Latest news with #Batey
The Star
4 days ago
- Entertainment
- The Star
Techie testosterone
WALKING into the crowded hotel conference room, Andrew Batey looked like any other tech guy attending ETHDenver, an annual cryptocurrency conference. A venture capital investor based in Florida, Batey wore a black sweatshirt emblazoned with the logos of more than a dozen crypto companies, with names like LunarCrush and bitSmiley. Batey, however, was at the conference not to network with fellow crypto enthusiasts but to fight one of them – live on YouTube. At the hotel, a short drive from the conference convention centre, he was preparing for his official weigh-in, the final step before a fight the next evening in an arena packed with crypto colleagues. Under the watchful eye of a representative from the Colorado Combative Sports Commission, Batey, 40, stripped down to his boxers. He weighed in at just under 88.5kg, on target for the fight. The bare-chested venture capitalist raised his biceps and flexed for the cameras. The nation's tech elite, not content with unfathomable wealth and rising political influence in Washington, have recently developed a new obsession – fighting. Across the United States, men like Batey are learning to punch, kick, knee, elbow and, in some cases, hammer an opponent over the head with their fists. The figurehead of the movement is Mark Zuckerberg, the billionaire CEO of Meta, who has charted his impressive physical transformation from skinny computer nerd to martial arts fighter on Instagram, one of the apps he owns. The tech industry's newfound devotion to martial arts is one facet of a broader cultural shift that has upended US politics. Many of these tech founders-turned-fighters are chasing a testosterone-heavy ideal of masculinity that is ascendant on social media and embraced by President Donald Trump. An enthusiastic practitioner of Brazilian jujitsu, Zuckerberg, 40, lamented this year that corporate culture was getting 'neutered' and was devoid of 'masculine energy.' In 2023, Zuckerberg's fellow billionaire Elon Musk, a longtime corporate rival, challenged him to a televised cage match. (The fight never took place.) A çlout-forming exercise' Most of the tech world's aspiring fighters have a crucial thing in common: Before they started pursuing their extravagant new hobby, they made a lot of money. In 2018, Batey founded Beatdapp, a company that develops software to eliminate fraud in music streaming. He also runs a venture capital firm, Side Door Ventures, that invests in crypto startups. Two years ago, Batey's venture fund invested US$500,000 (RM2.1mil) in Karate Combat, a would-be competitor to the Ultimate Fighting Championship. The league operates as a hybrid between an athletic competition and a tech startup. Rather than offering traditional shares, Karate Combat gave Batey's firm Karate tokens –a cryptocurrency that fans can wager on Karate Combat fights, which stream on YouTube as well as TV channels like ESPN Deportes. Last year, the company created a new competition for billionaire amateurs called the Influencer Fight Club. Karate Combat's fights have an extensive following on Crypto Twitter, and Influencer Fight Club has helped attract more of those super-online fans. Over the past 18 months, the competition has featured some big names in the crypto world, including Nic Carter, a venture investor. At a crypto conference in Nashville, Tennessee, last summer, Carter knocked out a tattooed crypto marketer in one round. On social media, he was hailed as 'kingly' and adopted the nickname 'Tungsten Daddy.' 'This is an amazing clout-forming exercise,' Carter said in a recent interview. 'Not to be cynical about it.' Batey attended an Influencer Fight Club event in Austin, Texas, last year and decided he wanted to fight, too. Once an amateur athlete who dabbled in boxing, he had gained a lot of weight as his career took off. He was about to turn 40 and needed to get into shape for health reasons. But he also wanted to have the sort of athletic experience usually reserved for serious fighters, who sometimes train their entire lives for the chance to compete on TV. 'This is my 40th birthday party – me fighting,' Batey explained. 'Maybe it's a midlife crisis.' For four months, Batey put his career on hold and spent $75,000 on a trainer, a nutritionist and a rotating cast of professional sparring partners. After the fight was scheduled for ETHDenver, a conference devoted to the cryptocurrency Ethereum, he booked a block of nearly 30 hotel rooms to accommodate his friends and supporters. At first Batey had trouble finding a suitable opponent. Then a solution emerged: Chauncey St. John, a crypto entrepreneur based in upstate New York. St John does not seem much like a fighter. 