Let’s Get It On!

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

  Former teen actor Robby Benson directed the episode. I remembered him from a college basketball movie he’d done called One on One. I’d loved that movie, but I was too shy to go up to Benson and tell him that.

  On the first day, the stunt coordinator approached me and said a couple of stars had questions about the UFC, so I said I’d be happy to answer them.

  This tiny woman approached me, baseball cap pulled down low on her forehead. She was so petite I did a double take. “Do people die in this?” she asked, peering up.

  I hadn’t even realized who she was at first, and all I can tell you is that she was one of three female leads. I dove into my well-rehearsed explanation, and she listened for about thirty seconds before she turned and walked away.

  It wasn’t my final interaction with the woman I’ll call Miss X. In the makeup room, I was told to sit next to her to prep for the episode.

  Soon a production assistant came in and gently said to her, “Mr. Benson wants to work through the lunch break, so I took it upon myself to order you grilled chicken, steamed vegetables, and some pasta.”

  She exploded like the assistant had just run over her dog. “No, no, no. That’s my time. That’s my thirty minutes, and I want to go to the commissary.”

  “Okay, but Mr. Benson—”

  “I don’t care what Mr. Benson wants. That’s my thirty minutes. If I want to stand out on Barham Boulevard and pick my nose, that’s what I’m going to do.”

  The assistant nodded, walked to my chair, and gave me the same line and lunch menu. In my one Academy Award—worthy moment, I went for it. “No, no, no, no,” I shrieked, startling the makeup artist. “That’s my thirty minutes, and if I want to stand out—” I paused. “You know what, bud? If I said something like that, I’d be a dick. Thank you so much for the lunch. That would be great.”

  Miss X looked at me, daggers coming out of her eyes, and stormed out. Everybody in the makeup room applauded me, but I can tell you with the utmost confidence that she will never “friend me” on Facebook.

  Now, it could have been a bad day for her, and she’s probably a wonderful person the rest of the time, but her behavior always reminds me of how to not act. She’d made a hardworking man, who was simply doing his job, feel insignificant. I’d tried in my own small way to right that wrong. Nobody’s above anybody else, even if they’re well-known.

  My second big brush with fame came from another unexpected phone call, supposedly from a production assistant to Nicolas Cage who said the A-list actor wanted to put me in a film he was directing.

  I thought one of my friends was playing a practical joke on me and said, “You’re full of shit.”

  After many assurances, the caller said, “Could I at least deliver the script to you within the hour so you can look it over?”

  “You’re really going for this one, but sure, why not? Send the script over within the next sixty minutes.”

  When the script arrived at my house within the hour, I thought, My friends are good. The script looked legit. Even the Saturn Productions company listed at the bottom of the front page checked out when I searched for it online. Having watched my dad and his LAPD friends orchestrate the most elaborate jokes on each other, I had to admit this was a pretty good one.

  When I started reading the script, though, I quickly realized it wasn’t a prank. I’d seen real scripts. Besides appearing on Friends, I’d had the opportunity to work stunts and advise on the 1999 cop comedy Blue Streak, starring Martin Lawrence and Luke Wilson.

  Looking at this script, I knew my friends weren’t smart enough to come up with something this detailed.

  I called the assistant back, and he asked if I’d meet Cage at his house to read for him.

  The next day, on my lunch break and in my LAPD fatigues, I found myself pulling into Cage’s driveway in Bel Air in my Audi TT. There was the latest model, red Ferrari 360 Spider in a line of classic cars.

  Holy shit, I thought. I don’t belong here.

  Cage was a friendly guy. He told me he’d been training with Royce Gracie and had watched me since UFC 2. I fumbled through the read while Cage kept telling me I was doing great. I knew I sucked.

  Afterward, he said, “I want you to do the part, but I need to check with some people before I can give you a final answer.”

  Later that day, I got the call. I’d been cast.

  Sonny, the story of a young returning Army veteran who can’t escape his seedy past, was filmed in New Orleans. They flew me down South for four days and later had me come back for another week of shooting.

