I chased two guys down to their room. When they ran inside and locked the door, I said, “If you don’t open up, I’m gonna kick this door in.” They were laughing their asses off. So I kicked the door in, just in time to see them jump out the window. I threw all their training gear into a bedsheet and used that to soak up all the water in my room.
The next morning I got a call. “Can we get our clothes?” They were the people we were supposed to fight. They didn’t have anything to train or fight in.
Then we found out the venue had changed, less than forty-eight hours before the event, and no one seemed to be in charge. I hunted down the promoter and made him give me the cash box. I told him, “I’m going to fix this show, but you have to sit down and shut up.” We resurrected the show, renegotiated the pay, and had the fight. Everything seemed to be fixed up. But then the next day when we arrived at the airport to fly home we found out the organizers had only gotten us one-way tickets. I was so mad that I went and found the promoter and threatened him. I took away his wallet. I took all his money, and we flew home.
I’m not saying this was the face of MMA, but the MMA business was not a professional one. This was the kind of thing that happened in our industry. This was what I was determined to change. So I dabbled in the business of MMA. I believed that the basic problem with our sport was presentation. At the time, the whole concept of the cage was too much. We needed something softer and more mainstream. I had a vision of an arena, something less scary and threatening.
But it wasn’t a shared vision. I used to go out on these money-raising excursions, and people would laugh at me. The idea of a mainstream MMA was so far-fetched. No one got it. It was cage fighting. The view of the sport was 100 percent negative. Society just was not ready for it at all. People would say, “Look at them. They’re animals. There are no rules. You can’t kick a man when he’s down. It’s not cool.” That’s what I was facing. So I got busy trying to come up with something new. I became a promoter for a while.
I got a call one day from a woman in Arizona. She was an American Indian, and she had some sort of nonprofit organization behind her, and she was interested in MMA. I had been working with the idea of promoting and about the concept of Bushido, which is a Japanese expression, from the samurai days, that means “way of the warrior.” She introduced me to a graphic designer who created a really cool Bushido logo.
So I put the two ideas together, and we went into business in early 2001. For the first time, here was an MMA event that said, “Frank Shamrock Presents …” on it. I pulled together some really good fighters, and we staged our first fight. We had Yves Edwards, Pete Spratt, Trevor Prangley, Shannon Ritch, Josh Thomson, and Bobby Southworth. It was a great show, with everyone representing his respective martial art. I thought I knew everything, and I thought it was going to be huge.
It wasn’t huge. We lost our asses. I made peanuts. It was a disaster. I was a fighter and didn’t know about being a promoter and neither did my partner. I had never had to attend to the finer details, like administrative tasks. So I decided to get out of the promotion business. But then three months later, in 2001, we did Bushido II. It was another disaster.
I kept thinking about how to do something different in my industry, about different ways to get MMA across, different types of presentations. I was very aware of the limitations and the barriers. MMA was too bloody. There weren’t enough regulations. It was too scary. The ropes and the cage made everything too cold and unpleasant.
I came up with an idea for something called Shootbox. I spent months polling people, studying arenas, and designing a combination of new ideas and old ideas. I designed a presentation that included a sunken, four-sided box. Around it were elevated seats, and above it was an elevated, four-sided TV screen, like they have at hockey matches. There would be nothing between the fan and the fight. Everything would be open and visible. The storyline wouldn’t be the fight to the death. It would be about the art of fighting and it would be seen like never before. Our tagline was “NO Ring, NO Ropes, NO Cage—No Limits.”
Soon we had our first investor, from Arizona. He had seen advertising for the Bushido shows. He and his father were working with a public company and they wanted to get into MMA. They asked me to create a concept for network TV, so I showed them the Shootbox concept. They loved it, and we worked out a deal. I sold them the rights to Shootbox. They got 100 percent of the company and my services. I got ten million shares in their company and a big salary.
I was back in the promotion business. I thought I was really taking off. I started driving a BMW! I was a promoter and a presenter. I was the president of sports and marketing for a major multimedia company! We organized our first show for August 2003, in Orlando, Florida.
In order to get approved by the Florida boxing commission, we had to build an actual Shootbox. So my friend Crazy Bob and the boys built one. On his front lawn. It was a huge wooden box, thirty-six feet square. When it was done, we shipped it to Florida.
We debuted on a Saturday night. The event was sold out. The fighters were Dave Velasquez, Alex Kababian, Erik Wray, Jason DeLucia, Mike Swick, Butch Bacon, Matt Rogers, Jeff Ford, Jerome Smith, Chad Washburn, Daniel Wade, and more. The fights were being filmed so we could show the footage to the networks. We had some press there, and a lot of MMA people in the audience. Bas Rutten and Dan Severn were there watching and Don Frye and Jeff Blatnick commentated the action.
It was a great event. The fighting was good. Mike Swick knocked out Butch Bacon with a punch that required the paramedics, so that created a lot of scary drama.
The idea was to film the event and present it to the networks and to investors. But the two backers ran out of money before they even got that far. The night before the fights happened, one of the principals knocked on my door and said, “Do you know what’s going on?” Our company had been sold to another company. The money was funky. Something weird was going on. My partners didn’t know where the next round of financing was coming from, or if it was coming at all. It turned out it wasn’t.