'I've got this Mister Rogers vibe to me,' he said recently. But he had endured his share of hardship in the crypto world. In 2021, he founded Angel Protocol, a startup that aimed to help charities raise money using crypto. Unfortunately, he steered his clients toward an investment platform tied to Luna, a digital currency whose price crashed overnight in 2022, erasing much of what the charities had raised. After the Luna crash, St John, 38, retreated from public view. He reimbursed the charities with money his firm had saved up and embraced Christianity, searching for meaning in the worst moment of his career. One day in January, St John glanced at a group chat that included other crypto enthusiasts. His eyes fell on a message from an industry colleague who goes by the nickname 'The Degen Boii': Karate Combat needed a fighter for ETHDenver. The invitation 'felt like testimony from God,' St John said. Nerds trying 'to man up' A few hours after the weigh-in, Batey drove to the Stockyards Event Center, a venue on the outskirts of Denver where Karate Combat had erected four sets of stands, overlooking a pit lined with mats. An entourage came along: two trainers, a couple of fighters from Batey's gym and a filmmaker shooting footage for a documentary. With 24 hours to go until the fight, it was time for the ceremonial face-off, an opportunity for trash talk. Batey drew close to St John, almost nose to nose. 'Are you going to kiss me?' St John asked. 'We'll find out,' Batey replied. When the theatrics concluded, St John walked down to the pit. Unlike Batey, he had not had much time to prepare; his entourage consisted of a single person, a trainer with no pro fighting experience. Chiheb Soumer, a former professional kick boxer, was watching him closely. A native of Hamburg, Germany, Soumer, 36, had once worked as an in-house trainer for Snap in Los Angeles, teaching tech employees how to box. He travelled to Denver as Batey's trainer. 'I love to see these nerds all of a sudden try to man up,' he said. In the ring on fight night On fight night at the Stockyards, the enemy combatants warmed up a few feet from each other as the arena slowly filled with spectators – men in crypto T-shirts and backward baseball caps, swigging beer and taking photos. At 6pm, a roar spread through the building, as St John and Batey slid into the pit. What followed more closely resembled a schoolyard scrap than a professional martial-arts bout. The choreographed moves that Batey had rehearsed were nowhere to be seen. Over and over, he threw punches and missed, lunging forward and then lurching back. St John swung his arms wildly, whirling in a circle, like a helicopter. Next to the pit, a panel of announcers offered live analysis for the YouTube audience. 'What they lack in technical, they make up for in the heart,' one commentator said. His partner offered a blunter assessment: 'It's hilarious.' By the end of the first round, Batey's nose was bleeding heavily. But soon he forced St John to the ground and straddled him, raining punches down onto his head. Within 10 seconds, the referee intervened: St John couldn't continue. It was over. Batey held his arms aloft and started to dance, thrusting his pelvis toward the crowd. 'I just want to thank my wife,' he told the cheering crowd. 'Thank you for supporting me, making my meals, putting the kids to bed.' Backstage, St John was smiling. 'I didn't embarrass myself,' he said. All the effort had been worth it. He would happily do it over again. That night, Batey went out to celebrate. He had showered, changed and cleaned up his face, except for a single streak of dried blood that was intact on the bridge of his nose. At the entrance to a party near Civic Center Park, Batey informed the bouncer that he had featured in 'a pro fight tonight, a fight on TV.' The bouncer didn't seem impressed. But Batey found a more appreciative audience on the dance floor, where his friends swarmed him, offering hugs and fist bumps. Soon a chant went up: 'Batey, Batey, Batey, Batey.' Away from the group, Batey confided that at the arena, not long after the fight, he had approached St. John to express his respect and gratitude – and to make clear that he was 'proud of him, as a human.' St John had fought hard, Batey said. Maybe someday they would be friends. 'He's a good guy,' Batey said. 'We're both just good dudes.' — 2025 The New York Times Company This article was first published in The New York Times.