  The movie starred future Academy Award nominee James Franco. I played Detective Rollo, a crooked cop whose one purpose seemed to be beating up Sonny or another character every few scenes, then leaving.

  In one of my scenes with Franco, I had to blindside him next to his car parked on Bourbon Street. Cage wanted me to knee Franco’s stomach and face. Franco was such a good sport about it. I tried to pull it back to not hurt him, but he said, “Keep it coming,” as wardrobe stuffed more and more padding under his costume.

  The movie was about prostitution—something I knew a lot about—so I remember being impressed with the authenticity of it all when one of the women on set walked toward Cage to speak with him. She was wearing a rabbit fur jacket, which was all the rage with the prostitutes back in Los Angeles. She was a pretty girl, and I kept thinking she looked familiar. I realized a few seconds later that she was Cage’s girlfriend, Lisa Marie Presley.

  American Pie actress Mena Suvari and veteran actor Harry Dean Stanton were also in the film. Acclaimed British actress and Academy Award nominee Brenda Blethyn played Sonny’s mother. I shared a van with her on the way to the set the first day of shooting. She looked at me and started speaking in a slow New Orleans drawl. It took me a few seconds to realize she was speaking her lines and wanted me to respond with mine. She was in character and wanted me to play along. In that moment, I knew actors were a different breed altogether and I was way out of my element.

  On the set of NBC’s Friends: the UFC’s logo mascot, Ulti-Man, would be “softened” in a later version as the UFC tried to change its image.

  One scene was particularly difficult for me because it required Franco to spit on me after I’d beaten him up. I had to stand there and take it, and I had to change my clothes between each take because Franco would get his syrupy fake blood all over me. Each time Cage yelled, “Cut,” I prayed it would be the last. But we must have done that scene ten times.

  During one of the takes, Cage walked up to Franco and me. “Hey, I want to put one more thing in. When he spits and before you hit him again, give him the ‘kiss of death.’”

  At first I thought my wife was putting Cage up to it. I don’t kiss men, other than my dad or my sons, unless I’m joking around.

  “Do you have a problem with this?” Cage asked.

  With the set waiting for Cage to leave the shot, I nodded. “I can do it.” Then at the right moment, I grabbed Franco by the ears and kissed him on the lips.

  “That was awesome,” Cage said. “Let’s do one more take or would that be a problem?”

  “Of course he has a problem,” Franco said to Cage, cracking up. “I’m kissing John McCarthy!”

  Imagine my relief when I got a call a few months later from the assistant. Despite everyone from Cage down to the director of photography telling me how great I was, Detective Rollo and his kiss of death were left on the cutting room floor. I’m not a religious person, but I thanked God profusely in that moment.

  Acting wasn’t really my thing, but I’ve always been grateful for the opportunities that come from being associated with the UFC and the sport. Over the years, I’ve been asked to play myself for films, in popular TV shows like HBO’s Entourage, and in music videos. Once I was even asked to record a ringtone.

  I haven’t accepted every offer, and some have been a little ridiculous. I’ve been asked to officiate weddings many times, even though I’m the furthest thing from
an ordained minister. I also felt some of the offers could damage the sport’s reputation.

  In 2000, when pro wrestling juggernaut World Wrestling Entertainment decided to produce WWE Tough Enough, a reality series about training young hopefuls for the ring, they tried to incorporate real fighting. WWE hired Dan Severn and Ken Shamrock to wrestle for the organization, but when this show came around, Severn was moved to coaching. The show then morphed into having the lesser-known WWE wrestlers enter boxing matches against one another. Guess who they called to referee that circus? Though the WWE was a hugely popular and established operation, I thought affiliating myself with it in such a visible way would only confuse fans and the general public—some already thought MMA was just as fake as pro wrestling—so I politely turned down the offer.

  I don’t feel awkward in the cage; it’s second nature. But when I’m on a TV or film set, I always feel stupid. I’m not what people think I am. I don’t need the fame; I’m not that guy.

