Quitters Never Win
Page 27
‘Seriously? Because I throw a left hook with my thumb tucked correctly?’
‘He knows what he’s doing. He’s trained with the Japanese temple and—’
‘Yeah, yeah, he told us already,’ I said.
I beat most of the LA traffic and got home just as Rebecca was pulling out of the drive to do the school run to get the kids. She wound her car window down as I pulled level with her.
‘Home early?’ she said.
‘Hey, babe!’ I smiled. ‘So – funny story – about that movie I was doing …’
On television, I’ve guest-starred in some great shows like Twin Peaks, MacGyver and Magnum PI. I played the notorious London underground bareknuckle boxer Roy Shaw in a biopic of his archrival Lenny McLean (My Name Is Lenny).
Despite the occasional dickhead like Sensei Guru, there are a lot of really genuine, hard-working people in the TV/movie world. Noel Clarke and I met way back in 2010 to talk about me playing an MMA fighter in a movie he was writing and although that movie wasn’t made, he cast me in his 2014 sci-fi movie The Anomaly and attended some of my biggest UFC fights to support me.
Most of the roles I’m offered are bad guys in the action genre. It’s fun to play toy soldiers, running around exotic locations, doing fight scenes and shooting off guns, and it allows me to continue to use the martial arts training I’ve done for over three decades now. But of course I want to do different types of roles; I’m actually looking to do some more dramatic work, the type which will really challenge my acting skills.
People laughed when I said I was going to get paid as a DJ, they laughed when I said I was going to be an MMA fighter, they laughed at my UFC title ambitions and they’re doing it again now I’m trying to make it as an actor.
The biggest role I’ve gotten so far is playing ‘Hawk’ in xXx, which I filmed after the Anderson Silva fight. It was one of those auditions where I just felt sure I’d done well and given the casting agents what they’d been looking for.
The very next day my dynamite agent Mike Staudt, who now handled much of my career outside the UFC, called me. ‘You’ve got it. They loved you … and you have to leave tomorrow for Toronto. For five to six weeks.’
Vin Diesel is one of the biggest stars in Hollywood – and one of the nicest guys I’ve met in that world. When I arrived on the set of the franchise he created, Vin stopped what he was doing and made a huge fuss of me. We talked about the UFC, my win over Anderson and fights that he was looking forward to for over an hour. Then he gave me a tour of the set. Any nerves I arrived with were settled right away.
It really was an amazing experience. I’d done nothing even close to this level before. The production was incredible – the movie cost $85million to make. The fight scenes, the stunts, you name it, it was unreal being part of it. Even when I wasn’t needed on set or location, the weapons training, going over the choreography, it was like the best get-away ever for someone like me.
There were a few moments on xXx when I was having fun, working hard on a big blockbuster movie, where I could have convinced myself that I would be okay if I never fought in the UFC again.
Beating Anderson Silva – the guy I’d measured myself against for a decade – maybe that was enough of a legacy for me to leave behind. It’s possible that I could have convinced myself of that.
It’s also possible, though, I’d have grown resentful that I never got the chance to fight for the UFC title. It’s possible that, on the nights I couldn’t sleep, I’d compare my record against some of the fighters who have gotten title shots and feel pissed off. There’s only so long you can feel pissed off before you grow bitter.
I don’t know how I would have looked back on my career if I’d not fought for the belt. I’ll never know, of course, because in the last few days of filming xXx, I finally did land my shot.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
(ONE) EYE ON THE PRIZE
Eighteen days before I fought for the UFC title, I woke up in a hotel room in Toronto, Canada. I’d been staying in that room at the Soho Metropolitan for nine weeks, filming the movie xXx: Return of Xander Cage.
I’d auditioned for the role of Hawk, a badass spy who fights and then teams up with actor Vin Diesel’s title character. I felt I’d smashed the audition.
With these casting calls, the best thing you can do is show up prepared, do your best, go home and forget about it. If you get a call back – fantastic, but don’t waste energy worrying about it. The very next day my dynamite agent Mike Staudt called me.
