You have to plan ahead if you’re going to participate in a bare-knuckle boxing match. There are certain things you need to think about, questions you must ask yourself. These questions may include but are not limited to:

• How do I condition my hands, these precious instruments filled with many small bones and necessary ligaments, into senseless, blunt weapons?

• If I come home from this fight with a different face, as some bare-knuckle boxers have, will my partner still love me?

• What was I thinking when I agreed to this, and what could have possibly made it seem like a good idea?

MMA media personality Ben “The Bane” Davis asked himself all these questions and more. The answers he came up with were, if not perfect, at least satisfactory. Then the next thing he knew he was walking out into a bull ring in Marbella, Spain, with pyrotechnic effects going off near his head and Conor McGregor watching him from ringside and suddenly it all began to feel a bit surreal.

“The pyrotechnics were surprising,” Davis said shortly after his fight with fellow MMA media personality Oscar Willis at BKFC: Spain on Saturday. “I didn’t know they were going to do that. But still, the walkout, that part went great. Absolutely crushed the walkout. It was just the fight part that needed work.”

And sure, we’ll get to that part. But first it’s important to understand how and why the Bare Knuckle Fighting Championship ended up putting this fight on. Six and a half years after holding its first event at local ice rink in Cheyenne, Wyoming, BKFC was in a bull ring in Spain with McGregor doing the intro on a live broadcast via DAZN.

As a combat sports organization, in other words, BKFC has come a ways. But like every other player in this sector of the attention economy, it also still faces the challenge of finding new ways to draw eyeballs to its product. The sheer reality of what this is — two humans stripped to the waist, punching each other with bare fists and sharp knuckles that slice open one another’s faces — works as a selling point only so far. Some people come for the blood, others for the curiosity. There’s a certain taboo thrill to these fights, that wet meat smack of bare fists on blood-soaked faces. But once you’ve seen a few of them, the novelty wears off. Then the promoter must find some fresh lure to keep the fish biting.

This is one area in which David Feldman, BKFC’s founder and president, has really excelled. As a viewer, you think you’ve seen what you need to see and scratched the bare-knuckle itch. Then BKFC will announce something new. Maybe it’s a legit former boxing champ making the transition to bare-knuckle. Or maybe it’s another former UFC fighter giving it a try and becoming the next person in line to get pummeled by Mike Perry. Maybe it’s even a couple media guys with the exact mix of crazy and brave required to do this.

Whatever it takes, then you’re pulled back in. In this way, Feldman has beaten the odds and not only kept his startup fight promotion alive, but something close to thriving.

“We should have been out of business 10 times so far,” Feldman said. “We really should have been. We found ways to keep it going, to get investors involved, to sell more tickets, to sell more sponsors, to get some bigger deals, and then ultimately to get Conor McGregor involved.”

McGregor announced in April that he’d become part owner of BKFC. Neither party has disclosed exact details of that deal, but according to Feldman the former UFC champ now owns a significant equity stake in the company, and with that comes a seat at the table and a role in the decision-making process.

Having McGregor as a partner is a little like being strapped to a rocket. Yes, it could blast off and take you to new heights, but you might not always get to decide where that ride is headed. This part was evident in the ring following Saturday’s BKFC main event in which Franco Tenaglia defeated Tony Soto via decision. The fight impressed McGregor so much that he seized the microphone from Feldman and announced that both fighters would receive double their contracted purses for the effort, plus an additional bonus. The look on Feldman’s face in that moment suggested a species of surprise that comes with some difficult math.

But with McGregor comes the spotlight. His fame and money also lend an instant credibility that has been helpful when courting sponsors, according to Feldman.

“[McGregor] is not going to get involved with some rinky-dink company or a company he thinks is going to fail,” Feldman said. “He’s not going to do that. Just for his reputation, his ego and his perception, he’s not going to do that. He sees where this thing can go. We’ve grown substantially just since he’s been on.”

Does that mean BKFC is turning a profit? Not exactly. At least not yet. Feldman estimates the company is “four to six months from profitability,” with a five-pronged revenue pie that consists of live event ticket sales, domestic and international broadcast rights fees, sponsorships, a mobile app and merchandise.

“We have profitable events,” Feldman said. “We have events that aren’t profitable.

"I’m not going to give you all my numbers, but since year one, 2018, we’ve doubled our revenue year over year over year. This year we went up about 150%, and we’re projecting a 200% [increase] in 2025.”

