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Forbes
3 days ago
- Business
- Forbes
How To Use Claude AI For Crypto Management: A Practical Guide For 2025
With increasing trading volumes and volatility, keeping up with crypto training is nearly impossible ... More as a human. Can an AI like Claude help? The crypto universe has reached truly planetary scale. Total market capitalization now hovers around $3.4 trillion, spread across 17,581 actively-tracked coins. Crypto never sleeps, as it trades 24/7, so every hour, those assets move through time zones, generating an endless feed of prices, blockchain metrics and gossip. Social-intelligence platform LunarCrush says it collects more than two million crypto-related posts every single day, ingesting tweets, Reddit threads, YouTube comments and even Discord chat logs, before ranking each for sentiment and engagement. For portfolio managers, that torrent is both opportunity and overload. A mid-level analyst in New York costs roughly $99,600 a year to sift the noise, while Anthropic charges just $3 for a million input tokens on its 200 k-context Claude 3 Sonnet model. The math is clear: 2025 is the first year it is cheaper, and faster, to let AI watch the market full-time and escalate only what matters. Can AI Help with Crypto Management? Crypto's risk profile dwarfs that of traditional assets. A 2023 academic study comparing daily returns found that 80% of S&P 500 moves sit inside a ±1% band, whereas just 40% of bitcoin's do; in other words, BTC's intraday swings are roughly five times larger than blue-chip equities. Add 24/7 trading and thousands of micro-cap tokens, and the surveillance burden mushrooms exponentially. Meanwhile, pressure on professional fees is rising. Institutional investors now demand minute-level oversight, but balk at paying for night-shift quants. Plugging Claude into a data pipeline costs pennies per hour and delivers machine-speed pattern recognition with a legally auditable paper-trail. The result is a structurally cheaper and demonstrably calmer portfolio operation. What Is Claude AI? Anthropic's Claude 3 family launched in March 2024 and has since moved to Sonnet 3.7 and beta 3.5 releases, each keeping the 200 k-token context window, but adding function-calling, deterministic JSON output and enterprise 'Trust Center' options. At $3/MTok input and $15/MTok output, Sonnet offers the best cost-to-comprehension ratio in the model line-up. Two design characteristics of Claude matter for regulated finance. First, constitutional AI: teams can embed hard rules ('never suggest deterministic price targets,' 'flag any address on an OFAC list') that Claude must follow. Second, Anthropic provides full audit logs, satisfying SOC 2, MAS TRM and ESMA retention requirements without duct-taped loggers. Key Data Feeds Claude Can Ingest Claude is modality-agnostic: if you can get the data in text or a machine-readable format like JSON, you can embed it. Typical crypto desks stream four pillars into Claude: A cron script bundles each feed into hourly JSON objects and posts them to Claude's /v1/messages endpoint. Latency? Typically under two seconds per 100k tokens. How Claude AI Can Help Analyze Crypto Market Data Sample prompt: You are a crypto news analyst. Collapse the 25 headlines below into a three-sentence risk brief ranked by market impact. Output JSON with fields {riskLevel, who, what, why}. A well-structured prompt turns 25 raw headlines into a three-sentence brief ordered by potential price impact and frees up analysts to sanity-check rather than skim headlines. In addition, as the output arrives in strict JSON, dashboard code can colour-code 'high-impact' stories red without human touch. Give Claude the past 30 days of bitcoin price data and ask it to calculate some popular technical indicators such as the 14-day Relative Strength Index (RSI), the 20-day simple moving average, or Bollinger Bands, which help identify price volatility. The model can handle these calculations quickly, returning clean outputs that can be directly plugged into dashboards or trade alerts. Beyond the basics, with good prompting and input data, Claude can calculate z-scores for funding rates, analyze open interest trends or identify volatility skews in the options market using export files from trading platforms. It's a versatile way to structure raw market data into insight. The real value of Claude emerges when it's used to connect social sentiment with on‑chain activity. Take Dogwifhat (WIF), the Solana‑based memecoin that ripped ≈40 % in a single session after Coinbase's listings chief teased an imminent roadmap addition—a tweet that sent #WIF mentions on X soaring and LunarCrush social‑volume scores up triple‑digits. Claude, ingesting that LunarCrush feed alongside Glassnode's spike in large‑holder transfers, flagged the anomaly, drafted a concise risk brief and suggested checking Solana‑perp funding‑rate and options open‑interest screens to confirm real capital was piling in. When Coinbase's formal listing post dropped and WIF printed $4.21, desks running the Claude pipeline were already long while most traders were still digesting the news. Automating Portfolio Rebalancing And Trade Alerts Claude doesn't execute trades or hold private keys, but it plays a critical role in monitoring portfolio rules and drafting trade suggestions the moment thresholds are hit. For instance, if bitcoin's weight in a portfolio drifts more than three percentage points from its target allocation, Claude can immediately flag the deviation and generate a suggested rebalance. This kind of rules-based automation helps desks stay disciplined without constant monitoring. Claude can translate technical signals, like a moving average crossover or volatility spike, into structured, machine-readable trade tickets or webhook triggers. It's not replacing decision-makers, but giving them a faster way to move from insight to action. Risk Management And Sentiment Monitoring Glassnode's market metrics recently showed that 94% of bitcoin supply was sitting in profit, with NUPL indicators edging into