The Gloves Are Off: Is Bare-Knuckle Boxing the Future of Combat Sports?
David Feldman thumps his clenched right hand into his left palm and his eyes light up. Memories of a multi-million-dollar eureka moment turn his eyes into slot machines and he speaks with a visceral excitement. Feldman is explaining how he first heard about bare-knuckle fighting. He’d previously seen a few fights online – taking place in fields or in car parks – but here, on 6 August 2011, at the Fort McDowell Casino in Arizona, and in a bout sanctioned by the 950-member Native American tribe the Yavapai Nation, Feldman watched as infamous bare-knuckler Bobby Gunn landed his naked fist flush on the face of his opponent. Rather than hearing the crunching of bone on bone, Feldman heard cash registers.
‘It was bang, and I was like, “Wow. They’ll love that,”’ says Feldman, with the wistfulness of an addict recalling his first hit.
Feldman had been involved in combat sports his whole life. His dad, Marty, was a Philadelphia boxing promoter and trainer who coached several world champions. David even had a handful of professional boxing fights himself. But rather than pursue a career in the sweet science, Feldman went to college, with ambitions of becoming a lawyer, though he eventually settled on buying a bar.
‘That did really well, made a lot of money. [Then] I blew it, went out of business, bought another bar,’ he says. But he knew he wanted something different. Almost inevitably, he became a fight promoter and, having heard that orchestral sound of bone piercing soft tissue, Feldman went in search of another high.
‘About six months later, I was doing live events in Arizona and I asked the casino if I could do a bare-knuckle fight. They said yes. We had an amateur MMA card, one bare-knuckle fight; 5,500 tickets sold, it had 700,000 views on the streaming site, and I was like, “Man, this is unbelievable, we’ve hit the jackpot.”’
The bare-knuckle bout fell outside the remit of major state athletic commissions, but its popularity was undeniable. ‘The streaming site broke down. It couldn’t take the action,’ Feldman adds. ‘We didn’t make any money, but I was like, “You know what? That’s okay. People loved it. Let me go on to the next state and get it sanctioned.”’
This proved to be easier said than done. State after state around the USA didn’t want to know. Despite the success of his one-fight stand, 28 rejections from around the United States followed.
Bare-knuckle boxing had been outlawed since 1889, but in 2017, Brian Pedersen, athletic commissioner in Wyoming, entertained Feldman and listened to his proposals. On 2 June 2018, the Bare Knuckle Fighting Championship (BKFC) began.
Night one, at the Cheyenne Ice and Events Center, delivered everything Feldman ever hoped it would. ‘I wanted an unbelievable women’s fight, [and I] got one,’ he smiles. ‘I wanted a one-punch knockout – bang, one-punch knockout. I wanted to have the best fight they’d ever seen and guess what? We had the best fight they’d ever seen. Two guys were busted open and the crowd was going wild. We were trending number one on Twitter. It was an awesome event.’
Punching Up
There were two more shows in 2018, five in 2019 and six events in 2020. In 2024, there will be 42 shows, throughout six countries and many US states.
The sport has gone international in a big way, too, with the likes of Ultimate Bare Knuckle Boxing and Bare Knuckle Boxing boasting rosters of fighters and their own distribution deals in the UK. But it’s fair to say the BKFC is where the real action is at, and at 53, Feldman is essentially the owner of the fastest-growing combat sport in the world.
Next year, the BKFC has plans for fights across 10 countries, and while bare-knuckle boxing is not yet legal in either of the world’s fight epicentres, Nevada or New York, Feldman believes they’ll be next to fall in line. ‘We’re having very good conversations with both, and I think just with the momentum, with the data, with the amount of tickets we sell, with the revenue we’re creating, I just don’t see [them] saying no to us any more.’
Scott Burt is the president of the Bare Knuckle Boxing Hall of Fame, based in Belfast in upstate New York. He’s also a retired teacher who helped BKFC early in its journey, though they have since parted ways. The bare-knuckle historian has noted the sport’s rise in popularity and has seen several federations spring up, including BYB Extreme Bare Knuckle, with which he is now associated.
‘Bare-knuckle’s re-emerged because people have been educated,’ Burt reasons. ‘They thought it was a terrible, terrible sport. A gruelling, brutal sport. Of all combat sports, bare-knuckle has been proven – and the people now know it – as the least invasive. I hate to use the word “safest”, but that’s what they understand it as.’
