by Art Davie
Just before our 11:30 p.m. staff meeting that night, Campbell pulled me aside to let me know that Jim Brown didn’t feel that he could handle the play-by-play duties. He wanted to shift over to be one of the color commentators, which came with far fewer on-air responsibilities.
“Why don’t we just move Bill Wallace to play-by-play,” I suggested to Campbell. “The guy loves the sound of his own voice, so it’s probably a better fit anyway.”
Campbell had already come to that conclusion, and when we called Wallace in his hotel room, he didn’t hesitate in accepting the larger role.
Late that night, I sat down alone to make out the tournament bracket. Rorion told me that whatever I decided was good with him, as did Campbell. For Rorion, this was because he truly believed that Gracie Jiu-Jitsu was unbeatable, so it didn’t matter who Royce fought and when. For Campbell, it was because the fights and the fighters had always been my domain, and he wasn’t going to start interfering now.
Of the eight tournament fighters, I felt that only Royce, Shamrock and Gordeau had a realistic chance of claiming the $50,000 first prize. I didn’t want grappler versus grappler in the Final, as this could be a boring grind-fest that would end the night on a bad note. So I knew that I had to put Royce and Shamrock in the same half of the draw.
I had long ago made up my mind to pit Royce against Jimmerson in the opening round. Rorion had really intrigued me with his oft-told story of Hélio’s challenge to Joe Louis back in 1947, and I wanted to see how Gracie Jiu-Jitsu would fair against someone who really knew how to punch. What if Jimmerson blasted Royce with an uppercut or big hook when Royce invariably closed the distance? Could Royce get past Jimmerson’s thudding jab as McCarthy had in sparring? If Royce took Jimmerson down, I knew it would be a quick sprint to the finish line, but the possibility of Royce getting hit by a pro boxer was pretty intriguing. Even though it was clear to me that Jimmerson was an emotional mess, he did possess legitimate knock out power in both hands.
Seeing how Smith had behaved at the hotel all week in Denver helped me decide to match him against Shamrock in the opening round. While Smith was loud-mouthed and cocky, Shamrock was quiet confidence and cool. I liked Smith, and after all, he was the very first fighter that I had signed. But he was also a bit of a bully, and I couldn’t help but think that it would be interesting to see him humbled by Shamrock.
I then thought Gordeau versus Frazier and Tuli versus Rosier for the two remaining first round bouts. Gordeau against Frazier would be a contrast of North American and European kickboxing styles, and Tuli facing Rosier would produce a freak show between the two behemoths.
But in the thin mile-high air of Denver, it seemed very likely that both of my super heavyweights would be exhausted in a matter of moments if there wasn’t a quick victory for one of them. Inevitably, the pair would just move around in slow motion after that.
Also, I remembered hearing Gordeau say to a radio reporter that morning that he was always being compared to a bullfighter, using agility and skill to defeat larger opponents throughout his career. This made a real impression on me. Who was more of a bull than the giant Hawaiian? So I decided that it would be Gordeau vs. Tuli and Frazier vs. Rosier.
Those two fights would open the night, as I figured that they’d likely be the most violent, and we needed to grab both the in-arena and PPV television audiences right off the bat.
Royce against Jimmerson would be third, and then Shamrock vs. Smith would conclude the opening round. I didn’t want Royce going last, as it might give off the impression that he was the “main event” fighter—leading to more grumbles of Gracie favoritism.
Gordeau would be in the top half of the draw, likely meeting either Royce or Shamrock in the Final. Of course anything could happen—in fighting everyone always has a puncher’s chance—but I had to project the course of the night as best as I could, based on everything that I knew about the physical, mental and emotional states of my eight fighters.
On Thursday—the eve of the event—I began the day by getting the fighters’ stats to the broadcast production team. Despite there being no weight classes, and no weight limits, we needed the information for the show, plus Clay McBride wanted it for our archive. I’d previously had the eight tournament guys fill out a “Tale of the Tape” form, which we included in our official program to be sold at McNichols Arena. My mailed questionnaire was inspired by my love of boxing, and the personal stats that were always given for the sport’s world title fights. I had our fighters list everything from age and height, to the size of their wrists and forearms. This was on the honor system, thus Rosier’s self-reported weight of 265 lb.
That afternoon, we held a press conference in the hotel’s main ballroom. I had offered my services, but Campbell thought it best that SEG’s main sales guy, Mike Abramson, serve as the host. Abramson had apparently been adamant with Campbell that he would be the most qualified to convey what the Ultimate Fighting Championship was about to the assembled media. Campbell had seen me pitch to a room full of investors, and he knew I could move an audience. But it was clear to me that SEG wanted control.
Rorion didn’t care, and I had bigger fish to fry, so we let Abramson take the reins. There was a great turn out by the local media, with TV stations KUSA and KMGH (the ABC affiliate), and radio stations by KS-104, (where we had been running ads) KAZY, KRFX and KBPI, all in attendance. The “national” media was represented by a few martial arts magazines, and no one else. Abramson talked all about the brutality that was certain to occur the following night, and used the line that he took from Fey/Bresloff about the Christians and the lions.
After Abramson gave his spiel, he introduced Rorion, Campbell, and me. Campbell got up and discussed the media and the marketing plans surrounding the Ultimate Fighting Championship. It became painfully clear that the local reporters didn’t have a clue as to what we were actually doing. Virtually everything that they knew about the Ultimate Fighting Championship came from our local “fight-to-the-death” ad campaign, courtesy of Fey and Bresloff. What the Denver TV and radio newshounds seemed to be interested in was the blood and gore aspect of our forthcoming event. The martial arts magazine writers acted as though we were bringing shame on the world of fighting, by abandoning honor, traditions, customs and civility.
