Let’s Get It On!

by McCarthy, Big John; Loretta Hunt, Bas Rutten; Bas Rutten

  It had been the perfect first fight. It hadn’t turned out the way people had thought it would, but it’d sure woken everybody up.

  I ran back out to my seat to catch the next fight, which matched Kevin Rosier against Zane “Hand Wrap” Frazier. The usually animated Rosier strode to the cage with his hood pulled over his head, his sweatshirt displaying the fitting words “Train as if your life depends on it. Someday it might.”

  Frazier entered the arena, chin raised, eyes focused on the Octagon, with a slightly peppier step. Frazier and his hand wraps were decidedly ready to go.

  Rosier, his sweatshirt now gone to reveal his pudgy physique, paced the cage. If this was a battle of the bodies, Rosier had already lost. Luckily for him, it wasn’t.

  In Rosier’s prefight video, he’d said his greatest weapon was his overhand right, and that’s what he used to muscle Frazier down to the mat in the first few seconds. But as a kickboxer, Rosier didn’t know how to keep Frazier there, and the two were quickly on their feet again.

  Frazier went to work on Rosier and started to beat the piss out of him, landing a nice uppercut and straight right while they clinched and punched. But the altitude wasn’t kind to Frazier, who was also asthmatic, and he started huffing and staggering.

  Rosier went in for the kill with frantic haymakers, and Frazier wilted against the fence. When Rosier began stomping Frazier, his cornerman Frank Trejo threw in the towel. Rosier would advance.

  Now it was Royce’s turn to be introduced to the world. Of all the fighters’ entrances, his was probably the most organized, and it certainly became the most beloved in those early days. With his brothers standing in front of and behind him in matching blue and white tracksuits, linked with their arms resting on each other’s shoulders, Royce walked the weaving trail to the cage in what would later be dubbed the Gracie Train.

  Dressed in the traditional gi, the white jacket and pants uniform many martial artists wear, Royce scaled the steps and walked into the cage while a strong contingent of his family members chanted, “Royce, Royce, Royce . . .”

  By the look on his face, I could tell Royce was ready but nervous, which was understandable, but I wasn’t nervous at all. I truly believed in his ability.

  Jimmerson, the boxer, entered next, seeming anxious and not at all comfortable with his new surroundings. I immediately realized the quick demo I’d given him a couple days earlier had made a greater impression than I’d thought. On his left hand, Jimmerson wore a red boxing glove. I guess he counted on pounding on Royce while his free hand held him down. In reality, the single glove would be a hindrance.

  As soon as Royce took Jimmerson down by grabbing his legs exactly the way I’d done in the ballroom, Royce passed over the boxer’s legs and sat on his chest, which is called taking mount position. The audience didn’t know it, but Royce had achieved in a few seconds what’s considered one of the most dominant positions in MMA today.

  Jimmerson’s gloved hand wasn’t able to grab a solid hold of Royce’s body, which was now horizontal to his own, and I think he panicked as Royce began to successfully pry him off. Without a single hold or choke applied to him, Jimmerson tapped out and yelled, “Get off me.” The fight was over in two minutes, eighteen seconds.

  Rorion said in an interview directly afterward that he wished the boxer had put up more of a fight. “Royce didn’t get a chance to do much,” he said. He was probably lamenting over the $20,000 he’d just watched fly out the window. Then he threw me a look as if to say, “What the hell was that?”

  I shrugged but knew my ballroom tutorial with Jimmerson had probably bungled the whole thing up.

  As we moved to the last quarterfinal bout, I have to admit my interest was piqued. I knew Ken Shamrock had grappling experience because of his fights in the Pancrase organization. In fact, Ken had won his third fight and left Japan for Denver just four days earlier, bringing with him Pancrase regular Takaku Fuke to work his corner. Hands down, Ken had the most confident look and swagger of any fighter I’ve ever seen enter the cage. He gave off this aura that he meant business.

  Ken’s opponent, Patrick Smith, was a local tae kwon do fighter and kickboxer whom Art had scouted at a Sabaki Challenge when he’d visited Denver to select the venue. Smith had a large entourage, and when I’d passed them backstage in the tunnel, I’d heard them screaming, “We’re gonna kill you,” to Ken to psych Smith up.