  Still, it’s always the greatest compliment to feel wanted and a part of something you truly love. SEG was the first company to validate what I did in the sport. After making $750 for my first event, I got a raise around UFC 7 to $1,250 for each event. Remember, at this time, athletic commissions and other regulatory bodies wouldn’t give MMA a second glance, so I was hired and paid directly by the promotion.

  When my role expanded to court and media appearances defending the UFC and the sport, I missed more time at the police academy. Around UFC 12, I went to Meyrowitz and told him I couldn’t take any more unpaid time off. To Meyrowitz’s credit, he researched what boxing referees were making for the big championship fights and offered me a $50,000 annual contract. This allowed me to continue working the events to supplement some of the income I was losing from the academy. I was also expected to review and help develop the rules and to generally speak on the sport’s behalf when it was needed.

  No other referee got the vote of confidence I did. My good friend Joe Hamilton refereed from the first Ultimate Ultimate event to UFC 16 before he approached Meyrowitz for a raise because he, too, was losing money taking off from the department to work the events for $500 a show. SEG told Joe they couldn’t do it with him, and Joe had no choice but to leave the UFC.

  Meyrowitz put a lot of trust in me to always conduct myself in ways that would help the sport. I think he knew I would take a bullet for the sport if I had to. People like that were undoubtedly needed around the promotion after Senator John McCain and Time Warner CEO Leo Hindery effectively pulled the plug on the UFC’s major pay-per-view platforms.

  We all marched into UFC 15 “Collision Course,” on October 17, 1997, at Casino Magic in Bay St. Louis, Mississippi, with the feeling that the UFC’s days were numbered. We needed only to look around to confirm our suspicions. The event was held in a tent in the casino’s parking lot because there was no facility in the hotel to host it. It was a severe downgrade. Still, about 2,500 hard-core fans showed up to witness another historic night for the sport.

  We had the list of rules I had drafted—the ones Hindery had rejected—and we all knew we were on the right track with them. SEG decided to try them out at UFC 15. But why stop there? The perception of bare-knuckled fighting had always plagued the UFC, so SEG also decided to try out specially designed finger-free gloves that would allow fighters to strike and grapple.

  The first fighter who’d worn MMA-style gloves was Melton Bowen when he’d fought Steve Jennum in a quarterfinal bout at UFC 4. Dan Severn had experimented with an early prototype in his fight against Ken Shamrock at UFC 9, as had a few other fighters after him. However, it was definitely Tank Abbott who popularized wearing gloves inside of the Octagon. The gloves were much thinner than those used for boxing, had a small gel-like padding in the knuckle area, and left the fingers free for grabbing and completing holds and chokes. They resembled weightlifting or even cycling gloves more than anything else. They weren’t necessarily designed to protect the opponent’s face but to protect the fighter’s knuckles and allow him to strike more.

  Gloves would become an important safety addition. After the fighters tried them out at UFC 15, SEG would make them mandatory for every event, and I became heavily involved in their ongoing development.

  With a set of rules and mandatory glove use now in place, this was one of the pivotal moments for the UFC. Revisionist history might try to convince you that changes like this didn’t happen for another few years, but I can tell you this is when the UFC truly started feeling a sense of accountability and ran toward regulation. Many people involved with the UFC spent a lot of time and effort beginning to educate the commissions about the sport during this time without getting any credit for it.

  UFC 15 was the first event to be sanctioned and regulated by a recognized governmental body, in this case the Mississippi Athletic Commission under the leadership of Billy Lyons. It was the first time I was licensed as a referee.

  The most memorable fight at UFC 15 was the heavyweight bout between Brazilian phenom Vitor Belfort and four-time Olympic wrestling alternate Randy Couture, who was fresh off his heavyweight tournament win at UFC 13.

  When I found out UFC matchmaker Art Davie was scheduling this fight, I told him it was stupid. “Why would you do that to the guy who just won your tournament?” I said. “Couture’s a wrestler. Give him some time to learn the sport so he can fight Belfort down the road.”

