Twenty-year-old Brandon Kress's nine minutes of fame lasted only ten seconds. It was only his second Rage in the Cage fight at Glendale Arena, but the West Virginia scrapper with tattoos and a spiked Mohawk had fought enough street brawls to propel him confidently into the chain-link cage.

Ten thousand Valley residents yelled and shouted as Richie Reyes, a shorter, tank-built brawler bounced nonchalantly on the other side of the cage. Like most Rage in the Cage fighters, Reyes trains at a mixed martial arts academy. Humanly speaking, only two things can stop him: a better opponent or a referee.

The bell rings.

Two seconds: The skinnier, tattooed Mohawk makes a quick step at his shorter opponent and throws a jab.

Four seconds: Reyes' gray eyes are calm and quick. He steps aside from the jab and uncoils one of his own. Reyes' glove misses Mohawk's cheek, a misdirected bullet.

Eight seconds: The young West Virginia fighter stumbles backward, bites his mouth guard and attacks with another face hit. He misses and overextends.

Nine seconds: Before Mohawk even realizes he has opened his position, Reyes' right fist explodes into his temple, just above his cheekbone. The force whips Mohawk's neck backward, and like a tree snapped by a hurricane, his body follows. Mohawk's head hits the ground before his feet land.

Ten seconds: Mohawk squirms sideways in a loose fetal position, unable to stand. The crowd stands as quickly as he fell, more than 10,000 roaring in approval -- the first knockout of the night.

All the Rage

This is fight number seven, the shortest of tonight's 12 all-out combats, each caged in a chain-link octagon, encircled by judges, nearly-naked ring girls and a growing number of blood-thirsty, testosterone-craving Valley fighting fans. Tonight Glendale Arena has a culture all its own, part of a greater rage now fighting its way across Arizona and the nation.

Scottsdale resident and Rage in the Cage (RITC) organizer Roland Sarria promotes the event as "family friendly." Some may disagree, but the packed arena is testimony to cage fighting's march toward wider acceptance. Upper-middle-class fighters and fans are evidence of its shift into cultural recognition. Tonight two of the fighters, many of the fans and the organizer himself all make their homes in Scottsdale.

RITC lures eager brawlers, most of them under 25, who sacrifice themselves for nine minutes in the cage and a few hundred bucks. First-time viewers may think it's a no-rules fight to the death, but many fighters consider it a safe workout, a paycheck and a prideful skills check.

Riding the popularity of the Las Vegas-based Ultimate Fighting Championship, RITC is one of numerous brawling venues where fighters pit boxing against karate, Jiu-Jitsu and kickboxing and where confident street fighters meet trained martial artists.

The Vegas-based Ultimate Fighting Championship broadcasts its fights from the MGM Grand to millions of Spike TV viewers. Arizona-based RITC, which is now broadcast on UPN 45, hopes to follow suit. July's RITC set a record 8,000 in attendance. Tonight's August fight: more than 10,000.

Behind the Rage: The Locker Room

Twenty-four scheduled fighters are in the arena tonight. At any one time about half of them can be found in the locker room. Some are putting on shoes or taking off clothes to make weight. Others are shuffling papers; each needs to pass a doctor's physical exam, an HIV blood test and a vision test before stepping into the cage. Many know each other and hold no ill will for their fighting foes. In fact, some will go get a beer together after tonight's fights. That is, the ones still able to walk.

Michelle Farrow, the queen of cage fighting in Arizona, sits in the corner of the locker room. A computer programmer by day, here she serves as a tough mama figure. "You still need to see the doctor," she says, directing a skinny, bald fighter checking on his paperwork status. At 37, Farrow is an undefeated women's cage fighting champion and the only woman in the world, she claims, to own a men's fighting training facility.

Farrow says Arizona's rules keep things fairly tame, nothing like an "unsupervised," no-gloves New Mexico fight she won a few years back. Her opponent barely survived. Without the rules, she boasts, "You can really mess someone up."

