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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.
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.
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Business Standard
11-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Business Standard
Not content with boardroom battles, tech guys are fighting literally
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. 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 chief executive 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. A recent post showed Zuckerberg, dressed in gym shorts and an American flag T-shirt, grappling his opponent to the ground. 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 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, though Musk suggested at one point that he was willing to do battle in the Roman Colosseum. Ancient Rome is, in some ways, a useful reference point for this era of ultrarich braggadocio. The wealthiest Romans were fascinated with violent combat. The emperor Commodus even joined in the gladiatorial contests, claiming he had fought as many as 1,000 times. These days, the rise of mixed martial arts is part of a cultural revanchism that has thrived in the so-called manosphere, where hypermasculine online commentators complain that women have become too powerful in the workplace. In this corner of the internet, men are seeking to reclaim a kind of aggressive masculinity that came under scrutiny during the #MeToo era. It's the latest iteration of a phenomenon that the feminist writer Susan Faludi described in her 1991 book, 'Backlash,' about how men have historically reacted to advances in women's rights. In an interview last month, Faludi said the growing male obsession with fighting amounted to 'a boy's idea of what it means to be a man.' The urge to fight has recently spilled over from the tech billionaire class to the industry's trenches, where mere decamillionaires and millionaires now practice martial arts in increasing numbers. Until lately, though, a run-of-the-mill tech founder hoping to flex his muscles on TV would have had limited options. Then a company called Karate Combat glimpsed a market opportunity. Batey runs a venture capital firm, Side Door Ventures, that invests in crypto start-ups. Two years ago, his 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 start-up. 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 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.
Time of India
10-05-2025
- Business
- Time of India
The tech guys are fighting. Literally.
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. #Operation Sindoor India-Pakistan Clash Live Updates| Pak moving troops to border areas? All that's happening Why India chose to abstain instead of 'No Vote' against IMF billion-dollar funding to Pakistan How Pak's jihadi general Munir became trapped in his own vice 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. by Taboola by Taboola Sponsored Links Sponsored Links Promoted Links Promoted Links You May Like The cost of hearing aids in Ramnagar might surprise you! Learn More Undo 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, though Musk suggested at one point that he was willing to do battle in the Roman Colosseum. Live Events 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. Discover the stories of your interest Blockchain 5 Stories Cyber-safety 7 Stories Fintech 9 Stories E-comm 9 Stories ML 8 Stories Edtech 6 Stories 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 known for his combative posts on the social site X. At a crypto conference in Nashville, Tennessee, last summer, Carter, boasting an impressive physique, 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, eventually carrying 283 pounds on his 5-foot-10 frame. 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, setting off a meltdown in the crypto markets that erased 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 was scrolling on his phone when he 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 about his transformation. 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. A few feet away, 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.
Business Mayor
04-05-2025
- Business
- Business Mayor
Crypto Trading Alert: Miles Deutscher Announces 3 Giveaways Linked to Weekly Token Launches
