Dana White, UFC master staging of events amid coronavirus

So this is the new norm, courtesy of the Ultimate Fighting Championship.

Live sports in a COVID-19 world. Our reality for the foreseeable future.

I hadn’t experienced it firsthand until Saturday at UFC on ESPN 10.

No fans. No thunderous roars from those wonderfully inebriated folks. No chorus of boos from those wonderfully inebriated folks. It was everything that I imagined and yet mixed with unknowns that couldn’t have been predicted.

Like nearly passing out from an anxiety attack.

Dana White said his sport would be the first back from the coronavirus pause, and the UFC president has delivered. Not to mention offering extremely detailed safety measures.

Those running other professional sports have inquired of White on how the UFC implemented such protocols in hopes of avoiding a spread of the virus. In turn, the UFC has shared mounds of information.

It all began with an early morning COVID-19 test (throat swab) and then being handed a hotel room key

for what was a nearly eight-hour stay.

It’s a wonder how fast time passes when “Beverly Hills Cop I and II” are on TV. Also, am I the only person who didn’t know there was a cornhole league whose participants wear shirts with more sponsor logos than a NASCAR driver?

That nutjob Jon Taffer was screaming at some poor schmuck on one channel and Jordan Spieth was leading a PGA Tour tournament on another.

Which, of course, caused me to believe it was a replay from three years ago.

Then this happened: About an hour before our scheduled departure for the event, an official called to inquire of my full name and birthday, saying he needed it while awaiting test results.

The blood pressure spiked. The heart began to race. Forget about it. I was doomed.

I run 6 miles and barely break a sweat. Suddenly, I was drenched. Coughing like a maniac. Probably scared the lights out of whoever was in the next room listening to my panic-stricken COVID-19 attack.

Then, while waiting in the lobby to board a media shuttle, the same gentleman said that mine was still the only result not returned, to which the most sarcastic colleague on the planet — Adam Hill — responded, “Uh-oh.”

At that point, the Dr. Death Test Guy took a call in private.

I felt like a UFC rookie about to be told White needed to see me and to bring my fight gloves. You can imagine the fear, both at the thought I had contracted the virus and even more that I would have to inform the wife, Queen Clorox.

All of her obsessive cleaning the past few months would have been deemed a colossal failure. She’d have me quarantine on the roof and maybe toss up a slice of bread every few days.

But then Dr. Death appeared from inside his dark lair.

“You’re good to go,” he said.

Hey, yeah, nice. Thanks for the cardiac arrest.

Smooth as silk

The actual event at the Apex facility was far less stressful. And far more surreal.

I still can’t be in a gathering of masked humans and not believe some sort of purge has begun.

A guy straight out of “Ghostbusters” sprayed down a smaller-than-usual octagon. Those in a fighter’s corner talked especially loud during the action, as much to influence judges as offer instruction.

Marvin Vettori proved he could beat Karl Roberson just as easily in a cage as a hotel.

Cynthia Calvillo impressed to the point it was Jessica Eye-Over after three rounds of what lasted all five.

There was a smattering of claps throughout the night from a smattering of folks inside a venue whose capacity is 1,100.

But things ran smoothly. It all seemed so effortless.

White’s staff has mastered what some might have believed an unworkable situation — terrifically staging a professional sporting event and all its moving parts during this pandemic.

The UFC is so organized. Football and basketball and hockey could learn a ton. Baseball, too, if it were still a sport.

“I think it’s getting better each time we do it,” White said. “I don’t know how long this is going to go on, but if I have to get that toothpick stuck down my throat one more time — I’m so (bleeping) tired of it. I want to go back to the nose.”

Coronavirus be damned, the UFC still puts on one heck of a show.

Except for Dr. Death. I don’t need to see that guy again any time soon.

Contact columnist Ed Graney at egraney@reviewjournal.com or 702-383-4618. He can be heard on “The Press Box,” ESPN Radio 100.9 FM and 1100 AM, from 7 a.m. to 10 a.m. Monday through Friday. Follow @edgraney on Twitter.