All they wanted was a spark, some tiny transfer of heat and light and hope to ignite their highly combustible mood.

But takedown after takedown, blow after brutal blow, the hundreds of RVCA-adorned fans who had gathered at Champions Sports Bar and Grill on Ke'eaumoku Street to watch local mixed-martial arts fighter BJ Penn's highly touted welterweight championship bout against Georges St-Pierre sunk lower in their seats, their passion and enthusiasm settling into the soiled carpet like spilled beer.

"Pau already," one shouted, as St-Pierre conducted a third-round ground-and-pound clinic on the side of Penn's head.

Seated nearby, 27-year-old airport worker Josh John pounded the table, looking as though he was ready to bite the neck off of his Heineken. He turned his attention back and forth between the mounted TVs as if expecting to find a different result. And as the reality of what was happening in that ring in Las Vegas sunk in, he spit the same litany of unrepeatables as those in the crowded room around him.

It was no doubt a scene replayed in scores of restaurants and bars and in thousands of living rooms around the state.

The anticipation surrounding the fight reached near-overkill levels in the days leading up to the match. Hundreds of Hawai'i residents flew out to catch the fight live at the MGM Grand. Promoters anticipated record pay-per-view sales. Internet sites buzzed with hourly updates.

Had Penn, the UFC lightweight champion, been successful, he would have been the first UFC fighter to hold belts in two different weight classes at the same time — an accomplishment that would have elevated not just his own considerable reputation in the sport, but the collective pride of a Hawai'i community always eager to prove something to the rest of the country.

"He's a Hawai'i boy, and we're always so proud when someone from here accomplishes something at a high level," said Robbie Lum, 58, of Hawai'i Kai. "It's been such a year with (President) Obama and our Olympic athletes, and now this."

Lum and her husband Milton, 60, were among the last of an estimated crowd of 400 to get into Therapy Sportsgrill, where doormen were forced to turn people away.

Owner Keoni Chan and his staff began their preparations for the big fight at 2:30 a.m., correctly anticipating a massive and hungry crowd of Penn supporters. The fans started arriving at noon for the 5 p.m. fight. By 3:30 p.m. they had hit their capacity.

The crowd was an impressive mix of young and old, male and female, ardent MMA fan and casual viewer. Indeed, whether it was Boys Night Out or Girls Night Out, Family Night or Leave-the-Kids-at-Home Night, the common destination seemed to be in front of a TV screen watching Penn.

Liz Oga, 30, of Kane'ohe watched the fight with friends Alicia Nishioka and Melzy Gibo.

"It's mainly because he's a Hawai'i guy," Oga said. "But, also, he's just really good."

Sharon Lucas, a 30-year-old social worker from Kaimuki, was the lone GSP fan in a sea of Penn supporters at Therapy. Her logic was simple.

"I think GSP is a lot more humble than BJ," she said. "Plus, he's hot."

The scene was decidedly less frenetic yet no less charged at Ali Spencer's home in Waimanalo, where she and her husband were hosting a viewing party for an estimated 40 friends and neighbors.

Their converted garage is equipped with a large-screen TV, two smaller TVs, and a sound system that made each televised body blow a visceral experience for viewers.

Here, friends of the Spencers, all pledging allegiance to the Penn camp, discussed the magnitude of the fight and its meaning to local folks like themselves.

"What this is all about is the same reason why guys here have to have the pit bulls and the F-150s and the tattoos," said Mark Panek, a University of Hawai'i-Hilo professor and author of the Akebono biography "Gaijin Yokozuna." "In BJ, we have the assertion of a strong, proud cultural identity, which is very powerful for guys who spend their lives working for someone else and earning money for someone else.

"BJ is heroic not just because he can kick someone's (expletive) but because he is able to do so in a legitimate, sanctioned way, and that makes him someone that other people look up to."

The sense of anticipation at Champions was made manifest the second Penn stepped into the ring. The crowd bellowed his name in time with the ring announcer. They exploded into cheers when the ring girl flashed a shaka sign to the camera before the start of the second round.

Twitchy young men with shaven heads hissed warnings and observations to no one in particular as Penn struggled to fend off St-Pierre's blows.

And no one was in more visible agony when the fight went south than Simon Babb, a 61-year-old developer from Honolulu who shouted a reverse countdown as Penn held on for the bell signifying the end of a brutal third round.

After the fight, a defiant Babb remained convinced that Penn had been thwarted by the referee's premature action.

"He was doing what (Muhammad) Ali did," Babb said of Penn. "He was wearing him down. If the ref had let him finish the fight, he could have won."

And for at least one disappointed fan last night, loyalty proved much more enduring than hype.