euphoric territory. When this kind of data is streamed into Claude alongside a social sentiment heatmap, the AI can quickly distill the signals into a clear and actionable message, something like: 'profitability and hype at simultaneous highs; consider trimming risk.' That output is then routed to Slack or an internal dashboard, where visual alerts change from cautionary orange to deep red. From raw data to a risk signal in under five minutes, Claude helps traders stay ahead of sentiment-driven reversals. Limitations And Best Practices Claude is powerful, but it's not a trading engine. It cannot, and should not, place trades directly. Instead, it is an intelligent assistant, surfacing signals, drafting trade suggestions and flagging risks. Execution should go through a secure, rules-based layer, whether that's a broker API, human-in-the-loop approval, or both. Claude's output is only as good as the input, which means validation is important. Every signal or summary should be reviewed before action is taken. Best practice is to treat Claude as a co-pilot, not a decision-maker. Use structured prompts, apply strict formatting (like JSON schemas) and cross-check against multiple data sources. If Claude surfaces a market-moving insight, it should be confirmed through at least one independent feed—whether that's a newswire, on-chain metric or sentiment provider. By building guardrails into your process, you get the best of both worlds: speed, scale and a human layer of judgment. Bottom Line Crypto's data firehose is only getting wider—more tokens, more trades, more noise. Human teams alone can't keep up. Claude helps by distilling hours of charts, tweets and on-chain activity into structured, readable insights in seconds. Most importantly, it is transparent: Prompts and responses can be logged, audited and improved over time, providing teams with both speed and control. In a market where just 40% of bitcoin's daily price movements stay within a ±1% band, compared to 80% for the S&P 500, volatility is the norm, not the exception. Success depends on pairing AI-powered pattern recognition with human-level judgment. Claude won't give you perfect answers, but it will help you find the right questions faster. The edge goes to those who act first. Frequently Asked Questions (FAQs) Can Claude Connect To Exchanges Directly? No. Claude cannot execute trades or hold API keys. Instead, Claude generates structured outputs that can be passed to a broker system or routed through a human approval layer. Is Claude Accurate With Technical Analysis? Yes—when given clean input data, Claude can calculate common indicators like RSI or moving averages with precision comparable to major charting platforms. Does Claude Provide Price Predictions? Not directly. While it can analyse trends and offer scenario-based insights, it doesn't provide fixed price targets. Its role is to support analysis, not to forecast prices deterministically. Can Claude Manage Multiple Portfolios? Yes. With proper prompt structuring, Claude can track and analyse multiple portfolios at once. Its large context window allows for clear separation and scalability.
Yahoo
19-06-2025
- Business
- Yahoo
Dogecoin Steady But Flashing 'Oversold' in Signal for Bearish Bets
Dogecoin (DOGE) recovered from an intraday low of $0.164 to close near $0.171, posting a 4.7% bounce in line with broader market weakness. The move suggests institutional buyers may be quietly accumulating at lower levels as market participants brace for continued volatility. Dogecoin's rebound comes in the wake of intense selling pressure sparked by escalating geopolitical tensions between Israel and Iran. The sharp market-wide correction, which triggered mass liquidations, briefly pushed DOGE down more than 7% intraday on Wednesday. Meanwhile, macroeconomic headwinds persist. The U.S. Federal Reserve continues to maintain restrictive monetary policy, keeping rates at 4.25%–4.50% while actively reducing its balance sheet — a dynamic that has historically weighed on riskier bets such as DOGE. Still, the memecoin remains one of the most liquid assets in the crypto space, with daily turnover near $1.37 billion and market cap holding above $24.7 billion. Elsewhere, technical indicators show DOGE entering oversold territory, and social sentiment data from LunarCrush reveals an 86% positive tone across 16,000+ mentions, suggesting continued community conviction even amid price volatility. DOGE's near-term outlook may hinge on regulatory developments, including a potential U.S. spot ETF decision, as well as continued adoption on DeFi platforms such as Coinbase's Base network where wrapped DOGE is gaining traction. DOGE saw its sharpest decline during the 13:00 hour, dropping to $0.164 on a 591M volume spike — the highest of the day. The strong bounce that followed pushed prices back above $0.171, where the memecoin found near-term equilibrium. Price action has since consolidated in a tight band between $0.170 and $0.1696, with small volume bursts suggesting accumulation at lower levels. DOGE posted a 4.7% recovery, rising from $0.164 to $0.171. Major liquidation-driven selloff occurred at 13:00, with volume peaking at 591M units. Volume-based support established at $0.164; resistance remains firm near $0.172. Recent candles show signs of accumulation, particularly during the 02:00–02:02 period (3.4M volume). RSI at 33.29 suggests DOGE may be nearing oversold territory. Price is consolidating just above short-term support of $0.1696. If DOGE breaks above $0.1750, the next resistance zone lies at $0.1820; failure to do so could trigger a retest of $0.1640 or even $0.150 in a risk-off environment. Technical patterns point to a descending triangle — typically a bearish signal — but reduced volatility suggests stabilization. Disclaimer: Portions of this article were generated with the assistance of AI tools and reviewed by CoinDesk's editorial team for accuracy and adherence to our standards. For more information, see CoinDesk's full AI Policy.
The Star
31-05-2025
- 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.