Scoop
25-05-2025
- Business
- Scoop
Payments NZ Forcing The World's Most Aggressive Removal Of EFTPOS Terminals, Says EDANZ
Press Release – EDANZ Payments NZ is demanding that 19,000 EFTPOS terminals be scrapped by 30 April 2026despite these same PCI PTS v4.x devices being certified and secure for use in all countries including Australia for example until 31 December 2033, a full 6.5 years longer. Payments New Zealand is enforcing the most extreme and aggressive removal of EFTPOS terminals anywhere in the world, according to the EFTPOS Dealers Association of New Zealand (EDANZ). The association is calling out Payments NZ for pushing end-of-life (sunset) dates 5 to 7 years earlier than any comparable jurisdictions globally – including the PCI Security Standards Committee the world wide governing body, plus Australia, the United States, and all G7 nations. 'Perfectly Secure Devices Are Being Thrown Out' Payments NZ is demanding that 19,000 EFTPOS terminals be scrapped by 30 April 2026—despite these same PCI PTS v4.x devices being certified and secure for use in all countries including Australia for example until 31 December 2033, a full 6.5 years longer. COST to Business – Over $14 Million And it's not an isolated event. Between 2023 and mid-2024, 60,000 v3.x devices were forced into early retirement here in New Zealand. Globally, those exact devices are still approved for use in other countries right now and until 2030. COST to Business – Over $45 Million Looking ahead, another bombshell looms. In 2029, Payments NZ has planned the forced sunset of 90,000 v5.x EFTPOS terminals—60,000 of which were only just installed as part of the previous device purge. These same v5.x models are still being sold in New Zealand as compliant, and will remain in use overseas until 2036. COST to Business – Over $70 Million 'No Other Country in the World is Doing This' – EDANZ EDANZ has, after extensive research, found no other international regulatory body enforcing this level of premature terminal retirement. Identical EFTPOS models are still approved in all G7 countries and Australia for 5 to 7 years longer than in New Zealand. 'This policy is not just aggressive—it's reckless,' says Steve Batey, Chairman of EDANZ. 'It's wasteful, anti-business and completely misaligned with global best practices.' Outdated Rules and No Oversight EDANZ also claim Payments NZ are using 12-year-old guidelines (as per their own admission) that has not been updated in line with global security improvements. As a company owned by New Zealand's eight major banks, Payments NZ functions like a quasi-regulator/governing body but EDANZ believe they operate without the appropriate government oversight in this area. 'They are not even following their own rules,' Batey says. 'These guidelines are outdated, unfit for purpose, and massively out of step with the rest of the world.' This Policy is Costing Everyone – and these costs will land with Consumers These repeated, premature replacement cycles from 2023 through to 2029 and beyond will impose enormous, compounding capital costs on industry, which are ultimately passed down to small businesses and consumers. EDANZ argues that a common-sense, globally aligned approach is needed where devices are replaced as per world-wide guidelines. Replacement via organic churn, with wear and tear, business closure, or demand for new features, also Non Deployment dates that stop older terminal being recycled – That should be enough say EDANZ. 'This is not only bad economics—it's an environmental disaster,' Batey adds, pointing to the increasing volume of EFTPOS devices being sent to landfill as e-waste, many of them still perfectly functional. EDANZ Calls for Immediate Government Intervention EDANZ has submitted a formal complaint to Payments NZ and filed evidence with Government Ministers Scott Simpson (Minister of Commerce) and David Seymour (Minister of Regulation), urging immediate action. The association is demanding that the Commerce Commission, the Reserve Bank, and other government departments be granted formal oversight of Payments NZ moving forward. 'The banks cannot be allowed to make self-serving decisions that burden the rest of New Zealand,' Batey states. 'The current system is broken. This needs fixing—now.'