It’s the money out rather than in that’s raised some eyebrows lately. For his main event bout at BKFC Knucklemania IV in April, the former UFC welterweight Perry made a disclosed $600,000 flat fee. That’s more than the disclosed pay for many UFC champions. It’s also likely more than Perry would have made in several years worth of fighting for the UFC under his last contract. And while Perry is an outlier as arguably BKFC’s biggest star, he’s far from the only one receiving six-figure payouts.

Former UFC heavyweight Ben Rothwell made a disclosed $150,000 for his win over Todd Duffee on that same Knucklemania card. It’s money like that, in fact, which helped him talk his wife into supporting this as a post-MMA career.

“At first she was like, ‘Absolutely not,’” Rothwell said. “But the contract is a flat rate. That’s very appealing. You’re not fighting for show and win money, wondering how much you’re actually going to get. It’s already exceeding what I was making to win in the UFC.”

Rothwell exited the UFC in 2022. He had one fight left on his contract and the promotion wanted him to face former light heavyweight title contender Alexander Gustafsson. Rothwell wasn’t opposed to the idea, he said, but he wanted to know what laid on the other side of that fight. If he beat Gustafsson and looked good doing it, he asked the UFC, would they sit down to discuss a new contract? The answer he got was of the we’ll see variety, which prompted him to ask for his release instead. In a rare act of acquiescence, the UFC gave it to him. At the time, he didn’t think his next stop would be bare-knuckle boxing.

“I’m not going to lie, when [BKFC] first came out, I was like, what is this stuff?” Rothwell said. “I was like everybody else. I thought it probably wouldn’t last. I didn’t really watch it. Then I got shown this contract and I thought, 'Oh wow, this is serious.' I’ve become a fan and promoter for it ever since.”

Most people think of bare-knuckle as especially dangerous and extreme, but according to Rothwell there are many aspects of the sport that are easier on the body than MMA was. Training camps for his UFC fights were grueling on his joints. His neck, his back, even small joints like fingers and toes felt the rising cost of repeated trauma on the mats.

The damage from bare-knuckle tends to be more surface-level, which is not to say that it’s insignificant.

“My first [BKFC] fight, I go in and hit the guy 15 times, he goes down, I’m like, 'Hey, this is great,'” Rothwell said. “But my second fight, I go three rounds with Josh Copeland who, wow, I’d love to know how many times I hit that man. He was so tough. But he caught me with one punch in the first 10 seconds that sliced me open. One of the worst cuts I’ve had. In 17 fights with the UFC, I had a couple good cuts, but this was probably the biggest one I’ve had in my career, and from a punch that barely hit me.”

Then there’s the damage to one’s own hands. Rothwell still has a scar from where another man’s tooth went through his knuckle.

“I had to go to the ER and, I mean, a human bite, they freak out,” Rothwell said. “So it's like I literally had a hole right in my knuckle. I felt that. I couldn’t use my hands for a few weeks. When you’re fighting MMA, even with those small gloves, it makes a big difference. Your hands take so much more abuse in this. It’s hard to get your knuckles used to it, and you definitely feel that after the fights.”

Abe Kawa of First Round Management represents Rothwell and Perry, among others. He’s quick to point out that while some fighters are well-suited for success in a promotion like BKFC, not every MMA fighter’s skill set and personality will translate so well.

“What I tell guys is, grow your brand and get eyeballs,” Kawa said. “That’s all they care about. They care about getting eyeballs on the fights. If you can do that and be a phenomenal fighter? Then you’re going to make a lot of money there. Then you’re Mike Perry.”

Perry, at least so far, has been the best-case scenario of the bare-knuckle world. Perry exited the UFC in 2021 after two straight losses and slew of negative headlines that included domestic violence allegations and multiple fights in bars and restaurants. He landed in a promotion called Triad Combat later that year for a mixed-rules bout that almost no one seems to remember. He seemed well on his way to being a combat sports footnote until he landed in BKFC in 2022.

There, Perry’s blend of unapologetic infamy and sheer brawlability fit perfectly. He’s now fought five times in BKFC, winning every bout and beating former UFC champs like Luke Rockhold and Eddie Alvarez. His style seems like it was made for a blood-and-guts sport like bare-knuckle boxing. In the narrow confines of the circular BKFC ring, his eagerness to slug it out in close and his complete indifference to absorbing damage form an ideal blend. It’s as if, before BKFC existed, Perry waited for it.

“I can tell you, the top guys like Mike? [BKFC] is really paying those guys well,” Kawa said. “Now, are they fighting three times a year? No, but that’s OK. It’s maybe not as consistent as it could be, but when you’re making really good money, you can deal with that.”