Safety is obviously not the first thing that comes to mind when people think about bare-knuckle fighting. Traditionally, people have associated the sport with burst eyes pumping blood like geysers, or rough and ready amateurs tossing wild, uncouth bombs with their stringer vests covered in freshly spewed claret. But times have changed.
‘There’s no question it will get mainstream,’ Burt insists. ‘Every 20 to 30 years there’s a taste in the fans’ mouths for something new and different. This is not new – but it is to today’s world.’
The Fight Game
Plenty of fighters in BKFC are doing very well for themselves. Veteran boxers and former UFC fighters have discovered a place to land when they have found options limited elsewhere, while the BKFC has also created its own stars, including Mike Perry – a 32-year-old from Michigan, divisive for his cocksure personality and various controversies.
‘I’m the face of the fight game, the king of violence right here,’ Perry tells Men’s Health, brashly. ‘I want to be respected for the intensity that I bring in the squared circle.’ But his reputation brings its own pressures, he says. ‘That title is always on the line. I have work to do. There’s lots of people looking at me, a lot of young kids and young men.’ He concedes that he hasn’t always presented himself in the best light. ‘But sometimes I just try to be silly, because I don’t know what to say and I try to make something funny out of it.’
The noise around Perry was arguably what got him his boxing match against Jake Paul (see p88), which took place in July 2024. Prior to that bout, he was the BKFC’s franchise fighter, with a record that read 5-0. However, in the aftermath of his humbling knockout defeat to Paul, Perry – who had announced he was starting his own ‘Dirty Boxing’ championships – was cut from the BKFC roster, fired on X by new BKFC co-owner Conor McGregor. Doubtless, he fights on, but wherever he ends up, like every combat sports athlete, he’ll be exposing himself to risk: from cuts and bruises to broken bones, concussions and chronic traumatic encephalopathy (CTE).
BKFC fighters compete in a circular, four-rope ring and, based on Broughton rules from the 19th century, they must ‘toe the line’, meaning they begin the fight and each subsequent round face-to-face and in close proximity toone another. Competitors are not allowed to wrap their hands within an inch of the knuckle. The belief is that the rules encourage fast-paced and exciting contests.
‘Last year, the Association of Boxing Commissions accepted unanimously unified bare-knuckle boxing rules,’ says Canada-based combat sports regulatory lawyer Erik Magraken. ‘With the template in place, it’s easy for new states to legalise the sport so people don’t have to reinvent the wheel. From a brain-injury perspective, I always thought bare-knuckle was interesting because what works in boxing offensively and defensively doesn’t necessarily work in bare-knuckle boxing. It truly is its own sport.’
Boxers can use their gloves to parry, block and cover. Bare-knucklers are not afforded the same defensive luxuries, and without the gloves to protect the hands and cushion blows, Magraken contends early data indicates bare-knucklers could be less likely than boxers to suffer from long-term brain damage.
‘You’re only going to spar so much with the gloves, and if you’re honing your skills without gloves on, you’re not going to be taking any hits to the head because you’re going to be damaging your hands or you’re going to be damaging your face,’ he adds.
Magraken’s opinion is supported by sports doctor Brian Sutterer, who also says there’s an easy explanation for bare-knuckle boxing’s gory image. ‘Gloves pad the sharp edges of your knuckles,’ he says, ‘so without gloves you’re more likely to cause tears and cuts in the skin.
‘Think of it like how much an elbow can cut someone. There’s minimal padding over the point of your elbow, so that’s why it leads to such a high chance of causing a cut. Without gloves, there’s no padding to minimise that sheer force from the knuckles of the hand.’
BKFC contests are scheduled for five two-minute rounds. Astonishingly, the data shows that instances of hand fractures are lower in bare-knuckle than regular boxing.
‘Gloves are a weapon,’ Magraken adds. ‘And people believe them to be a safety product. They are a safety product – to protect your hands. And when you protect your hands you’ve now weaponised your fists so you can punch harder, punch more recklessly and more frequently.’
Saved by the Bell
Austin ‘No Doubt’ Trout, 38, a cultured left-hander from Houston, Texas, had some huge nights as a light-middleweight boxer, defeating Puerto Rican legend Miguel Cotto but losing to Mexican great Saul ‘Canelo’ Álvarez. With his boxing career nearing an end, he accepted an offer to fight in BKFC and, in just his second ungloved match, he wiped out the company’s top fighter, Luis Palomino, in February.
