Husband home, Televised Sports at Risk of Breaking the Sound Barrier

I am not a sports lover.  In fact, I think I may have actually been crossed with a sloth at some point along the evolutionary time line.  I don't like moving fast. I was always the last kid picked for teams in school and the one who brought up the tail end of every race, even though I felt like I was running with the speed of wind.  I don't particpate in sporting events and I most certainly do not enjoy watching others bang, smash and bash each other into bloody heaps on the ground, court, ring or ice, whatever the case may be.
In spite of my own aversion to televised sports, the rest of my family ( except for one kid with a trace of sanity left), watches hockey.  While I do admire the skill it takes to particpate in a game that has managed to make it's way to the TV, I guess I just miss the point. So many times in my life, I have tried to garner an interest in the wretched sport, but have had no luck. It seems like a dreadful amount of time to me. This game has 60 official minutes of play time, barring the dreaded over time stints, yet it still takes 3 hours to complete.  There is an unbelievable amount of noise, as it would appear that every single move that is made, has to be shouted out to a group of people who are watching the very same thing. Do they not understand what they have just seen with their own eyes, without further explanation being given at top decibel?  Over and over and over again? It seems beyond foolish.
I have grown used to the sounds of hockey on TV though. It is basically a never ending steady drone of the sports casters voice that seems to last for about 10 months of the year. He lowers to a dull monotone like a steady, irritating drum beat, punctuated frequently with hollered predictions of where the puck will go. (If I were in the audience, the puck woud go directly to my forehead...but that's another story.(.  "He shoots...he scooooooores!!!!!" (cymbals crashing), or a dissappointed, "Blocked by the goalie" (toilet flushing).
Recently however, it would seem that the world of televised 'sports' has reached a new low. I have three, handsome, clean cut, intelligent son-in-laws, who, for reasons known only to them, are rabid fans of something called, "Ultimate Fighting".  It consists of pumped up young guys, who appear to have an uncontrolled self indulgence for anabolic steroid slurpy's and testosterone energy bars. The entire time this spectacle is on TV, the house is filled with a swirl of loud grunting and growling, flying beads of sweat and monosyllabic attempts at words.  And that is just my son-in-laws.
The young men who are actually on TV, have similar dispositions to the old time Vikings as they were lopping off your head, and scooping out your brains to drink meade from your skull.  War whoops, bulging viens, snarling threats, frothing at the mouth rage, all set to the pounding, rythmic thumping of a combination rap type music and tribal battle drumming.  There is no personal war involved, at least not for real, yet these two attack one another with the same ferocity as Michael Vick's, hideously abused, fighting dogs.  It's like these guys have been chained up, and starved for days, not quite able to reach one another, but close enough to snarl, snap, growl threats and strain against the end of the tether.  Then one day, when eveybody is ready for a blood bath, they undo the chains.
I swear to God, my civilized, presentable, well mannered son-in-laws are absolutely glued to the TV for this primitive display of chest beating, cave man theatrics. It boggles my mind.
Clearly, televised hockey has some stiff competition in it's quest for the capture and destruction of brain cells.  In sharp contrast, I would gladly surrender what was left of mine, for a good shoe sale and a Visa card that wasn't maxed out.