As the sport evolved, the UFC continued to flounder. Around UFC 40, I’d known the promotion was struggling. By UFC 45, I knew they were having big problems. I’d hear the conversations. Everyone knew Zuffa wasn’t getting what it had expected out of its investment. The UFC was back on pay-per-view, but the numbers weren’t good. The company was spending a lot more money than it was making.
Remember Tito Ortiz’s entrance at UFC 30? Zuffa had paid something like $50,000 for the flame and fireworks display. Double that because they also had to test the display in front of the fire marshal during a rehearsal. That was $100,000 before the fighters even entered the cage. This was money Zuffa couldn’t afford anymore.
So the big ramp and the elaborate entrances were done away with, and the floor layout was reconfigured to fit in more seating. Zuffa said it was because the promotion was moving toward a more legitimate sport presentation, like that of boxing, but the real reason was to save some change.
At that time, someone at Zuffa told me the UFC was nearing $40 million in the hole and if it didn’t turn around, the Fertittas wouldn’t be able to put any more money into it.
UFC 48
“Payback”
June 19, 2004
Mandalay Bay Events Center
Las Vegas, Nevada
Bouts I Reffed:
Evan Tanner vs. Phil Baroni
Ken Shamrock vs. Kimo Leopoldo
Referee Herb Dean made a call referees worldwide could be proud of in the heavyweight championship bout between Mir and Sylvia. Mir snagged Sylvia in an armbar from his back and used his muay Thai cup as a fulcrum to break Sylvia’s bones. Dean saw the break and stopped the fight immediately, but because of the fighters’ positions and the camera angle, no one else in the arena caught it. Imagine an arena filled with 10,000 people booing you while the injured fighter walks around like he’s fine: a referee’s nightmare. When the crowd finally saw the break from a better angle on the big screens, they changed their minds quickly. It was a small victory for MMA referees everywhere.
The UFC was struggling, but it wouldn’t go down without a fight. Zuffa wasn’t afraid to make changes when things weren’t working, and I’m fairly sure this was one of the reasons it would survive this desperate time.
One change Zuffa made involved marketing the fighters and the UFC product as a whole. Zuffa had quickly realized it couldn’t control what happened with fighters. Lorenzo Fertitta had told me he wanted to build stars, and the promotion certainly had boosted a few, such as Tito Ortiz, Chuck Liddell, and Randy Couture, early on. However, from the undercard up to the main event, athletes withdrew all the time due to injury. Or even worse, Zuffa could spend a lot of time and money building up a particular fighter, and at a moment’s notice, he could end up leaving the promotion.
Zuffa could control the rest of the product, however. A strong brand would carry the product as the stars came and went. This way of marketing was something both SEG and Zuffa were criticized for in the beginning because it wasn’t the way it was done in boxing, where fighters were the emphasis. Most of the time, the fans couldn’t tell you what company was promoting a boxing event, but they could tell you who the headliner was. Yet emphasizing the UFC brand over one or two star fighters proved a wise business decision for Zuffa.
Don’t get me wrong. Zuffa treated the fighters well, certainly better than I’d seen other promotions do till that point. The fighters and at least one cornerman were flown into the host towns a few days early, put up in nice hotels, and given daily stipends for food. What could anyone ask for that the promotion wasn’t already providing?
Some fighters, like Randy Couture, had issues with Zuffa. He looked at things the way he looked at them. I know he always felt like Zuffa was trying to get rid of him, but I never looked at it that way. If there was one thing most of the fighters could complain about, it was the amount of money they were making, especially when others were getting much bigger paydays from Pride in Japan.
But to be able to pay the fighters more, the UFC needed to begin turning a profit. Unfortunately, the product wasn’t clicking with the consumers. There was too much of a negative stigma, and the UFC wasn’t reaching far outside the core fan base that had been there when Zuffa had purchased the promotion in 2001. There had to be a way to get the message to a large audience faster.
