend a “really crazy” sporting event and write about it. “Sure,” I said, thinking to myself, “Ooh, Frisbee golf.”

He continued, “It’s ultimate fighting.”

Full disclosure time: I don’t even like boxing. I’ve always just assumed ultimate fighting is some sort of ultra-violent, ultra-cheesy, real-life video game. Any sport based around the number of kidney blows someone can sustain before tapping out is not the sport for me.

So I spent much of the next 24 hours trying to picture what an ultimate fight might look like. All I could think of was Mike Tyson biting off Evander Holyfield’s ear. I’m told this is inaccurate. No biting allowed—also, no gouging, no hair pulling and, most reassuringly, no head stomping.

“You’ll love it,” my friend Kristen assures me as we drive to the River Center for some Saturday night Capitol City Carnage. Kristen has been a fan of ultimate fighting for a while now. It’s exciting, she says, plus the fighters want to be there. They train for it. And some of them are hot.

The crowd at the River Center is not nearly as rowdy as I expect: Women in heels mingle with men sporting buzz cuts; everyone sips cups of beer and waits patiently for things to begin. Finally, the lights go down and the fights begin.

The first two last less than a round. Rather than burying my head in my lap after the first punches are thrown, I find myself on the edge of my seat. After a few swings, the fighters always seem to end up on the floor, grappling to pin each other and prompting people like the guy next to me to yell “Get up!”

By the third fight, I have abandoned all pretense of being disgusted, and my eyes alternate between the cage-stage and giant video monitors broadcasting the action up-close and personal for those of us in the $25 cheap seats. (Avid fans shelled out $65 to sit near the octagonal cage.)

One fighter keeps getting pinned by his opponent, whose fists fly at his head. “He’s not actually landing any good punches, though,” Kristen murmurs, and I realize she’s right. The fight goes round after round until the judges finally proclaim a winner. Half the crowd is on its feet.

At intermission, after a particularly dull fight involving a lot of wrestling, we decide we’ve seen enough. Although I’m leaving early, I have to admit Kristen was right. It was exciting. I’m still not entirely convinced it’s the sport for me, but when she tells me I should come to the next pay-per-view night, I don’t refuse.

Just as long as no one gets his ear bitten off.