Nightlife: Blood on the dance floor with Myth's Fight Club

People are always getting into fights in the clubs. But not like this.

Once a month at Myth -- that giant nightclub in Maplewood -- the dance floor disappears to make way for a big chain-link octagonal ring.

Friday night will be Fight Night once again. Some of the state's toughest SOBs will square off in brutal full-contact combat, just like they do on television's "Ultimate Fighting Championship" (UFC).

While critics call it human cockfighting, its followers prefer "mixed martial arts." One thing's for sure: People love it. Myth sold 1,400 tickets for its last fight. And the action doesn't come cheap. Most fans paid $25 for the cheapest general-admission ticket, while a few forked over as much as $3,000 for a VIP suite.

If your idea of full-contact fighting is two barbarians bludgeoning each other in a cage as rowdy boneheads cheer them on, then you haven't been to Myth. While they do attract enough Neanderthals to tackle a woolly mammoth, the fights, and the crowd, are more sophisticated than you'd expect.

There are even a lot of women, many of them dressed as if they were going out clubbing (which they are, sort of ). Not to be outdone, many guys sport those $45 designer Affliction T-shirts, popularized by UFC stars such as Chuck (The Iceman) Liddell and Quinton (Rampage) Jackson.

With the Myth's swanky decor and lighting, it can seem a lot like a Vegas fight, if you forget the fact that Myth sits next to a Toys 'R' Us store.

The cage itself is a smaller version of the UFC octagon, a large, menacing structure plastered with corporate ad logos. But instead of Budweiser and Harley-Davidson, the main sponsor here is the King of Diamonds strip club.

Fight Night has been running for two years at Myth, attracting a steady list of high rollers who often buy out the VIP booths along the second-level balcony. You'll see Vikings players and other club owners. At the last fight, Envy's Deepak Nath rolled up in a stretch Hummer with a large entourage.

You'll also find plenty of working professionals. Joe Vruno of Hugo was in the crowd at the last one. The 26-year-old, who runs an Internet marketing company, had never gone before -- he's only a casual fan, he said.

"I've always thought you would have to be on something to get inside that cage," Vruno said. He paused, then added:

"That's not to say deep down I don't wish I could do that. That'd be pretty sweet."