I was hopeful when Dana White told me Zuffa was working on landing a reality show on one of the TV networks. He wasn’t thrilled about it; he’d dreamed that, like boxing, the UFC would get its own live weekly fight night show. White told me Fertitta was the one who wanted to do the reality show because he’d allowed a producer to shoot a series called American Casino at one of his Las Vegas properties and had seen firsthand what the exposure could do for business.
It wouldn’t be cheap. Zuffa would have to pay for all of the show’s production costs to get the show on Spike TV, an up-and-coming cable network that catered to men and the only one that would agree to allow MMA on the airwaves. This would be a big opportunity for the UFC and the sport. White asked me to be a part of the show.
“I want you to come in and talk to the fighters about being a part of the UFC,” White said.
I told him that wouldn’t be a problem. That part of my involvement on the show never materialized, but I didn’t mind. I thought anything that could bring attention to the fighters and the sport was worth trying, so I was content supporting the show in any way they needed me to.
The way White explained it to me, they were going to bring a bunch of fighters together and have them compete for a UFC contract. I didn’t know how they were going to do it, and I wasn’t privy to any of the development talks, but it quickly became obvious to me that the reality show was Zuffa’s Hail Mary. If it didn’t work, this would be it for the UFC.
About a year and a handful of events later, filming for The Ultimate Fighter began. Zuffa flew me to Las Vegas, and I reported to the set, which was a warehouse a few blocks off the Strip converted into the UFC Training Center.
The gym always appeared much bigger on the show than it was in person, but they did a nice job with it. There was a heavy bag area, a small ring, and, of course, an Octagon identical to the ones used at UFC events. Photographs of fighters in every stage of their banged-up glory hung throughout the hallways. The gym had production offices for Spike TV and Pilgrim Productions, which had produced American Casino and pitched The Ultimate Fighter (TUF) to the cable network with Zuffa.
I usually got changed in a spare office, then reported to the set. I was concerned about the fights and nothing else. Spike TV would usually shoot a single fight in one day. The Nevada commission, led by Executive Director Marc Ratner, was present to oversee the bouts.
Prior to entering the competition, the fighters signed UFC contracts as thick as phone books and were cut off from the rest of the world for the shoot’s duration in a house miles off the Strip.
Some of the fighters I knew, and some I’d never seen before. The fight I really remember from that first season was between Kenny Florian and Chris Leben. Florian, a lightweight fighting up at middleweight to participate on the show, was getting tossed and pushed around until he managed to cut Leben’s forehead open with a standing elbow. I let the fight go for a bit until I had no choice but to bring the doctor in to check the cut, and he promptly stopped the fight. I felt bad for Leben because he was winning before one elbow took him out of advancing into the finals. Florian, a huge underdog, met Sanchez in the middleweight final, but lost.
For the next eight weeks, I made many one-day trips to Las Vegas, and each week the fighters in the gym were whittled down. The atmosphere of the fights was always strange because there wasn’t an audience to cheer them on. You had the judges, the inspectors, the EMT workers, White, sometimes Lorenzo Fertitta, sometimes his brother Frank and maybe a few guests here and there sitting around the cage, but that was it. During that first season, the fighters who lost would leave the house immediately afterward and be taken to a sep
arate location. By the end, there’d be two guys fighting and maybe twenty people, including the production team, watching them.
Nobody really asked me for the fight results when I’d get home because the show wasn’t on anyone’s radar yet. I wouldn’t have been able to tell them anyway. The entire cast and crew signed confidentiality agreements.
The Ultimate Fighter reality show debuted on January 17, 2005, airing at 11:00 p.m. following one of the World Wrestling Entertainment (WWE) programs, as Spike TV was trying to get a strong lead-in.
I remember watching it alone at home and thinking, Holy Christ, they have a guy pissing on another guy’s bed. My dad called me afterward and asked why the UFC was letting that happen on TV. But I knew young guys were going to eat it up. I knew the show’s bad boy Chris Leben was one of the toughest kids in there, and I’d originally picked him to make it to the finals.