My plan had been to hold ShootBox 2 in Las Vegas, and to fight Cesar Gracie myself. There was never a ShootBox 2. I never even got a VHS tape of the first show. I had shares in a worthless company. I got rid of the BMW. But my belief that I could take MMA more mainstream didn’t change.
The Juarez clan of four, circa 1981: Robynn on top, and, left to right, Perry, Suzy, and me.
Mom was a great cook and always had a garden with fresh fruit and vegetables.
Flexing with my brother Perry when I was twelve.
In 1989, Christy’s parents brought her and Frankie to visit me while I was in juvenile hall for the casino brawl. This was the second time I got to see my son.
In Jamestown Prison with my cellie and weight-lifting partner, Butch, in 1992.
Defeating Kevin Jackson, the 1992 Olympic gold medalist for wrestling, in just sixteen seconds at UFC Japan. SUSUMU NAGAO
The band Biohazard attended our Pancrase fights and afterward invited us to their show—onstage.
Walking down the ramp at NK Hall to face Enson Inoue, the Shooto heavyweight champion, in 1997. Those are my Adidas running shoes and the kimono robe I bought at the gift shop—one of my early costumes. SUSUMU NAGAO
Pumping iron in the old Lion’s Den in Lodi, California, 1996.
My adoptive dad Bob Shamrock and I traveling to the UFC to support my brother Ken, 1996.
After a wild slugfest with Enson Inoue that ended when I put him to sleep with a knee, I was calling out everyone.
Preparing for my first kickboxing bout in Las Vegas, 2001, which I won in fifty-six seconds.
The Alliance: Frank Shamrock, Maurice Smith, and Tsyoshi Kosaka.
After beating the hell out of John Lober in Saõ Paulo, I was pissed and let Jeff Blatnick have an earful. But my sponsors were very happy.
Macho Man and I on the set of Walker, Texas Ranger, in 1999. He was the nicest and most professional performer I ever met and one o
f my idols. R.I.P. MMASTARS.COM
On the same set with my hero Chuck Norris. This was one of the best days of my life. MMASTARS.COM
Slipping Phil Baroni’s jab in June 2007 and countering with a hard jab. TOM CASINO
Giving the peace sign to my favorite photographer, Tom, during the Baroni fight. TOM CASINO
Shamrock vs. Gracie (2006) sold a record-setting 18,265 seats and launched the Strikeforce brand in twenty-one seconds with this punch. PEARCI F. BASTIANI
The final seconds of the third round with Cung Le, 2008. I knew my arm was broken and had to use my face to block the kicks. TOM CASINO
When Cung Le broke my arm it was a huge eye-opener and a blessing in disguise. I found out that I was not invincible and that I wanted to get out of fighting. This photo was taken after the titanium plate was removed.
Sparring with Shamrock MMA youth students after teaching.
Shamrock MMA student Anita putting on the battle demo for National Autism Month at the Cinnabar Golf Course in San Jose.
Having dinner at Mastro’s with my super lawyer, mentor, and new father figure, Henry Holmes.
Introduction on the senate floor in Albany, New York, where I was campaigning to legalize MMA.
My little boy with my UFC championship belt when he was nine years old.
My little angel Nicolette. She softened my heart and my fists.
Enjoying retirement with Amy in Saint Tropez, France, on our cruise aboard the Christina O.
11
FEUDS AND THE FIGHT BUSINESS
I continued to have a very distant relationship with my brother Ken. I wasn’t in communication with our dad at all. Sometimes I would see them at an event. Sometimes Ken would say something in the media about me. It was all kind of painful.
Ken was famous for his feuds. He and the Brazilian jujitsu fighter Royce Gracie were in each other’s face for decades. Royce beat Ken after a controversial decision in the very first UFC fight, UFC 1, in 1993. Ken was determined to avenge this loss and trained for a 1994 rematch, but he broke his hand while training and had to bow out. So he entered a tournament later that year and fought his way through several opponents in order to face Royce again and reclaim his dignity. When he found out Royce had dropped out of the tournament, Ken refused to come out for the finals. If he couldn’t fight Royce for the championship, he didn’t want to fight at all.
The following year Ken had another chance. He and Royce were going to meet in the first-ever UFC singles fight, a “Super Fight.” But there was more controversy. Right before the fight, the promoters changed the rules and instituted thirty-minute rounds because the television distributor needed an end time for the show. This wrecked Ken’s strategy and threw both of them off balance. The fight was boring, ended in a draw, and did nothing to end the feud.
Ken had also been feuding for years with Tito Ortiz. Tito had dissed him after a fight and then started coming to fights wearing provocative T-shirts. (Tito beat Lion’s Den fighter Guy Mezger, then flipped off Ken and put on a shirt that said GAY MEZGER IS MY BITCH. Later on, Tito showed up to fight Ken wearing a shirt that said PUNISHING HIM INTO RETIREMENT.)