The cryptocurrency market has been buzzing with activity following the recent announcement from Miles Deutscher on May 4, 2025, at 10:30 AM UTC, about three upcoming giveaways tied to new launches (Source: Twitter post by @milesdeutscher, Tweet ID: 1919023616433279175). This news has sparked significant interest among traders and investors, particularly in the context of AI-related tokens and major cryptocurrencies like Bitcoin (BTC) and Ethereum (ETH), as giveaways often drive short-term market sentiment and trading volume spikes. As of May 4, 2025, at 12:00 PM UTC, Bitcoin was trading at $62,350, showing a 1.2% increase within the last 24 hours, while Ethereum stood at $2,450, up by 0.8% in the same period (Source: CoinMarketCap live data). Trading pairs like BTC/USDT and ETH/USDT on Binance recorded a combined 24-hour volume of $1.8 billion and $920 million, respectively, as of 11:00 AM UTC on May 4, 2025 (Source: Binance exchange data). This heightened activity aligns with the announcement's timing, suggesting a potential correlation with increased retail interest. On-chain data from Glassnode indicates a 15% surge in Bitcoin wallet addresses with non-zero balances since May 3, 2025, at 9:00 AM UTC, reflecting growing user engagement (Source: Glassnode on-chain analytics). Additionally, AI-related tokens such as Render Token (RNDR) saw a price jump to $5.82, a 2.5% increase within 12 hours of the announcement as of 1:00 PM UTC on May 4, 2025, likely driven by speculation around AI-integrated crypto projects tied to such launches (Source: CoinGecko price data). The trading implications of Miles Deutscher's giveaway announcement are significant for both short-term scalpers and long-term investors. With the giveaways being time-sensitive, as noted in the tweet at 10:30 AM UTC on May 4, 2025 (Source: Twitter post by @milesdeutscher), traders can anticipate volatility spikes in specific tokens related to the launches. For instance, if the launches involve AI-driven crypto platforms, tokens like RNDR and (FET) could see further upside. As of 2:00 PM UTC on May 4, 2025, FET traded at $1.35, up 1.8% in six hours, with a 24-hour trading volume of $85 million on Binance (Source: Binance trading data). This volume represents a 10% increase compared to the previous day, indicating growing interest (Source: Binance historical data). The correlation between AI news and crypto market sentiment is evident, as social media mentions of AI tokens spiked by 20% within hours of the announcement, per LunarCrush data at 3:00 PM UTC on May 4, 2025 (Source: LunarCrush social metrics). Traders should monitor these developments for potential breakout opportunities in AI-crypto crossover pairs like RNDR/BTC, which saw a 0.5% uptick to 0.000093 BTC at 1:30 PM UTC on May 4, 2025 (Source: Binance pair data). Furthermore, the overall market sentiment for Bitcoin remains bullish, with a Fear & Greed Index reading of 68 (Greed) as of 12:30 PM UTC on May 4, 2025, potentially amplifying the impact of such announcements (Source: index). From a technical analysis perspective, key indicators suggest a favorable setup for trading around this news. Bitcoin's Relative Strength Index (RSI) on the 4-hour chart stood at 62 as of 2:30 PM UTC on May 4, 2025, indicating room for upward movement before overbought conditions (Source: TradingView BTC/USDT chart). Ethereum's Moving Average Convergence Divergence (MACD) showed a bullish crossover on the 1-hour chart at 1:45 PM UTC on May 4, 2025, hinting at short-term momentum (Source: TradingView ETH/USDT data). For AI tokens, RNDR's trading volume surged by 18% to $42 million in the 24 hours ending at 3:00 PM UTC on May 4, 2025, while its price tested resistance at $5.85 (Source: CoinGecko volume data). On-chain metrics for RNDR reveal a 12% increase in transaction count since May 3, 2025, at 10:00 AM UTC, per Etherscan data, suggesting heightened network activity (Source: Etherscan blockchain explorer). Similarly, daily active addresses rose by 9% to 5,200 as of 2:00 PM UTC on May 4, 2025 (Source: Dune Analytics). These metrics underscore the growing interest in AI-crypto projects, potentially fueled by announcements like Deutscher's giveaways. Traders can leverage this data for entries near support levels, such as BTC at $61,800 or RNDR at $5.70, while setting stop-losses to manage risks during volatile periods following the announcement on May 4, 2025. This analysis of AI-driven crypto market trends, combined with precise trading pair data, offers actionable insights for navigating the current landscape. FAQ Section:What impact do giveaways have on cryptocurrency prices? Giveaways, like those announced by Miles Deutscher on May 4, 2025, at 10:30 AM UTC, often lead to short-term price increases due to heightened retail interest and trading volume. For instance, AI tokens like RNDR saw a 2.5% price rise within 12 hours of the news (Source: CoinGecko data). How can traders benefit from AI-crypto market correlations? Traders can monitor AI-related token pairs like RNDR/BTC, which moved up by 0.5% on May 4, 2025, at 1:30 PM UTC, and use on-chain data such as transaction counts to time entries and exits during sentiment-driven rallies (Source: Binance pair data). READ SOURCE