‘You’ve got it. They loved you … but you have to leave tomorrow for Toronto. For four to six weeks.’
Filming really was amazing. I’d done nothing even close to this level. For one, the cast were amazing. Vin Diesel was just an absolute legend. The production was incredible. The fight scenes, the stunts, you name it. It was just amazing. And on the days off, with all the weapons training, doing all the choreography – it was just a lot of fun, especially for someone like me who is kind of like an adrenaline junkie, if you will.
The four to six weeks had turned into six, and seven and then nine.
I only had one shoot left – on location the following night in the downtown area – and with my mind on finally going home I was looking for gifts for the family. For Lucas, I was after some walkie-talkies. I loved playing with walkie-talkies as a kid, hiding in one part of the house while talking to one of my brothers hiding in another.
After I got a pair, I decided to visit a Starbucks for a coffee and a quick read. It was a Monday and after lunch hour. There were plenty of places to sit. I took a comfy armchair towards the back of the café, fired up Twitter and began to scroll the latest world happenings, 160-character hot-takes at a time.
My thumb froze mid-air.
Chris Weidman pulls out of UFC 199 title fight
Middleweight No.1 Weidman injured
Weidman out of UFC 199 title rematch with Rockhold
Headline after headline confirmed that the rematch between UFC middleweight champion Luke Rockhold and the man he’d beaten for the belt, Chris Weidman, scheduled for 4 June at the Forum in Inglewood, California, was off. The challenger was out. The champion, obviously, needed a new opponent. The fight was only 19 days away. If – and it was an if – Rockhold still wanted to defend his title the UFC would already be frantically searching for a replacement opponent.
If I’d missed the chance to call for a title fight immediately after beating Silva, I wouldn’t this time. Shooting upright in the leather armchair, I used both thumbs to bash out a text to Dana White.
Hey Dana if you need someone to step in and fight for the world title on 2 weeks notice you know where I am
The reply came within moments. It was a photograph of Lorenzo sat across an office table. A huge grin was on his face as he gave a thumbs up direct to camera. Underneath, Dana wrote, ‘FUCKING LOVE! SO DOES LORENZO!’
From the photo, it looked like the UFC owners were sat at one of the conference tables in their upstairs offices at 2960 West Sahara Avenue.
Then came the follow-up: ‘We are talking to Jacaré. Will let you know.’
Ronaldo ‘Jacaré’ Souza was the No.2 ranked middleweight challenger, one place below Weidman. At UFC 198 he had hammered Vitor Belfort, ranked No.3, inside of one round. I was ranked at No.4. I figured there was no way Jacaré – who was obviously in fight shape and had seemed to take no damage against Vitor – would turn the fight down. But I wasn’t quite ready to move on yet.
My thumbs whirled as I shot off a couple of tweets to stir the pot. My Twitter stream was already flooded with @mentions from fans and even media asking me if I wanted the UFC 199 title shot. I quickly picked one that also @mentioned Rockhold. My reply was that I wanted the fight – but Rockhold didn’t.
You can see what I was doing there: goading Rockhold into a public statement in favour of fighting me.
The fans responded really well to the tweets. A lot of people seemed to be excited to see me get the shot.
Oh well, I thought. It’s probably for the best. Rockhold is a tough bastard and brilliant fighter. I’m not in shape to go five rounds anyway, not at the pace I would need. I’d always said the goal wasn’t to fight for the belt, but to win the belt.
If nothing else that day, I’d reaffirmed to the UFC, to Dana and – most importantly – to myself that I wasn’t satisfied yet. The movie had taken my full attention since the Anderson fight, but the day’s events had made me realise just how close I was to the UFC championship.
It dawned on me that with Weidman out hurt, Jacaré about to get his shot in a few weeks, and Cheator Belfort about to drop from his No.3 position after getting beaten at UFC 198, I would become the next UFC middleweight title challenger after UFC 199 was done.
