It’s not easy to admit this, but my favorite series of all time is Spartacus: Blood and Sand — along with the prequel Gods of the Arena (not the full five-season franchise).
And I say “not easy” because, in the wrong context, it sounds… simplistic.
Like I’m a fan of cheap blood and nudity, someone with shallow taste.
Most people would likely default to a heuristic judgment — the kind Daniel Kahneman describes in Thinking, Fast and Slow — and quickly classify me as someone with lowbrow taste and primitive instincts.
But nothing could be further from the truth.
To understand why this show impacted me so deeply, you have to go back — decades back.
A Childhood of Muscle and Myth
I was born in 1980, in a time when muscle and masculinity were glorified.
My world was filled with superhero icons: He-Man, Rambo, Schwarzenegger — towering figures of strength and dominance.
Naturally, ancient Greece and Rome fascinated me — half-gods, gladiators, the arena.
By the late ’90s, I found my ultimate passion: combat sports.
I was there when UFC was still raw and chaotic. I lived and breathed PRIDE FC.
Despite the controversy, I defended it. Even when people said it would desensitize us — I laughed it off.
A Moment of Horror
One night in 2012, I was watching UFC 146 live.
Cain Velasquez vs. Antônio Silva.
I was a Velasquez fan. He dominated. Ground and pound. Silva was covered in blood.
And I stood in front of my TV screaming, “Kill him! Kill him!”
Then the ref stepped in. Fight over. I exhaled, sat down… and froze.
What just happened?
Me — the guy who used to wince at blood — was now cheering for destruction.
And for the first time, I understood what those critics meant.
Maybe this really does do something to the soul.
Enter Spartacus
In 2015, I decided to finally watch a series — not for entertainment, but to sharpen my English.
I didn’t waste time on endless streaming or mindless shows — I was a focused, practical person.
I often sharpened my English with purposeful viewing, and Spartacus combined the useful with the enjoyable: historical context, ancient Rome, the arena, and moral dilemmas — all wrapped in dramatic storytelling.
It hooked me immediately.
Not just because of action or brutality — though that mirrored how twisted I’d become from years of MMA fandom.
But because the writing was smart.
Twists, betrayals, moral dilemmas — I was impressed. It challenged my mind.
And the acting? Incredible.
John Hannah. Andy Whitfield. Dustin Clare. Even the supporting cast — it was pure craft.
But it also shocked me.
A Mirror to Rome… and to Me
I had always admired ancient Rome. But this show?
It forced me to see its cruelty.
The degradation. The dehumanization. The hedonism.
It was disgusting… and familiar.
Because really — what had changed?
We may no longer have sand and blood in an arena… but people like me were still paying money to watch human beings hurt each other.
Modern promoters are today’s lanistas. Fighters are still gladiators.
And had it not been for legal limits, I’m convinced people would still pay to see death matches.
I saw myself: a Roman citizen in the stands, bloodthirsty and entertained.
That realization shook me.
Spartacus Gave Me More Than Entertainment
It satisfied my craving for strategy, surprise, and tension.
But it gave me something greater: a moral punch in the face.
It made me ask — not rhetorically, but viscerally:
Who was I becoming?
Was I cheering for pain?
Were my mirror neurons now trained to enjoy suffering?
I hadn’t become someone else. I had become less sensitive.
Desensitized. Rewired.
Since that time, I’ve stopped financially supporting combat sports.
I still follow the headlines. I care about the athletes.
But I no longer feed the machine — no Pay-Per-Views, no tickets.
A Final Reflection: Andy Whitfield
Part of what made Blood and Sand so powerful was its lead actor: Andy Whitfield.
At the time, he wasn’t a global star — but he delivered a performance of tremendous weight and presence.
Shortly after filming, he was diagnosed with cancer.
He documented his brave battle in the emotional documentary Be Here Now — a powerful story of dignity in the face of tragedy.
He passed away at just 39, right at the height of his career.
That story — layered onto everything the series meant — stayed with me.
A symbol of strength, grace, and impermanence.
Final Thoughts
Spartacus gave me one of the most powerful gifts any art can offer:
It made me reflect.
On my nature.
On my past.
On a society that still craves “blood and sand.”
So no — I’m not ashamed to say this is my favorite series.
Because it’s not about what it showed me on screen.
It’s about what it showed me in the mirror.