In the Octagon

Many in this crowd of 10,000 have always cheered loudly when encouraging a fight. Tonight they hardly have to yell. For the price of admission they get to watch 12 beat downs back-to-back, interrupted only by ring girls and an occasional intermission.

Scottsdale physician Jerry Josen, with a trimmed beard and glasses, appears to be an unanticipated break from the seemingly-stereotypical crowd. He's sitting with his wife in his $100 front-row seat. A quick glance around reveals that he isn't the only person breaking the stereotype. Two of the fighters and the event organizer drove the 101 here from North Scottsdale, where each works a professional day job. Another fighter works as a commercial real estate developer in the East Valley.

Josen says he started attending the fights after a fighter came to him with an ear injury, nearly a year ago. As Josen speaks, Scottsdale resident Robert Davis is throwing powerful kicks to the ears of his shorter opponent in the cage.

Davis, 31, has been a Valley resident for eight years. "I'm an older guy in this sport," the former kick boxer says after the fight.

"My co-workers are usually really surprised. Most people are if they aren't exposed to it," Davis says of the employees at the upscale senior care facility where he works. He says RITC has come a long way since his first fight in 1998. "Now Rage in the Cage is getting so much bigger that people are recognizing," he adds.

As for brutality, Davis says RITC is less violent than professional boxing or kickboxing. "For me, I've watched boxing all my life. In my opinion, you take a lot less damage in mixed martial arts, period. In my limited experience in a boxing match or kickboxing match it may take 10 punches to take a guy down. In cage fighting it's only going to take one. Arizona's rules are good, in my opinion," he says.

Regulating the Rage

Fighter Michelle Farrow says that since the boxing commission took over RITC in 2000, fighters can actually carry out more violence. Before, a fighter's bleeding eyebrow or dripping nose would halt a fight. Now the HIV tests mean a fighter's blood can smear across the back or ribs of his opponent, and the fight continues.

"I've never seen an ongoing, life-changing injury from cage fighting," the eight-year veteran says. Farrow has seen a dislocated shoulder, a broken ankle and a lot of stitches. But nothing, she adds, as life-changing as boxing.

"Just look at Muhammed Ali," another fighter adds from the other end of the locker room. "We take a lot less hits to the head." Other fighters in the room agree; they're simply athletes, working for money or kicks or both.

Later this night one of those confident athletes will take his place on a stretcher and into an ambulance bound for the hospital. The 19-year-old "headhunter" collapsed after losing a nine-minute fight by judges' decision. Neither he nor his 40-year-old opponent Bob Calnin completely leveled the other. In such fights, the judges decide who controlled the violence, awarding points for headshots, escape maneuvers and other scoring criteria.

And the judges must have called it right; the young fighter's hospital stay lasted through the weekend.

Wrestling Stereotypes

Like the medical doctor in the front row, Bob Calnin doesn't fit the simple-minded assumption that all cage fighters and fans are lost boys with nothing but testosterone to pay the bills. The successful Valley real estate developer doesn't need money from fighting, and at 40, he's no boy.

Under boxing commission rules, fighters older than 36 must prove they are physically capable of defending themselves. Calnin obviously passed the test. His nine-minute fight with an opponent 21 years his junior nearly leveled him.

"I haven't ever been that exhausted from a fight," Calnin says of the brawl. Later Calnin, who holds a masters degree from Purdue, adds, "I think cage fighting in general is becoming more and more mainstream. Look at the celebrities at any UFC event. I think it's becoming popular because it's the age-old question, 'Who's the best fighter?' Now we have a venue to see who the best athletes are."

Calnin moved to Arizona several years ago to work with longtime Valley real estate investor Ralph Risoli. Now the two are planning multiple residential home developments. "It's not just appealing to people who hang out at tattoo parlors and dress in black. It's got a pretty broad base," Calnin says, telling the story of a successful commercial Realtor who recognized his face from the televised fights.

"I see a lot of white collar people picking up martial arts," Calnin adds. "Fighting has helped me in my investment and business life. There are so many parallels: you need a definitive game plan, surround yourself with good people who will help you in weak areas. Do everything in your power to position things in your favor. Be tenacious. Never quit. Never give up."