I've just read one of the most manly articles every, here's the climax of it all:
...
I’m ready. It doesn’t matter with who or where. On foot or on horseback. With maces or poleaxes. To fight. To first blood or to death. It doesn’t matter, I’m ready to fight.I went hunting. For bears. With a knife.
On whether people really hunt bears with knives:
Emelianenko: Yes, they do. A few years ago there was an unfortunate incident. One sportsman, a world champion in wrestling … what was he doing? Yes, he was putting a fork under the bear’s neck. [The practice of hunting bears with a knife involves, once the bear is in front of you, placing a long stick with a letter U-shaped end under the bear’s muzzle as it rears up to fight. Once the stick is in place, the bear isn’t able to bring its body down and the hunter stabs it a number of times, ideally killing it instantly.]And then the bear couldn’t attack him, and he was stabbing it under the ribs in the heart. And as he was stabbing it, that bear swung with its paw. It was dead already -- the paw was its last gasp with all its strength and basically took half of the wrestler’s head off. And of course the other hunters opened fire on the bear, but it was too late. He went to try his luck with a bear, and it didn’t come off.
For me everything is still fine. I’m OK. I’ve done it and it was OK. About half a year ago, it was in Russia, in Siberia. Everything was fine. I put the fork underneath him and stabbed him in the heart. And that was it. The other hunters dismembered, prepared the bear.
I want to go hunting in Africa now, with friends. I’ve been invited.
Upon reading that, even the frailest of nerds should instantly sprout chest hairs and a Grizzly Adams beard bloom.