‘They say he was the man,’ Trout grins. ‘I beat the man, so my maths says I’m the man.’
Comparing the sports, Trout continues, ‘How do I put this? Bare-knuckle is a new game, although it has boxing in it. But bare-knuckle is more of a strike first, survive second. Boxing is more survive first, strike second, so it’s kind of shifting your intentions. Are you trying to win on points or are you trying to beat this person up?’
Trout has had 43 bouts as a former world champion boxer and just two as a bare-knuckler. These days, he spars once a week with half-kilo gloves and headgear on, with another two lighter, tactical sparring sessions wearing fingerless MMA gloves. He reckons Terence Crawford and Regis Prograis could cut it in bare-knuckle but doesn’t think it’s for every boxer.
‘To be able to hide behind the gloves is a big deal,’ Trout admits. ‘You can’t just put your hands up and take shots like you could with gloves on. With bare-knuckle, you also can’t really put your everything into a punch or you’re just going to obliterate your hand. There is a little bit of pulling back.’
Trout talks about the BKFC crowd as having a similar energy to that of a big fight in Las Vegas or Madison Square Garden in New York, but he acknowledges fight-night feelings are distinctive.
‘The ring walk is even different,’ Trout goes on. ‘I have to get into a kill-or-be-killed mindset for bare-knuckle. It’s a different mindset altogether. Boxing, I know I have the skills and experience to coast with anyone. In bare-knuckle, that ring walk is like you’re going to have a fight after school, and you already see that circle of kids waiting for you. It’s similar to that, like, “Shit, I talked all that trash and I kinda don’t want to go through with this now, but I’ve got to.”’
While Trout is by no means closing the door on a return to boxing should a marketable opportunity arise, his future seems financially brighter with BKFC. Being in at the ground level of the sport’s origins, he believes he can become a pioneer and sees the UFC’s first fighters as examples to follow.
‘Like Ken Shamrock or Royce Gracie, the beginning days of the UFC, I want to be known as that,’ Trout states. ‘I did my thing in boxing and I’m very proud of my accolades, but my energy is focused more on BKFC because I believe I have the tools and the longevity to become a legend in this and a pioneer. Put my name on the Mount Rushmore.’
Ringside Seat
What Feldman has created isn’t just a niche. He’s reinvented an old sport, found a marketplace and an audience, as well as establishing rules and regulations. He’s even built his own structure, the circular ring that hosts the contests.
The promoter has had cancer twice, and he’s experienced both wins and losses in life. His father was old-school and physical, and his mother was beaten so badly by one of her boyfriends that she spent the rest of her life in a wheelchair. Feldman has counselling to cope with his trauma, to try to help him locate a peace he doubts he will ever be able to find.
‘I said the oldest sport in the world becomes the newest sport in the world,’ Feldman goes on. ‘That’s how I billed it. It’s been around forever but we put a new twist on it.’
The financial investment of MMA and pop culture icon Conor McGregor as a co-owner captured further headlines for the sport this year. In April, McGregor went to a BKFC event that saw two of his old foes, Chad Mendes and Eddie Alvarez, face off. From there, McGregor was hooked, and Feldman said to him, ‘Look, let’s be a major player in this field. And he said, “Let’s do it.”’
It’s been a wild ride for Feldman. He’s an erratic extrovert and highly unconventional, but that has unquestionably brought him to where he is. ‘I’m probably a little bit crazy,’ he chuckles. ‘I think I take a lot of chances. I just go for it and see where it lands.’
A final question: do people know the real David Feldman? ‘I’m definitely misunderstood, but I’ll be understood sooner or later,’ he says. ‘People who know me, some of the fighters, they dig me, they get me, they understand me, and some of my friends really get me.If you don’t, you can say I’m an asshole and that’s okay. I’m okay with that. The one thing I really learned through this journey is as long as they’re talking, it’s great. At first, every bad word I was like, “Why are they saying that?” Now I’m like, “Man, they’re talking.”’
They’re tuning in, too – watching, waiting, listening, preparing to hear the noise of bone and flesh that brought this sleeping giant of combat sports back to life.
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