Scoop
25-05-2025
- Business
- Scoop
Payments NZ Forcing The World's Most Aggressive Removal Of EFTPOS Terminals, Says EDANZ
Payments New Zealand is enforcing the most extreme and aggressive removal of EFTPOS terminals anywhere in the world, according to the EFTPOS Dealers Association of New Zealand (EDANZ). The association is calling out Payments NZ for pushing end-of-life (sunset) dates 5 to 7 years earlier than any comparable jurisdictions globally - including the PCI Security Standards Committee the world wide governing body, plus Australia, the United States, and all G7 nations. "Perfectly Secure Devices Are Being Thrown Out" Payments NZ is demanding that 19,000 EFTPOS terminals be scrapped by 30 April 2026—despite these same PCI PTS v4.x devices being certified and secure for use in all countries including Australia for example until 31 December 2033, a full 6.5 years longer. COST to Business – Over $14 Million And it's not an isolated event. Between 2023 and mid-2024, 60,000 v3.x devices were forced into early retirement here in New Zealand. Globally, those exact devices are still approved for use in other countries right now and until 2030. COST to Business – Over $45 Million Looking ahead, another bombshell looms. In 2029, Payments NZ has planned the forced sunset of 90,000 v5.x EFTPOS terminals—60,000 of which were only just installed as part of the previous device purge. These same v5.x models are still being sold in New Zealand as compliant, and will remain in use overseas until 2036. COST to Business – Over $70 Million 'No Other Country in the World is Doing This' – EDANZ EDANZ has, after extensive research, found no other international regulatory body enforcing this level of premature terminal retirement. Identical EFTPOS models are still approved in all G7 countries and Australia for 5 to 7 years longer than in New Zealand. "This policy is not just aggressive—it's reckless," says Steve Batey, Chairman of EDANZ. "It's wasteful, anti-business and completely misaligned with global best practices." Outdated Rules and No Oversight EDANZ also claim Payments NZ are using 12-year-old guidelines (as per their own admission) that has not been updated in line with global security improvements. As a company owned by New Zealand's eight major banks, Payments NZ functions like a quasi-regulator/governing body but EDANZ believe they operate without the appropriate government oversight in this area. 'They are not even following their own rules,' Batey says. 'These guidelines are outdated, unfit for purpose, and massively out of step with the rest of the world.' This Policy is Costing Everyone – and these costs will land with Consumers These repeated, premature replacement cycles from 2023 through to 2029 and beyond will impose enormous, compounding capital costs on industry, which are ultimately passed down to small businesses and consumers. EDANZ argues that a common-sense, globally aligned approach is needed where devices are replaced as per world-wide guidelines. Replacement via organic churn, with wear and tear, business closure, or demand for new features, also Non Deployment dates that stop older terminal being recycled – That should be enough say EDANZ. "This is not only bad economics—it's an environmental disaster," Batey adds, pointing to the increasing volume of EFTPOS devices being sent to landfill as e-waste, many of them still perfectly functional. EDANZ Calls for Immediate Government Intervention EDANZ has submitted a formal complaint to Payments NZ and filed evidence with Government Ministers Scott Simpson (Minister of Commerce) and David Seymour (Minister of Regulation), urging immediate action. The association is demanding that the Commerce Commission, the Reserve Bank, and other government departments be granted formal oversight of Payments NZ moving forward. 'The banks cannot be allowed to make self-serving decisions that burden the rest of New Zealand,' Batey states. 'The current system is broken. This needs fixing—now.'
Yahoo
13-05-2025
- Automotive
- Yahoo
Detroit driving instructor catches dangerous stunt on camera on I-94
The Brief A dangerous stunt allegedly involving alcohol was caught on camera by a Detroit driving instructor. Driver's ed instructor Korey Batey took the video. Batey uses Meta Ray-Ban glasses and, with students' permission, he creates social media content with humor. DETROIT (FOX 2) - Driving around Metro Detroit can have its moments, with construction, excessive speeders, and even a couple of guys trying to share a cocktail in the middle of the highway. What they're saying If roads could talk, these Detroit highways would have some stories to tell, but this story FOX 2 has learned was caught on camera by a content creator/driving instructor. In the video, viewers can see two vehicles next to each other driving ahead of the instructor. The one on the left, a passenger tries to pour liquor into the other driver's cup in the middle of I-94, on the east side of Detroit. Driver's ed instructor Korey Batey took the video. "I could have been easily looking at the cell phone and looked up, and hit them," he said. "I just say, 'hey Meta, record.'" Dig deeper Batey uses Meta Ray-Ban glasses and, with students' permission, he creates social media content with humor. "I really try to take my time with them, show some grace, but I'm also very stern, because this isn't GTA, this is real life," he said. Having a little fun and hopefully sharing some driving wisdom is what Batey is all about. Meanwhile, it is something the two he caught on camera may need more of. "What I'd like to tell them is that it only takes one moment like that to change your life forever," he said. Batey thinks maybe they were trying to make some kind of content of their own with the stunt; regardless, it's dangerous from top to bottom.