But as BKFC continues to grow and take on new investors, Kawa pointed out, the nature of the operation necessarily changes. According to Feldman, the increased funding is more gas for the car, allowing the promotion to push further and do more. But when it comes to negotiating fighter contracts, Kawa said, that can sometimes translate into more restrictions.

“Before, you could maybe go in there and negotiate a bigger purse because it was just you and Dave [Feldman],” Kawa said. “Now Dave has people he has to answer to, so it’s a little different.”

As BKFC tries to grow, the regulatory side of the picture becomes both more important and also increasingly easier. When the promotion started in 2018, it did so in Wyoming for one simple reason: It was the only state to say yes to bare-knuckle boxing. According to Feldman, 28 states turned him down prior to that.

“Some of them turned me down three or four times, actually,” Feldman said. “Pennsylvania, my home state, just legalized me two weeks ago.

"I did a call with a couple commissioners today and after I hung up I just went, 'Man, this guy literally told me to go eff myself for five straight years and now we’re talking two or three times a week.' It’s crazy.”

Andy Foster, the executive director of the California State Athletic Commission, was initially against bare-knuckle boxing. He began to change his mind once the Association of Boxing Commissions adopted a set of rules to govern it, but his commission still had a steep learning curve to adjust to once BKFC started putting on events in California earlier this year.

“In my mind, I thought I was prepared for the number of lacerations,” Foster said. “But then when you actually start doing it and seeing it, it was definitely different than boxing or mixed martial arts or kickboxing or Muay Thai. It's its own thing.”

For one thing, Foster said, the fights can often be shorter than in other combat sports, but with more damage done. The cuts also appear in different places and forms on the face, which can make stitching them up more challenging.

“You want to make sure you have some very well-trained physicians — and that’s plural, because you need more than one — working these things,” Foster said. “They have to really know what they’re doing, and so do the referees.”

All of which brings us back around to Ben “The Bane” Davis, who went into his BKFC fight with some concerns about how the integrity of his skull would hold up. He already had his next on-camera commentary gig lined up, and was really hoping he wouldn’t have to do it with a face that looked like an old baseball.

“Both my parents were very concerned and couldn’t comprehend what motivated me to make this decision,” Davis said. “And that feeling extended to my girlfriend, my friends. No one in my immediate circle was like, 'Yes, we think this is a good idea for you, Ben.'”

Still, when his opponent Willis came to him with the suggestion that they meet in a bare-knuckle boxing match, Davis couldn’t resist. He’d already fought in boxing, Karate Combat, and submission grappling. His participatory journalism-type approach to fight sports has some risks, he admitted, but he remained “more afraid of not turning over every rock” than he was of the physical damage.

“At the same time, I really hope I still have all my teeth after this,” he said.

Turns out, his teeth were safe. So there is that consolation. But after Willis blitzed him with punch combinations right away, it wasn’t long before Davis found himself planted on the mat. From here, things got even more surreal.

“The first knockdown was over by where [McGregor] was sitting,” Davis said. “As I was getting up I made eye contact with him and he says to me, ‘You’ve got to keep your chin tucked, mate!’ I was like, 'You know what? Thanks.' And then I got up.”

Davis got knocked down three more times in the first round before the fight was called off. A disappointing result, he admitted, especially because he was hoping to at least make the second round. Willis outweighed him, and there was a noticeable power difference once they started exchanging blows.

“I mean, I’m going to sound like a b****, but it hurt more than I thought it was going to,” Davis said. “He hits like a truck. I expected it to be painful. I mean, you’re bare-knuckle boxing. But a couple times there I got clocked and just thought, ‘Jesus, this sucks.’”

He emerged with his face bruised and swollen, but not scarred. His hands hurt, but weren’t shattered. He was disappointed, but still earned some respect from both the fellow keyboard warriors as well as fighters like McGregor, who brought both men to the center of the ring and raised their hands in unison. McGregor even leaned in to whisper some encouraging words, though Davis couldn’t quite catch them.

“I’m not going to lie, I was a bit concussed there, so I couldn’t tell you what he said, but it seemed positive,” Davis said.

And while he might not have gotten a Mike Perry-sized payday, Davis was “very content” with his payout for the fight, he said. It seemed to be an arrangement that worked out for everyone. Davis got to check one more fight sports experience off his list while also pocketing some cash. BKFC got to leverage his online fame and used the sheer spectacle of the thing to help rope in some more viewers for its first event on DAZN.

More eyeballs on the product. Another successful attempt at finding creative ways to convince people to watch. Maybe it’s the only way you get from the ice rink in Wyoming to the bull ring in Spain in a little over six years. Where it goes next remains to be seen. But at least for now, McGregor and his money will be going with it.