We were told that the show needed to get a 1.0 rating to get off to a good start and keep its spot on the cable network. The first show drew a 1.2 and seemed to gain a little more of an audience each week. By the end of the season, the show was being called a success.
The first season of The Ultimate Fighter culminated with a live finale four months later at the Cox Pavilion on the University of Nevada, Las Vegas campus. The venue held about 2,500 people, and the UFC still had to give away tickets to fill it. That was about to change.
All sixteen fighters featured on the show were paired up again and given fights. Forrest Griffin, a former police officer from Georgia, and Stephan Bonnar, a Carlson Gracie Jiu-Jitsu student from Chicago, fought a three-round stand-up tug-of-war in the finals. I got to watch this one from my seat while Herb Dean refereed.
UFC 49
“Unfinished Business”
August 21, 2004
MGM Grand Garden Arena
Las Vegas, Nevada
Bouts I Reffed:
Justin Eilers vs. Mike Kyle
Randy Couture vs. Vitor Belfort
Eilers made his UFC debut with a great knockout win over Kyle.
Couture demonstrated once again that he was Belfort’s Kryptonite, pulverizing the Brazilian for three straight rounds. Belfort was so downtrodden after the third round that he didn’t even stand to go back to his corner. I asked if he was all right and told him he had to get up and go back to his corner, which he did, but the realization that he couldn’t stop what Couture was doing had already set in, and the bout was called shortly after.
Griffin earned the unanimous decision to take the first Ultimate Fighter title and a six-figure contract with the promotion.
The UFC was so impressed with both fighters, however, that Bonnar also got a contract. I thought it was a classy thing for the UFC to do. Bonnar had left his heart in the cage, and there shouldn’t have been a loser after such a compelling fight.
I refereed the main event, a light heavyweight bout between Ken Shamrock and UFC newcomer Rich Franklin. Standing in the center of the Octagon, I wondered how this fight could top the previous one. It didn’t, but it’s still one of the fights I get asked about the most. Shamrock and Franklin traded punches for a bit until, out of nowhere, Shamrock slipped. He kind of jumped down and went for Franklin’s leg. Shamrock had a good lock on Franklin’s leg and torqued it, but Franklin worked his way out of it. Franklin then pounded the piss out of Shamrock, and I had to step in to stop it.
I’ve been asked about Shamrock’s slip many times. I admit I thought it looked odd in the moment, but I’ve seen fighters do stranger things during fights. I’ve been asked outright if I think Shamrock threw the fight, but I don’t. First of all, Shamrock was the star of that fight and the favorite to win. I honestly think he was trying to drop levels. The leg lock that followed was real, as was the beating he took at the hands of Franklin afterward. It wouldn’t have done Shamrock any good to throw the fight.
After Zuffa had taken over the UFC in 2001, I’d never seen a worked fight in the Octagon. I knew that was something Fertitta and White would have no part of. For one, Fertitta could lose his Las Vegas casino license for any involvement in fixing a fight that had gambling lines placed on it. People also have to remember that not every UFC fight will be a barn burner, and sometimes they can be downright boring. What separates MMA from pro wrestling is that MMA is real. Promoters can’t make every fight a Griffin-Bonnar epic, and they certainly can’t control the outcome. That’s mostly up to the fighters.
UFC 50
“The War of ‘04”
October 22, 2004
Boardwalk Hall
Atlantic City, New Jersey
Bouts I Reffed:
Evan Tanner vs. Robbie Lawler
Matt Hughes vs. Georges St. Pierre
Tito Ortiz vs. Patrick Cote
I noticed that the younger, less experienced St. Pierre wouldn’t look at Hughes in their stare down, which told me he was intimidated. St. Pierre performed well until he made a beginner’s mistake trying to hold on to a Kimura from the bottom without having control of his opponent’s legs or body. Hughes capitalized by spinning around for the armbar, nailing the tapout with a second left on the clock.