This was great. I got dressed and went to my mate’s. I didn’t go nuts, but I drank a little and indulged in some tasty food. Around 1am I was back in my hotel room and drifted off to sleep with nothing but the following day’s shoot on my mind.
My call time for my final day of filming wasn’t until the late afternoon. We were going to be shooting on location, outdoors on a closed-off street in downtown Toronto just after dark. With another full day to kill, I took the opportunity to hit the gym and sweat out the previous night’s junk food and drink. (And, of course, get a little pump on my biceps and chest. Gotta look buff for the cameras!)
The GoodLife Fitness club I’d been using for over two months was about a ten-minute run away. As I was checking into the gym, my phone started flashing like an office Christmas party. All kinds of notifications were blowing up: Twitter, texts, Instagram, Facebook Messenger. Stepping to one side, I looked at my screen just as Ariel Helwani texted ‘Congrats on the fight!’
Not quite believing what was clearly happening, I called Ariel: ‘Congrats on what fight? The title fight?’ I asked.
‘Yeah! Dana just went on ESPN Sport Center and said Jacaré turned it down, he has an injury, and so you are getting the shot.’
Oh, fuck! This was real.
I got off the phone with Ariel quickly and rushed up the stairs and dived into the changing rooms. I leapt onto a set of digital scales, fearing the worst.
It was worse. Displayed right there under my nose in red LED, it read: 215.7lb.
Oh, fuck. How on earth am I going to be at 185lb in just 17 days? By two and a half weeks out, I needed to be well under 205lb and, ideally, hovering around 200. This weight cut was going to murder me. It was also going to hurt my chances in the fight.
The fight. The UFC title shot I’d always wanted and chased so long after.
Bollocks to all the fancy equipment in the gym, I needed to lose weight and get in shape. Fast! That meant old-school road work – right fucking now! I darted towards the exit in full panic mode, throwing my backpack over my shoulders and apologising for knocking a few gym members flying as I hurried down the stairs.
I exploded out of the gym doors and into the streets like an escaped lunatic. I can’t even imagine how crazy I must have seemed to people I was blowing past. I went from nought to nuclear in three seconds flat. My hands snatched at the air, trying to reach top speed.
Fucking hell, Mike. Thirty pounds! In two fucking weeks!
Within a couple of blocks, the city became very built up and there were hundreds of people on the street, shopping, grabbing lunch, climbing in and out of cabs and delivering parcels. I zigzagged around them, trying to maintain a fat-burning pace, then I hit a traffic light and had to bounce around on my ankles for an eternity.
‘Fuck this!’ I said out loud and leapt into the traffic. I was almost splattered by a white van with a ladder strapped to its roof before I finally started getting room to go through the gears. I ran out of the business district and into a residential area. My body settled into an autopilot rhythm. My mind settled down as well. I began to process the enormity of what was happening.
I was running through a park – I’ve no idea of the name – that had a winding path through trees when the music in my headphones was replaced by a ringtone. Without slowing my pace, I answered. A familiar voice congratulated me.
‘Hey, thanks for the heads up, Dana,’ I said with no small amount of sarcasm.
We spoke briefly about the fight, the PR plan and my purse. I kept running the whole time. I ran a few more miles and my phone went again. It was Jason Parillo. I kept up my pace while I downloaded to my coach where my head was at.
‘I’ve not trained for four months,’ I pointed out.
Jason let me hear his amusement in his voice. ‘You’ve been training for this your whole life. What would one more month do for you? You’re in shape – how’s your run going?’
I slowed down to a jog, a walk and then a full stop. I wiped wet from my hairline and checked the tracker app on my phone.
‘Jason, I’m not in bad shape. I just ran over five miles at a good pace and I feel great..’
‘No, you ran five miles at a good pace dodging through traffic and pedestrians. And talking on the phone the whole time.’
I was already breathing normally, I noted.
‘You’ve been training for this your entire life,’ Jason repeated.