  Ken had been standing a few feet in front of them, getting hot. He turned around to Smith and said something like, “I’ll see you in a minute.”

  Smith’s record was listed as 250—0, which I’m sure raised a few eyebrows besides mine. I didn’t want to miss this fight.

  Ken’s discipline was listed as shootfighting, which incorporates a multitude of martial arts to allow a fighter to kick, punch, wrestle, and grapple. Of all the participants at UFC 1, Ken was probably the closest example of a true mixed martial artist.

  I wasn’t surprised when Ken quickly engaged Smith in a clinch and took him down, then settled into Smith’s guard, moving his body between his opponent’s legs. From there, Ken tried to create some space to either punch or find a submission. After a few seconds, Ken grabbed Smith’s leg and lay back with the appendage, torquing the heel with his arms. The move, called a heelhook, places a great amount of pressure on the opponent’s knee and can also affect the ankle.

  Smith didn’t know what was happening to him or how to defend the hold. He kicked at Ken and landed a pretty good blow to his eye with his free leg. He even tried a few downward elbows to Ken’s shin, but the pain washed over him too quickly and Smith tapped out.

  After he was able to recover to his feet, Smith suggested, “Let’s fight like real men.”

  Both sides’ cornermen had to tangle themselves between the two hotheaded fighters.

  The crowd, not understanding what they were watching, started chanting, “Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit . . .”

  Though he was urging Ken to continue, Smith had already tapped out and the fight was over.

  The semifinals were now set. Having observed the entire field of competition, I was more confident than ever in Royce’s chances. Not a single fighter had the knowledge and experience to beat Royce’s Gracie Jiu-Jitsu. It was as simple as that.

  Watching Gordeau and Rosier make their way back to the Octagon, I knew one of them would face Royce, but they were practically interchangeable. Without question, either of them faced the same fate: tapping out to a submission on the ground with Royce.

  Gordeau’s broken right hand was swollen like a balloon, and Tuli’s tooth was still planted in his foot, which he’d covered with tape. Rosier’s left eye was taped from a cut, and you could tell he was nervous, but he still came out aggressive at the bell. That wasn’t enough to overwhelm Gordeau, though, who attacked with his legs and trapped Rosier against the fence. Again on instinct, referee Barreto stepped in as Rosier lay defenseless at Gordeau’s feet. This time Barreto would be saved Rorion’s diatribe because Rosier’s corner quickly threw their white towel over the fence.

  The other semifinal match was probably the most anticipated of the night. What Ken Shamrock lacked in actual skill, he more than made up for with his composure. He was captivating and immediately foiled Royce’s stoicism.

  At the bell, Royce shot for a double-leg takedown and Ken thrust his legs out behind in what’s called a sprawl so Royce couldn’t get ahold of them. Ken scrambled off the sprawl well, giving Royce a little challenge pulling Ken between his legs, or into his guard.

  Many probably thought Ken, now on top, had the upper hand, but Royce was not in a disadvantageous position. From his back, he had a variety of submission holds and chokes he could set up on Ken.

  From here, Ken resorted to his signature move, leaning back and trying to grab a leg for a submission as he’d done with Patrick Smith in his first fight. The difference was that Royce knew exactly what was coming and how to avoid it, and he used the momentum to roll himself to top position.

>   Ken squirmed and flipped over to his knees to escape, Royce secured the rear-naked choke, and Ken tapped the canvas violently five times. However, the referee, on the other side of the men, didn’t see it. When Ken tapped, Royce let go of the hold altogether.

  Now the referee wanted to continue, but to Ken’s credit he manned up and conceded the win to Royce.

  Interviewer Brian Kilmeade grabbed Ken as he exited the Octagon and asked him if he thought he was the second best fighter in the tournament. It was easy for all of us to see that was the case.

  “I’m the third best person here today,” Ken answered.

  Right then, I knew Ken would go far in this.

  I think Ken’s sportsmanship helped the UFC in those early events. Spectators could relate to him and wanted to keep tuning in to see him.

