Durham, N.C. Home of Duke University and its vaunted Blue Devils basketball team. An anchor of the so-called Research Triangle, with some of the nation’s top medical centers, numerous high-tech companies like IBM and Lenovo, and life science firms like Merck & Co.
And, monthly, Durham has also become the site of a most unusual drunken bar brawl known as Giant Robot Fight Club.
Griffin Hennelly is the brains, brawn, and impresario behind these battles. He comes from a longtime hospitality background, having worked in bars and restaurants in places like New York City. By day, he currently bartends at The Federal, a beloved corner bar that’s been a mainstay in the city for over two decades.
Back in New York, he also studied at the legendary Stella Adler Studio of Acting and went on to produce live shows for nearly 15 years. Upon settling in Durham with his wife last year, he started thinking about what type of shows might appeal to locals.
“I realized that all the shows that are popular here involve some sort of athletic activity and drinking; some sort of a role playing, like a Dungeons and Dragons kind of thing, and drinking; or craft-making and drinking,” Hennelly says. “And I was like, ‘Well, what if we could fit all this into one big show?’”
His vision came together one day at The Common Market, a funky convenience store-cum-deli-cum-coffee shop-cum ice cream parlor-cum-bar. Hennelly liked how it had a basement bar space that could be viewed from above from customers sitting in chairs and standing along a rail.
“I was like, oh, this feels like a sort of coliseum,” he recalls.
The Common Market agreed to host the first-ever Giant Robot Fight Club. General manager Sharon Mahofski thought it was a fitting match of venue and event; the bar was originally designed as a community gathering space and, she says, “I thought it was the physically best spot to do this event.”
Hennelly took inspiration from 1990s new wave comic books — especially Rob Liefeld’s work — along with WWF’s late-1990s/early-2000s Attitude Era. He posted on local subreddits looking for other oddballs interested in dressing up like robots in homemade costumes and fighting in a basement bar.
“My wife read the description on r/bullcity back in November 2024 and about three words in I said ‘I AM DOING THIS,’” recalls Jeffrey Crews, a longtime electron microscopist specializing in imaging viruses, who has also been a tinkerer and a maker of “all sorts of things” for decades, and a proud sci-fi nerd.
The first battle was held in December of 2024. A diverse mix of would-be robots showed up, everything from Gen Z Duke students to Crews, who has just turned 60 and “who absolutely kicks ass,” says Hennelly. Their robot outfits looked like kids’ homemade Halloween costumes, made of cardboard boxes, empty Pabst Blue Ribbon cases, duct tape, and other repurposed items. They gave themselves names like Mystery Machine, Theodorus Rex, Motherboard Superior, and Seam Ripper. Hennelly went by HotDog Henly. It was raucous.
“This is ‘the most Durham thing’ I have ever seen,” thought Crews, who has since participated as robots with names like BAPHOMETRON 2.5, Pink Pony Clubber, and Metalbeast: CHROME.
At the first event, too many fans arrived to let everyone in the door. The lucky hundred or so — a mix of 20-something hipsters and youthful “cool parents” (some with their small children in tow) — packed The Common Market, drinking cans of PBR and THC sodas as they cheered the robots below waging battle in a ring set among beer colors and a wall of natural wine bottles.
“I have not yet seen anyone wander in during the show to pick up a bottle of wine,” cracks Hennelly. (And, for what’s it worth, Hennelly says the actual fighters typically “save their drinking for afterward.”)
The first battle followed a sort of sumo-wrestling-style scoring system: 5 points for knocking someone’s foot out of the ring, 10 for pushing both feet out. No one really paid attention or cared, though. So for the next show, he switched to judge-award scoring. Again, no one cared. Now the winners are determined by audience approval.
Vinny Faso started fighting as a way to honor his recently deceased brother, Chris; the two had loved watching animated sitcom “Futurama” together. Today, the 36-year-old appears as The Dread Bender — a Futurama reference to the show’s wisecracking robot — and has also taken on a role as the show’s choreography coordinator.
“The combination of crafting, fighting, silliness, and story-building has created a community of people that want to escape from the world we live in to go back to a place from when we were kids,” Faso says. “A place where laughter, creativity, and imagination are valued, and everyone is accepted.”
Rather quickly, Hennelly and his events began to garner buzz in the community, both on those aforementioned subreddits and in the legitimate press.
For what it’s worth, Hennelly’s family is no stranger to accolades from the culinary press — though it’s typically a bit more highbrow. Griffin’s brother, Austin Hennelly, is the bar director of the Michelin-starred Kato Restaurant, an elegant Taiwanese spot in downtown Los Angeles. (Austin has been a guest on VinePair’s Cocktail College podcast, and appeared in multiple features.) Oddly, Austin sees similarities between his and his brother’s bar gigs.
“While the work that Griffin and I do is undeniably different, our approaches are the same and reflect the spirit of devotion to craft with which we were raised,” Austin says, noting that their father was a multidisciplinary artist who did stage illusions for magic shows, danced in “The Nutcracker,” and constructed intricate window displays for his wine shop. “[Griffin] is a slapstick savant with an attention to detail that rivals any chef with three Michelin Stars. He will work tirelessly, perfecting and tinkering, revising and editing, to ensure that the result is the exact right kind of dumbest thing you’ve ever seen.”
But not everyone gets it.
“I’m probably going to get some hate for this,” started one Redditor, “but I came expecting a scripted professional wrestling experience with flamboyant moves and more performance art rather than actual sumo fighting in cardboard boxes.”
Like his brother, Hennelly wants to only get bigger — and more acclaimed. He wants to stage bigger shows in larger, ticketed venues and actual theaters. He wants to expand to other North Carolina cities like Raleigh. Next month, he’s hosting a Battle Royale. Maybe next, a nationwide tour. Can he get bigger than that? He thinks he can.
“Absolute world domination,” he says before we end our call.