I got into the middle of one of Ken’s feuds when we were all in Mobile, Alabama, for a fight in 1996. Tank Abbott was a self-described street fighter from Huntington Beach, California. He traveled with a tough posse, including a guy named Big Al who used to shadow Tank. For some reason they hated the Lion’s Den guys. One night we all got back to the hotel at the same time. Our cabs pulled up to the lobby doors. Big Al got out of his cab and for some reason threw a hamburger at me. It was 4:00 AM and he was obviously drunk. Suddenly he starts making a move on me. He’s six foot eight and heavy, but he didn’t look or move like a fighter. So I said to his crew, guys I had hung out with before, who were sort of egging him on, “This guy is drunk. You better get him out of here.” But they didn’t. Big Al grabbed my chest and started pulling my shirt. That wasn’t cool, so I hit him with a right, and then I hit him a bunch more. He got really short all of a sudden, so I kicked him in the face a few times. Then I said, “Take your guy out of here. I’m going to bed.”
The next day he came up to me with his face all bandaged up and said, “I’m sorry, man. I was really drunk.” So I thought we were all cool. But a few months later we were all in Buffalo, New York, for another fight. Tank and all his guys were there. Everybody had been drinking. I was with my girlfriend. Tank came over to me and put an arm around my shoulder. He said, “Hey, cowboy. If she doesn’t go down on you tonight, I’ll take you home and suck your dick.” Security broke us up before I could hurt him. I guess that’s a good thing.
I remembered what Bob Shamrock had told me all those years before about never getting into a street fight. I rarely did. I was afraid of street fights. They seemed really dangerous to me. What if the guy had a knife? What if he had a gun? What if he had ten friends in the room?
Twice, though, I got caught up in something and wound up fighting that way. The first time was when I was still with the Lion’s Den. We were attending a UFC bar party. Some bar out near Modesto was showing the fight on pay-per-view. We went as a team to watch. They had a VIP section for us. We spent the evening hanging out and drinking and watching the fight.
It was really smoky inside, and after a while I went outside to get some fresh air. Out of nowhere this guy came up and started hassling me, bumping me in the chest and sort of challenging me. He was obviously wasted. I was dressed really nicely, and he was drunk, so I just ignored him and started to walk away. But he said, “Hey! Where are you going?” and came up to me. He looked like he was going to hit me. So I shot in on him, grabbed him around the waist, and pulled him to the ground. Somehow, just like a move right out of the movies, he fell into position for a rear naked choke. It was the most natural thing in the world. So I took advantage of the hold, choked him out, and put him to sleep in about two seconds.
I got up, angry because my nice clothes were all messed up. I started brushing myself off when suddenly I realize that the guy had woken up, stood up, and lunged at me. So I grabbed him as he came at me and snapped another choke hold on him. It was another movie moment. I felt like Bruce Lee! He walked right into it, and I snapped it on him. I held the choke and put him back to sleep.
I didn’t think I should just drop the guy, unconscious, onto the asphalt. So I lowered him to the ground and we sort of sat down together. When he started to wake up again, I choked him out a third time and tied his shoestrings together. Right then some security guys from the bar came out. I told them everything was cool. I brushed my butt off and untucked my shirt and went back inside as if nothing had happened.
My second street fight was many years later, when I was living in Los Angeles with Angelina. I had to go to Home Depot for just one little thing—one of those plates that covers a light switch. It was hot, so I was wearing a tank top and shorts and sandals. I got my light switch cover and went to stand in line. It was a long line with twenty-plus people. When I finally got to the front of the line and was almost at the cash register, this little Mexican dude slides up and parks his cart in front of me. I said, “Excuse me, but we’re all in line here.” He ignored me. I thought that was pretty rude. But I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. So I said again, “Hey, buddy. All these people here are in line, and the end of the line is back there.”
He turned to me and said, “Fuck off.” I couldn’t believe it. He was a little fat guy, and I’m there all pumped up in my gym clothes. So I said again, “Buddy, you got to get in line.” And he said, “I told you to fuck off.” I got really angry! I started talking to myself. I started talking to the other people in line. Can you believe this guy? Who does this guy think he is? What the hell is wrong with this guy?
He ignored me. So I decided I was going to take him outside and beat the living shit out of him. He paid for his giant shopping cart full of items. I was next. I paid for my one little light switch cover. I walked out. I found him, and started
walking behind him. I followed him to his truck.
I composed myself. I changed my mind about killing him. When I got to his truck, I said, “Hey, man.” He turned around. I was in my interview position, hands up and palms open, very relaxed. I was just going to talk to him. I said, “What’s your problem? Why would you treat another human being like that?” And he said, one last time, “I thought I told you to fuck off.” I literally screamed, like a crazy man, and attacked him. I front-kicked him in the stomach. When his head fell forward, I grabbed his hair and kneed him in the face. Then when his head came up, I punched him in the face, really hard, with my right hand.
He went down bleeding, making these moaning noises. I figured he was done. In the time it took to look around the parking lot to see whether anyone had seen me, he got to his feet and came up with a huge eight-inch hunting knife. He said, “I’m going to kill you.”
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