  As Gordeau and Royce rested backstage for the finals, the UFC held an alternates match between Jason DeLucia and Trent Jenkins. In theory, this bout was supposed to create a replacement should a fighter not be able to continue, but because it was held so late in the evening, it could apply only to the final bout. I doubted Gordeau, who’d already refused to stop despite a badly broken hand and punctured foot, or Royce, who was virtually unscathed, would bow out at this point.

  Still, the alternates match turned out to be one of the most technical and competitive on the entire card. DeLucia and Jenkins were two of the fitter guys to enter the cage at the same time, and at twenty-four years old, DeLucia was the youngest in the tournament that night.

  DeLucia studied a technique called five animal kung fu, which would lead one to believe he had no knowledge of ground techniques. But I’d seen DeLucia once before at the Torrance academy in a challenge fight against Royce. At the time, he hadn’t had ground skills, but he was a good athlete with a ton of heart. After he’d lost to Royce in the challenge match, he said he’d start learning jiu-jitsu, so I knew to expect more from him.

  The alternates match began, and DeLucia threw some fancy kicks that entertained the crowd. With surprisingly fast reflexes, Jenkins, an American kempo stylist, got out of the way. Then he fired back a few kicks of his own. DeLucia wrapped himself around Jenkins’ leg and dragged him to the ground.

  The crowd started booing, but DeLucia was doing everything right.

  Then DeLucia grabbed Jenkins from behind and dropped backward, securing a hold called the rear-naked choke, wrapping his arm around Jenkins’ neck and grabbing his bicep to squeeze while lacing his other arm behind Jenkins’ head to lock the choke in.

  Jenkins tapped out at fifty-two seconds, and the one sign of a fight was a small cut near DeLucia’s eye. Jenkins’ toenail had cut him during a kick.

  Respectful and self-disciplined, DeLucia showed a lot of promise, and I think he got what we were trying to do right away. “Gracie Jiu-Jitsu had a big influence in the way I’ll fight from this day on,” he told the interviewer as he left the cage.

  I knew we hadn’t seen the last of this kid. Shortly after UFC 1, DeLucia would begin to train with Ken Shamrock.

  With a few more minutes remaining until the finals, Rorion and his brothers, including Royce with his white gi peeking out of his blue Gracie Team jacket, entered the Octagon to make a special presentation to their father, Helio. One thing about Rorion was that he absolutely loved and respected his dad. Money, fame, and notoriety were all motivations that had brought about this night, but I believe one of the main reasons Rorion created the UFC was to honor his father. He was everything to him.

  “What is the oldest question in the history of combat? Who is the ultimate fighter?” Rorion asked the audience. “We are here to pay our respects and to acknowledge the accomplishments of a pioneer warrior, who sixty-five years ago paved the way for this competition. He was a fighter who took on any challengers regardless of fighting style in the most bone-breaking, bare-knuckle fights that the civilized world has ever seen. We honor his fighting spirit, his teachings, his vision.”

  The crowd was unimpressed with the lull in action, but I understood that more than six decades of trial and error by that old fragile-looking man standing in the center of the cage had brought us to this moment. When people say today that Bruce Lee is the grandfather of MMA, it pisses me off. No disrespect to Lee, who was one of my childhood idols, but Helio was the guy. He’s the one who started all of this, and he deserves the credit.

  A stoic Helio stood there as his son handed him a plaque.

  “This event that my children present here in Denver today is the prize that I receive for my sixty-five years of sweat and blood,” Helio said.

  If the majority of the audience didn’t quite get the magnitude of this moment beyond the $50,000 purse on the line, there were still a handful of us aware. After the ceremony, Royce and Gordeau made their final trip that evening to the cage.

  There were no surprises in this one. Royce immediately shot for the Dutchman’s legs, and Gordeau wisely tried to struggle free from the takedown but couldn’t fend off Royce for long. Again, Royce moved to mount, and like Ken Shamrock, Gordeau instinctually flipped to his stomach to protect his face. Royce applied the rear-naked choke but this time held it until the referee stopped it even after Gordeau tapped the mat and Royce’s shoulder to signal his submission.