I turned around and headed back in the general direction of my hotel. I’d run so far I didn’t quite know the way back to where I was staying. But I knew the direction I was heading in – I was on the final mile before reaching the UFC world title.
It was bittersweet being home. I’d missed my family like crazy while in Toronto and even though I was back, I knew I had to begin to fully focus on UFC 199 almost immediately. I was so happy to be back with them, though.
Lucas was baffled by my gift of walkie-talkies. He stared at the box as if it was a long-division maths problem, so I explained how much fun we’d be having, talking to each other from other parts of the house.
‘Thanks, Dad,’ he said. ‘But we’ve got cell phones, so …’
Later that evening, once the kids were upstairs, Rebecca and I continued a conversation we’d been having off and on since my first eye operation.
‘You’ve done it now, Michael,’ she said. ‘You’ve got the world title fight you always said you’d earn. Win or lose, I think it is time for you to retire. You’ve been pushing your luck with the eye injury long enough. I don’t want to see you go through any more. I think you’ll beat Rockhold and that would be a great way to leave. And if you don’t win, finally fighting for the title is a good way to sign off, too.’
Despite agreeing with every word, I found I could only meet her halfway.
‘If I lose, I’ll retire there and then in the Octagon,’ I promised. ‘Right after the fight, I’ll tell Joe Rogan and everyone watching that I’m done. I’ll probably make an arse of myself, crying my eyes out. I’ll spend eternity as a Twitter meme but, I promise, if I lose this is my last fight ever. Promise.’
‘But, if and when you win …’
‘If and when I win, I’ll defend that goddamn belt as long as I can.’
Real fighting isn’t like Rocky. One pep talk from a Mickey figure doesn’t infuse a fighter with the confidence of reinforced concrete. As much sureness as I’d gotten from Jason and that run in Toronto, some of it had evaporated by the third day of training back at the RVCA gym at Costa Mesa.
The bookies made me a 6 – 1 against underdog. I became irritable. Brady caught the worse of it. While I was packing up to go home, I was deep inside my head and didn’t notice Jason was stood in front of me until he spoke.
‘Mike. Let’s talk after the guys leave.’
Twenty minutes later
Jason locked the gym door and sat next to me on the apron of the boxing ring. I felt like a dog in a vet’s waiting room.
‘You’re fighting for the middleweight title of the world in two weeks. You are the official top contender to the entire division. This is what you’ve worked for. This is it – the top of the mountain.
‘I think you’re gonna win. Brady thinks you are gonna win. We all think you will win. But – there’s a chance it doesn’t go our way. There’s always a chance it doesn’t go our way. This could be the only two weeks we get as the No.1 contender. Why not go through it with a smile on our faces and enjoy the moment?’
I nodded away but Jason knew I needed to hear a little more.
‘No one thought we’d get here and we did,’ he added. ‘This is a great moment for us – a great moment for you. It is everything you have worked for and everything you deserve. This should be a great time in your life. You will look back on these few days for the rest of your life. Mike – fucking smile! You are fighting for the championship of the world!’
Now you see why Jason Parillo is the best coach I’ve ever had. He’s the best coach in the sport, bar none.
I stood up and shook Jason’s hand.
‘You’re right, Jason,’ I said. ‘You’re one hundred per cent right.’
From that moment on, everything went right in camp. It was like destiny. Don’t ask me to explain it, but the weight fell off me. On the fourth day in the gym, I was flying. My long-time strength and conditioning coach, Scot Prohaska, did wonders in the short time we had. My wrestling was razor-blade sharp. Brady wasn’t able to tap me again for the entire camp.
Most importantly, Jason and I both felt I’d found another 15 per cent in punching power. I’d dropped Anderson Silva twice with my left hook and we all felt that punch would be a key weapon against Rockhold. Not only was the defending champion a southpaw (considered to be predominantly vulnerable to the left hook thrown from an orthodox stance) but Rockhold’s style contained several fault lines we fully intended to exploit.