Mr. Devinney simply shrugged and said, “He’s sleepin’.”

Ms. Hill said she was “100 percent — 1,000 percent” voting for Mr. Trump. She allowed that Mr. Biden “meant well,” but said, “He’s a cliché, he’s a puppet, he’s being told things. I don’t think he’s man enough to run our country.”

Manliness is the U.F.C. brand, and then some.

It is a violent spectacle, blood-spattered, brutish and brawny. A fighter from California named Kevin Holland and a fighter from Poland named Michal Oleksiejczuk beat each other to a pulp inches from Mr. Trump’s face. The former president watched with interest as the American got the Pole onto the ground, secured his right arm and appeared to yank it out of its socket. (Mr. White described it as an “absolutely beautiful” moment in his post-match commentary: “The arm clearly, at the very least, dislocated and possibly snapped,” he said.)

Victorious, Holland emerged from the octagonal ring, walked over to Mr. Trump, bent down and shook hands, leaned in to hear the former president tell him something and clapped his left hand on Mr. Trump’s right shoulder.

The moment was projected onto the colossal video screens high above the ring. And the crowd roared.

Klieg lights swiveled onto Mr. Trump and his entourage, and the sound system amped up the bass that was thumping now with The White Stripes’ revenge riff:

I’m gonna fight ‘em off.

A seven nation army couldn’t hold me back.

They’re gonna rip it off.

Takin’ their time right behind my back.

Mr. Trump stood up and spun around to face the crowd, pumping his fist.

The arena answered back: “U-S-A! U-S-A! U-S-A!”