It only makes sense that after years of following (and, for one half of this duo, competing in) the sport of MMA, some perceptions might change over time. But how and why? Retired UFC and WEC fighter Danny Downes joins MMA Junkie columnist Ben Fowlkes to discuss in this week’s Trading Shots.

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Downes: Ben, normally we spend our time discussing the short-term, day-to-day happenings in the MMA sphere. Today, however, I’d like you to put your hot take machine in idle mode and look at the bigger picture.

Whether you started watching MMA during the Zuffa era of the UFC or have been trading VHS tapes of Japanese MMA with other die-hards for decades, the sport certainly has changed a lot over the years. Not only that, you yourself have changed over the years.

You’ve gone from crushing Natty Light cans with your football bros, yelling at the fighters to “quit hugging each other,” to embracing the gentle art of Brazilian jiu-jitsu. You even provide for your family by covering the sport of mixed martial arts.

What’s changed the most about the sport since you’ve been watching it? Is the sport really that different, or is it your understanding of the sport that’s changed?

Fowlkes: The short answer is both. The sport has definitely changed since I first sat down to watch Royce Gracie on VHS, but also, especially in the last few years, my thoughts on it have changed.

I think the biggest adjustment from the latter category is this: I no longer think of this as just another pro sport elbowing its way into a place at the table with basketball and football and baseball and all the rest. I’ve come to realize and accept, at times begrudgingly, that fight sports are their own separate world and will always remain so.

I don’t mean that just in terms of how the sports operate and what forces compete for control, though every time I peel back layers of that onion I come away more convinced than ever that fighters get the worst of all possible worlds when compared to basically every other major pro sport. But it’s also true in terms of how we watch fight sports and what we want out of them. It’s just a whole different beast and has been since the bare-knuckle days.

Much more than team sports, fighting is a spectacle. It’s the one sport without a metaphor, a human drama that gets stripped down to its simplest possible form only to then heap a bunch of pomp and pageantry on top of it. And it’s not for everybody. It never will be, regardless of repeated claims that it’s “in our DNA.”

It has more in common with pro wrestling than with pro football, and if we refuse to admit that, we’re just kidding ourselves. It’s cruel and brutal and exploitative (though I still think it could be made to be less so, at least in the latter department, if people are willing to do the work), and on some level it will always remain a damn mess. What’s more, that’s secretly one of the things we like about it.

And honestly? I’m kind of ashamed how long it took me to stop waiting for it to be accepted on an equal footing with baseball or whatever and finally accept that. Or how long it took me to stop asking it to make sense or follow logical progressions or even abide by an internally consistent code.

That’s just not what the fight game does. It never has.

Which makes me really wonder what’s changed in your thinking about it, especially as you’ve gone from starry-eyed young fighter to grizzled old retired pugilist with a family and a real job.

Downes: It’s certainly been a rollercoaster relationship. My first encounter with MMA was seeing Tank Abbot on an episode of WCW “Nitro,” so I originally thought (like many others I’ve corrected over the years), that it was a part of the pro wrestling circuit. In my defense, I was also 12 years old at the time.

Once I started training, MMA took on a whole new meaning. It was my new favorite obsession. I’d like to think I was cool about it, but I’m sure I talked about it more than your neighbor who does CrossFit. “Sorry guys, just a little sore today from my MMA workout.”

Once I became a professional fighter it changed again. People say you should find your passion and make it your career, but I would argue the quickest way to hate something is to make it your profession. It’s not that I didn’t enjoy the sport and the training, but after spending all week immersing myself in fighting, the last thing I wanted to do was watch more fighting.

Plus, I started to see how the proverbial sausage was made. I had to deal with shady promoters, gym politics, injuries, and watching people have their dreams crushed on a monthly basis. For me, being an active fighter and a fan were incompatible.

As a retired fighter, the relationship is even more tenuous and convoluted. I remember walking into the Roufusport gym right after I decided to retire. I had to stop halfway through my second round warming up on the heavy bag. I couldn’t be there anymore. Just standing in the gym made me nauseous.

It was a strange mix of guilt, frustration, anger, and embarrassment. I was mad I hadn’t accomplished all that I wanted to, but also mad I had given such a stupid sport “the best years of my life.”

In order to move on, I felt like I had to divorce myself completely from the sport. Part of it was out of anger, but also because I knew if I stayed close to it the siren’s song of “just one more fight” would prove too strong for my weak will. It took a couple years before I could put on a pair of gloves again.

Now, though, I’ve made a certain level of peace with MMA. I would consider myself a fan again, but I’ll never have that same passion I once did. Maybe because I am older and wiser, but also because every pro fighter’s relationship with the sport is a story of unrequited love.

You sacrifice a lot, and I wonder how many fighters get back what they put in. I don’t know if I’ll ever get over that feeling.

What about you? Do you see your relationship with the sport changing? Maybe, like me, you’re too grizzled of a veteran to have that kind of passion again. Perhaps it’s a good thing. Should someone who covers a sport for a living be that enthusiastic about it?

Fowlkes: The distinction I make in my own mind is usually between the stuff I’d pay for (or sit through commercials for) even if it wasn’t my job, and the stuff I wouldn’t. Like that Justin Gaethje vs. Edson Barboza fight last weekend? Yeah, I’m watching that regardless of whether or not I have to as a condition of my employment. The early prelims on the same card, however, I might skip unless someone told me later that a really good fight broke out on there.

Mostly, though, there’s still no sport I’d rather watch than MMA. I love the intensity and intimacy of the one-on-one battle. I love its capacity for triumphant surprise as well as devastating heartbreak. It makes all the games where people try to put a ball inside a hole seem silly. Nothing else matches that big fight night feeling. When this sport is good, there’s nothing better.

Still, sometimes I feel like I’d enjoy it even more if I knew less about how it actually works.

Maybe that’s what’s changed most about my relationship to MMA, and maybe some of it is my outlook changing as I get older. Now I see some wide-eyed 25-year-old pouring his blood onto the mat for $10,000, and I can’t help but think about the mega-wealthy owners who won’t even bother to watch his fight, much less appreciate him or contribute anything to his later years, when the bill for all this damage is going to come due.

It’s hard to just relax and enjoy something that’s also more than a little exploitative. But the alternatives are to either ignore it or lie to myself about what it is and how it works. And apparently I’m not willing to do either of those things.

Ben Fowlkes is MMA Junkie and USA TODAY’s MMA columnist. Danny Downes, a retired UFC and WEC fighter, is an MMA Junkie contributor who has also written for UFC.com and UFC 360. Follow them on twitter at @benfowlkesMMA and @dannyboydownes.