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With this bothersome backstory is out of the way, Bloodsport more or less sticks to brutality for the rest of the film, which is as it should be. Tanaka agrees to prepare Frank for Kumite, leading to the most uncomfortably homoerotic training montage since Rocky and Apollo hugged it out in short shorts on the beach. Eventually, Frank is able to snatch fish out of the water bare-handed, serve tea blindfolded without getting punched in the windpipe and stretch himself apart like a porn star. Only then is he deemed ready for Mortal Kombat.

Frank lands in Hong Kong a naive, wide eyed rube (an aspect of the role in which Van Damme admittedly excels). Because every hero on a righteous quest needs sidekicks, Frank immediately befriends Jackson (Donald Gibb, also known as “Ogre” from Revenge of the Nerds), a mentally deranged biker who has no idea how to fight but is fueled by rage and indignation. They are joined by Victor (Ken Siu), who is the wacky comic relief guy who joins the gang because every adventure story needs wacky comic relief. The team is rounded out by Janice (Leah Ayres), who is ostensibly a nosy reporter desperate to cover the Kumite. But mostly she plays the role of Frank’s perfunctory love interest.

The last thing you need in a movie like this is a Mortal Enemy, and this role is amply filled by Chong Li (Bolo Yeung), who is the reigning Kumite champion, and the man responsible for most of the neck snapping. Naturally, Chong Li immediately singles out Frank and resolves to destroy him no matter what the cost, because of course he does. Needless to say, Bloodsport lays its cards on the table pretty early. If you can’t figure out what’s going to happen and who it’s going to happen to by the 20 minute mark, I have to assume you’ve never seen a movie before. So, despite some obvious shortcomings (acting, for instance), Bloodsport does exactly what it should do, exactly when it should, exactly the WAY it should.

Story wise, Bloodsport follows your standard Sports Movie template: Hero with a heart of gold fights against all the odds with the help of a crusty old mentor, a merry band of plucky sidekicks and a pretty girl who loves him even though he’s kind of a whiny bitch. Van Damme is not here because he can act (believe me, he can’t). He’s here because he’s handsome, shredded, and twice as limber as the entire Soviet gymnastics squad put together. Donald Gibb is here because he was Ogre. Leah Ayres is here because she has blonde hair with amazing body. Bolo Yeung is here because he’s the size of an SUV and really CAN break blocks of ice the size of teenagers with his hands.

But here’s the cool thing about Bloodsport. Say what you will about Van Damme being a lousy actor with wooden delivery and an innate inability to emote - when he’s in the ring fighting, he’s a natural. There’s a scene during the climactic fight where...something happens...and Frank is required to react with shock, fear, disillusionment and then anger. And then of course, kick his opponent in the chest so hard his grandchildren are born spitting blood. This is Van Damme’s strength - doing the splits, spinning around in the air, and making you believe he can murder a man twice his size with his feet (he can’t).

Put that together with some brilliantly choreographed fights, some amusingly effective casting choices, and a highly clichéd but surprisingly well-constructed screenplay - bad acting be Van Damned – and it’s hard not to kind of get into Bloodsport. If nothing else, it’s a great way to kill a rainy Sunday with a bowl of popcorn and a beer - or two. Or three. And even if Frank Dux is lying about his record, all I can say is that it’s a hell of a lie, and it made for a damned entertaining movie. And, it made Jean-Claude Van Damme a star! So if you stop and think about it, without Frank Dux, we’d never have had Timecop and Universal Soldier. Feel free to email him with your thanks.

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