Indian Express
12-05-2025
- Business
- Indian Express
The tech guys are fighting. Literally.
Written by David Yaffe-Bellany Walking into the crowded hotel conference room, Andrew Batey looked like any other tech guy attending ETHDenver, an annual cryptocurrency conference. A venture capital investor based in Florida, Batey wore a black sweatshirt emblazoned with the logos of more than a dozen crypto companies, with names like LunarCrush and bitSmiley. Batey, however, was at the conference not to network with fellow crypto enthusiasts but to fight one of them — live on YouTube. At the hotel, a short drive from the conference convention center, he was preparing for his official weigh-in, the final step before a fight the next evening in an arena packed with crypto colleagues. Under the watchful eye of a representative from the Colorado Combative Sports Commission, Batey, 40, stripped down to his boxers. He weighed in at just under 195 pounds, on target for the fight. The bare-chested venture capitalist raised his biceps and flexed for the cameras. The nation's tech elite, not content with unfathomable wealth and rising political influence in Washington, have recently developed a new obsession — fighting. Across the United States, men like Batey are learning to punch, kick, knee, elbow and, in some cases, hammer an opponent over the head with their fists. The figurehead of the movement is Mark Zuckerberg, the billionaire CEO of Meta, who has charted his impressive physical transformation from skinny computer nerd to martial arts fighter on Instagram, one of the apps he owns. The tech industry's newfound devotion to martial arts is one facet of a broader cultural shift that has upended U.S. politics. Many of these tech founders-turned-fighters are chasing a testosterone-heavy ideal of masculinity that is ascendant on social media and embraced by President Donald Trump. An enthusiastic practitioner of Brazilian jujitsu, Zuckerberg, 40, lamented this year that corporate culture was getting 'neutered' and was devoid of 'masculine energy.' In 2023, Zuckerberg's fellow billionaire Elon Musk, a longtime corporate rival, challenged him to a televised cage match. (The fight never took place.) Most of the tech world's aspiring fighters have a crucial thing in common: Before they started pursuing their extravagant new hobby, they made a lot of money. In 2018, Batey founded Beatdapp, a company that develops software to eliminate fraud in music streaming. He also runs a venture capital firm, Side Door Ventures, that invests in crypto startups. Two years ago, Batey's venture fund invested $500,000 in Karate Combat, a would-be competitor to the Ultimate Fighting Championship. The league operates as a hybrid between an athletic competition and a tech startup. Rather than offering traditional shares, Karate Combat gave Batey's firm Karate tokens — a cryptocurrency that fans can wager on Karate Combat fights, which stream on YouTube as well as TV channels like ESPN Deportes. Karate Combat's primary business is professional fighting — mixed martial arts contests featuring seasoned athletes, some of whom also fight in UFC. (A representative for Karate Combat declined to reveal how much money the league generates.) Last year, the company created a new competition for amateurs and started offering it as the undercard at pro events, which are sometimes held at crypto conferences. The competition was called Influencer Fight Club, and its premise was simple: Put a couple of tech guys in the ring and see what happens. Karate Combat's fights have an extensive following on Crypto Twitter, and Influencer Fight Club has helped attract more of those super-online fans. Over the past 18 months, the competition has featured some big names in the crypto world, including Nic Carter, a venture investor. At a crypto conference in Nashville, Tennessee, last summer, Carter knocked out a tattooed crypto marketer in one round. On social media, he was hailed as 'kingly' and adopted the nickname 'Tungsten Daddy.' 'This is an amazing clout-forming exercise,' Carter said in a recent interview. 'Not to be cynical about it.' Batey attended an Influencer Fight Club event in Austin, Texas, last year and decided he wanted to fight, too. Once an amateur athlete who dabbled in boxing, he had gained a lot of weight as his career took off. He was about to turn 40 and needed to get into shape for health reasons. But he also wanted to have the sort of athletic experience usually reserved for serious fighters, who sometimes train their entire lives for the chance to compete on TV. 