A rubber match between Ortiz and Mezger fell apart when something happened to Mezger in training. Cote, a young and fairly green fighter, stepped in against Ortiz in the main event on short notice. Personally, I would have loved to see Ortiz and Mezger go at it one more time to close the book on that rivalry.
After UFC 51, my next assignment came from the other side of the world.
Scott Coker, then working with the Japanese kickboxing promotion K-1, called to ask if I’d like to referee a special MMA fight between sumo legend Akebono, whose real name is Chad Rowan, and Royce Gracie at “Dynamite,” K-1’s annual New Year’s Eve show.
Out of loyalty and respect, I went to Dana and asked for his blessing. At the time, the Japanese MMA scene was still killing the UFC in attendance. I told Dana I’d get paid $5,000 to referee the fight, which was actually appealing to him.
“For $5,000? Yeah, you can go do it,” he said. “Take them for all the fucking money you can.”
I also thought this would be the last time I’d get to referee a Royce Gracie fight, and I wanted to be there. I thought it was a silly matchup, though, and felt sorry for Akebono. In 1993, he’d been the first foreign-born wrestler to become yokozuna, the highest rank one could achieve in the sumo system. He was a major reason the sport flourished on TV in Japan in the 1990s, and he’d been in over 1,000 matches, becoming a grand champion many times over. Now the Japanese were making a freak show out of him. I didn’t worry so much about his safety; I just felt that his honor and pride would get damaged in the fight.
The 500-pound Akebono was athletic for his size, but he wasn’t a real fighter. He could hardly move his body weight once he hit the ground. On top of that, he wasn’t especially strong.
The match reminded me of the fight I’d refereed at UFC 3 some ten years before between the 600-plus-pound Emanuel Yarbrough and Keith Hackney. The difference here was that Royce wouldn’t be able to hurt Akebono by punching him; he’d submit him.
Elaine and I flew to Osaka, Japan, and Royce approached me right away in the hotel. I hadn’t talked to him in many years, since he and Rorion had broken away from SEG back before UFC 6. Royce said, “I told them I wouldn’t do this fight unless you refereed it.”
I hadn’t known Royce had specifically requested me, and it felt good to hear. By this time, Royce had branched out on his own from Rorion as well, so there were no ill feelings on either side.
The fight itself lasted a little more than two minutes. Akebono rushed Royce at the bell and literally fell on him, but Royce, wearing only his gi pants, escaped and got back to his feet. Royce then pulled Akebono into his guard and trapped him in an omoplata shoulder lock. The trapped sumo wrestler couldn’t free himself, but the pressure on his shoulder wasn’t enough to make Akebono tap out, so Royce submitted him with a wristlock on top of that. The usually silent Japanese crowd,
50,000 strong, exploded into cheers.
UFC 51
“Super Saturday”
February 5, 2005
Mandalay Bay Events Center
Las Vegas, Nevada
Bouts I Reffed:
Nick Diaz vs. Drew Fickett
Andrei Arlovski vs. Tim Sylvia
Tito Ortiz vs. Vitor Belfort
Diaz, whose style I’d admired from afar, liked to call his opponents “bitch” during fights. Every time he connected, he started saying things like, “Oh, that hurts. Come on, bitch, fight.” I’d had other fighters curse in the cage, but Diaz took it to another level. I finally warned him to stop or I’d take points. Cursing an opponent is listed as a foul in the Unified Rules. Regardless, Diaz still easily stopped opponent Drew Fickett with strikes in the first round for the victory.
Ortiz and Belfort finally met in the main event, a bout that had originally been scheduled to happen back at the ill-fated UFC 33. A treat to see up close, Belfort broke Ortiz’s nose in the first round and almost finished him in the second, but heart and guts kept Ortiz going. Ortiz got a split decision nod.
Let’s Get It On! Page 28