  Throwing Couture in with Belfort, a Brazilian jiu-jitsu black belt, would lead to Couture losing by submission. It seemed to me that SEG was wasting a guy who had solid credentials and potential to be promotable later.

  Davie said, “That’s the point.” Belfort would take out Couture, the tournament champion, and then face the winner of the heavyweight title match between Maurice Smith and Dan Severn, also on that night’s card.

  Davie and I were the first in a long line of doubters of Couture’s talents. Little did we know Couture would go on to become one of the most decorated athletes the sport had ever seen and remain a relevant competitor into his late forties.

  If Belfort was the surefire favorite, he didn’t do himself any favors prior to the fight. The night before, he was a mess. He called the UFC boardroom and asked to speak with me regarding the rules, so I went upstairs to his hotel room.

  I found Belfort sitting there with his girlfriend, and he was seriously concerned.

  “What’s the problem?” I said.

  “He’s a wrestler,” Belfort said. “He likes to hold, so if he’s on top of me on the ground, where can he elbow?”

  Belfort wasn’t helpless from his back by any means, but he seemed preoccupied with what Couture could do to him—not exactly the frame of mind you’d want a competitor to be in the night before a fight.

  Finally, I said, “Just go out there and do what you do best.” I left his hotel room thinking, Oh my God, this guy is going to lose.

  If there could be an exact opposite of what I’d seen in Belfort, Couture was it. When he entered the cage the next night, he was the epitome of confidence.

  I walked to his corner and gave him the same speech I give all the fighters: “This is your corner, and this is where I need you to be for me to start the fight. I’m going to ask you if you’re ready, and I’m going to ask your opponent if he’s ready, and once I get an okay from the both of you, I’m going to tell you, ‘Let’s get it on.’ That’s your time to do your thing. Protect yourself at all times, and obey my commands, and if I tell you to stop, I need you to stop. Do you have any questions about anything?”

  Couture shook his head. I returned to center cage and looked at the small entrance ramp SEG had built for the fighters. We waited. And waited. And waited. Belfort never appeared.

  After about ten minutes, a UFC employee climbed onto the Octagon’s lip and whispered through the chain link, “Belfort won’t come out of his dressing room.”

  I left the cage and went outside to the holding area, where each fighter had a camper. I climbed up into Belfort’s, wh
ere his team was mulling around, but Belfort was in the bathroom. “What’s wrong with him?” I said to his cornerman.

  “He’s having stomach problems.”

  Loudly enough for Belfort to hear, I told his corner, “He has two minutes to get himself in the cage, or the fight will be forfeited to Couture.”

  After the event, the native Brazilian would be quoted as saying in broken English that he had worms, which became the butt of many jokes at the time.

  What Belfort really had was a bad case of nerves, which was understandable. The situation reminded me how vulnerable these fighters, seen as ultimate combat machines, could be.

  I was certainly sensitive to Belfort’s condition, but the pay-per-view was running live. The commentators were doing their best to stall, but they could say only so many times that Belfort was using mental warfare to psych Couture out.

  Belfort suddenly appeared on the ramp and walked to the cage. He had no reason to be intimidated. He was the better striker and a far superior ground practitioner. Where Couture had the advantage was in the wrestling, and isn’t it ironic that wrestling is where the key moments played out?

  A tested wrestler on the ultracompetitive international circuit for years, Couture had mastered subtle upper body movements, which made him especially strong in the clinch. I watched him force Belfort, a formidable striker, into playing the wrestling game. Couture softened up Belfort before taking him down and pounding out the stoppage after eight minutes. It was the first of many upsets we’d all see from Couture. And it was the first time I really understood the young Belfort’s weakness: his mental game.

  In the evening’s other main bout, Dan Severn didn’t make it to his fight with Maurice Smith for the UFC heavyweight title. A week before UFC 15, Severn had fought Kimo Leopoldo for a new promotion in Japan called Pride Fighting Championships and had hurt his hand.

  Tank Abbott was called in to replace Severn, and Smith bludgeoned Abbott’s legs with damaging kicks for eight minutes until Abbott called it quits.