  Many people ask why Royce held the choke so long on Gordeau, but it’s because Gordeau had bitten Royce’s ear to try and shake his mount. Royce was dishing out a little payback.

  I stood on the platform outside the cage and watched Royce receive his gold medal and one of those poster-sized checks written for $50,000 as Helio looked on from the floor. Royce was flanked by his brothers and his future wife, Marianne, all of them wearing grins and a hint of relief on their faces. Rorion’s was the biggest smile of all.

  I drove Royce and Marianne back to the hotel afterward, then dropped them off for dinner alone at a restaurant. On the way, Royce didn’t say much to me other than that he felt he’d done well. He was a man of few words.

  We all stayed in the hotel an extra night because Rorion had planned a big after party, a fancy Carnivale-themed masquerade ball. I wore a tux, and some wore tuxedos and masks, but most of the fighters showed up wearing T-shirts and jeans.

  I spoke a bit with Ken Shamrock, who had a shiner from Patrick Smith’s kick. “I’ll be fighting only a couple more years,” he said during our conversation.

  At the UFC’s first ever after party with Art Davie, Kathy Kidd, Rorion, Elaine, and the maître d’

  It was a pleasant affair. There were no bad feelings among the fighters. They’d done their best and left it in the cage.

  I didn’t know then if there would be another UFC, though I was certainly hoping for it. I did know one thing: I was getting in that cage.

  From UFC 2 on, I handled all of the fighters’ rules meetings. (UFC 25, April 2000)

  Remco Pardoel vs. Ryan Parker at UFC 7: trying to look like I know what I’m doing (September 1995)

  BEST SERT IN THE HOUSE

  The secret of success is to be ready when your opportunity comes.

  —Benjamin Disraeli

  Two weeks following the first UFC, Rorion called me at home. “Will you be coming to the academy anytime soon?” he asked. “I have something important to speak with you about.”

  I assumed he wanted to talk about the application I’d filled out and dropped off on Kathy Kidd’s desk. If the UFC was going to continue, I wanted to fight in the next tournament.

  When I came in for my next jiu-jitsu class, Rorion said, “What are you doing? You’re with us, and Royce is doing this. You can’t fight Royce. You can enter when Royce leaves.”

  I hadn’t realized Royce would fight in the next UFC, and I certainly wasn’t entering to challenge Royce. At the time, I hadn’t thought so much of the UFC as a vehicle for the Gracies. But to Rorion, that’s exactly what it was: an infomercial for Gracie Jiu-Jitsu.

  And what an audience he already had. UFC 1 had already surpassed all expectations with its initial pay-per-view n
umbers—it ended up with 86,000 buys—and SEG had given Rorion the green light to begin planning a second event.

  Rorion had other designs for me. “John, how would you like to be the referee at the next show? You know what the fighters are supposed to be doing, and you can react in a split second to stop the fight if anyone taps out.”

  Rorion explained how the Brazilian referees at UFC 1 hadn’t followed his directions. When Tuli took Gordeau’s foot in the face and his tooth went airborne, the referee had stepped in to protect Tuli, but he didn’t have the power to do so. Rorion wanted the fights uninterrupted, the way they had been for his father in Brazil.

  To make sure it went right at the next UFC, Rorion had a few changes in mind, and he wanted me to help institute them. “John, we’ll have you sit in a lifeguard chair outside the cage, and when the fight is over, you’ll throw a red towel in so the fighters will know when to stop.”

  I had zero experience refereeing anything, but I’d seen enough street fights to know the idea was preposterous. Two guys going at each other wouldn’t see the towel, let alone obey it. It was a disaster waiting to happen.

  However, I wanted to be involved in the UFC whatever way I could. I felt it in my bones, so I made a deal with Rorion. If I could stay in the cage with the fighters to monitor the fights closely, I’d give refereeing a try.

  Rorion finally relented.

  At first, I didn’t put much thought into refereeing. At the police academy, my good friend Joe Hamilton and I talked about it as casually as we would the weekend’s upcoming football game.