'This is my 40th birthday party — me fighting,' Batey explained. 'Maybe it's a midlife crisis.' For four months, Batey put his career on hold and spent $75,000 on a trainer, a nutritionist and a rotating cast of professional sparring partners. After the fight was scheduled for ETHDenver, a conference devoted to the cryptocurrency Ethereum, he booked a block of nearly 30 hotel rooms to accommodate his friends and supporters. At first Batey had trouble finding a suitable opponent. Then a solution emerged: Chauncey St. John, a crypto entrepreneur based in upstate New York. St. John does not seem much like a fighter. 'I've got this Mister Rogers vibe to me,' he said recently. But he had endured his share of hardship in the crypto world. In 2021, he founded Angel Protocol, a startup that aimed to help charities raise money using crypto. Unfortunately, he steered his clients toward an investment platform tied to Luna, a digital currency whose price crashed overnight in 2022, erasing much of what the charities had raised. After the Luna crash, St. John, 38, retreated from public view. He reimbursed the charities with money his firm had saved up and embraced Christianity, searching for meaning in the worst moment of his career. One day in January, St. John glanced at a group chat that included other crypto enthusiasts. His eyes fell on a message from an industry colleague who goes by the nickname 'The Degen Boii': Karate Combat needed a fighter for ETHDenver. The invitation 'felt like testimony from God,' St. John said. A few hours after the weigh-in, Batey drove to the Stockyards Event Center, a venue on the outskirts of Denver where Karate Combat had erected four sets of stands, overlooking a pit lined with mats. An entourage came along: two trainers, a couple of fighters from Batey's gym and a filmmaker shooting footage for a documentary. With 24 hours to go until the fight, it was time for the ceremonial face-off, an opportunity for trash talk. Batey drew close to St. John, almost nose to nose. 'Are you gonna kiss me?' St. John asked. 'We'll find out,' Batey replied. When the theatrics concluded, St. John walked down to the pit. Unlike Batey, he had not had much time to prepare; his entourage consisted of a single person, a trainer with no pro fighting experience. Chiheb Soumer, a former professional kick boxer, was watching him closely. A native of Hamburg, Germany, Soumer, 36, had once worked as an in-house trainer for Snap in Los Angeles, teaching tech employees how to box. He traveled to Denver as Batey's trainer. 'I love to see these nerds all of a sudden try to man up,' he said. On fight night at the Stockyards, the enemy combatants warmed up a few feet from each other as the arena slowly filled with spectators — men in crypto T-shirts and backward baseball caps, swigging beer and taking photos. At 6 p.m., a roar spread through the building, as St. John and Batey slid into the pit. What followed more closely resembled a schoolyard scrap than a professional martial-arts bout. The choreographed moves that Batey had rehearsed were nowhere to be seen. Over and over, he threw punches and missed, lunging forward and then lurching back. St. John swung his arms wildly, whirling in a circle, like a helicopter. Next to the pit, a panel of announcers offered live analysis for the YouTube audience. 'What they lack in technical, they make up for in the heart,' one commentator said. His partner offered a blunter assessment: 'It's hilarious.' By the end of the first round, Batey's nose was bleeding heavily. But soon he forced St. John to the ground and straddled him, raining punches down onto his head. Within 10 seconds, the referee intervened: St. John couldn't continue. It was over. Batey held his arms aloft and started to dance, thrusting his pelvis toward the crowd. 'I just want to thank my wife,' he told the cheering crowd. 'Thank you for supporting me, making my meals, putting the kids to bed.' Backstage, St. John was smiling. 'I didn't embarrass myself,' he said. All the effort had been worth it. He would happily do it over again. This article originally appeared in The New York Times.