We even had a couple of Japanese journalists on hand, and they seemed upset that we were trying to bring the martial arts together in one mixed event.
When Campbell finished, it was my turn to speak, and I brought up the connection to Pankration and the Olympic ideals of the Greeks. The media members were not impresssed.
I then unveiled a device that measured the “power-of-the-punch.” An inventor and self-promoter type from Alaska had called me the previous month, and told me he had designed and built a device that measured the power of a fighter’s punches, kicks, knees and elbows. I was intrigued, but not enough to spend any money. After a few minutes of negotiations over the phone, the guy agreed to fly to Denver at his own expense, and in return, I would feature his gizmo at the event. I figured that the perfect place for such a stunt would be at the press conference.
The media types perked up when I introduced the Alaskan, and he mounted his contraption on a pillar. Bill Wallace, immediately rose from his seat, and announced that he was going to demonstrate the force of his legendary kicks. Jason DeLucia got up next, and out-scored Wallace by a sizeable margin. Shamrock then took a turn, and threw a huge elbow, which registered just below DeLucia’s kick. I asked Gordeau if he wanted to have a go, but the Dutchman passed, telling me that he was going to save his strength for when it mattered. It was an amusing side show, and a clip actually aired on the local news.
After the press conference ended, I made the short drive to McNichols Arena. Pillot was there, setting things up for the PPV broadcast, which was now just under 30 hours away. I was thrilled to see that the two huge vinyl banners which featured our logo were in place. It had been money well spent. The smaller banner was displayed inside the Arena
so that it would be clearly visible every time our PPV broadcast director Mark Lucas went to what he called his “number one camera.”
The fighting area itself, designed by Greg Harrison and Jason Cusson, had been unpacked, and then assembled on the arena floor earlier in the day. The grips were still making adjustments, and when I saw it for the first time, I was actually speechless. As good as Harrison’s sketch was, I felt that the amazing combination of artistry and engineering was even more impressive, more breathtaking in person. The 30-foot octagon shape encased by gray padding, the black plastic-covered chain link fence, the clean white canvas with 2-inch thick padding and our logo prominently featured in the center—all combined to strike the right balance between primitive and futuristic.
After quickly huddling with Campbell, Pillot, Abramson, and Lucas for a broadcast production meeting, I hurried back to the hotel. In my suite, using the IBM Selectric II that I’d lugged out to Denver from my W.O.W. office, I typed up the agenda for that evening’s fighters meeting. This one-page document included the rules and regulations that I had written a couple of weeks earlier, and was required to be signed by all ten of our fighters. By giving their acknowledgment and consent, there would be no doubt as to what they were going to be getting themselves into the following night.
At 7 p.m., we gathered everybody in one of the hotel conference rooms for the fighters meeting. The room was set up classroom style with a head table at the front for Rorion and me. It was shoulder-to-shoulder and ass-to-ass with the fighters, their respective camps, staff from W.O.W. Promotions and SEG, our commentators, event personnel, VIP guests and assorted hangers-on. Absent was anyone from the City of Denver and the State of Colorado. I never expected representatives from those governments to come, but now left to our own devices, I was really struck by just how much we were flying under the radar.
I had sold our insurance broker Gagliardi Insurance Services in San Jose, California on the idea that we were doing a “full-contact” tournament. They were old hands at working with boxing promoters and didn’t ask many questions. I also felt that the management personnel at McNichols Arena were equally clueless, as though we were going to be doing some kind of karate event, like the Sabaki Challenge. All of the fighters and their entourages seemed a bit on edge as they came into the room and found seats. Everyone knew that at the end of the meeting, I would be announcing the opening round match-ups and the bout order. There was a lot of posturing going on, and also a lot of eye contact avoidance. It was a mix of fear, nerves and pure testosterone.
I handed out a copy of the agenda, made a few opening remarks, and then introduced Rorion, who gave a very brief welcome. I stood back up and acknowledged our two Brazilian referees, Dr. Alan Brakup (a Gracie Jiu-Jitsu student), and the two outstanding boxing cut men I’d flown in from Philadelphia, Leon Tabbs and Sam Solomon.
I then turned things over to Campbell, who proclaimed, “There will be a million eyeballs on this show. Give it everything you’ve got.”
After Campbell, it was Pillot’s turn, and I made it clear that he deserved everyone’s full attention.
“Tomorrow night, this man, our broadcast producer Michael Pillot, is the boss. It’s his job to get this all done in two hours and fifty minutes.”
Pillot went over the dress rehearsal, which was scheduled for the following afternoon, and then gave the basic rundown of the actual event from a TV timing perspective.
I could tell that we were starting to lose the group’s attention and interest by the time I introduced Derek Barton, who was head of marketing for Gold’s Gym, our lead sponsor. After Barton said a few words, I then cued Rorion to go over the rules and regulations, and told our audience that aside from his role with W.O.W. Promotions, he was also the “Commissioner of the IFC.”
Rorion stood up, nervously cleared his throat and started in. In a low monotone, he announced that there were three basic rules: no eye gouging, no biting and no groin strikes.
Immediately, Zane Frazier shouted, “Why not? I can throw groin strikes in Kenpo.”
“Give me a break,” Rorion retorted. “This is going to be on TV. No groin strikes, Zane.”
“Well what about a cup? Can we all wear a cup?” Frazier asked.
“Yes,” Rorion replied sharply.
Frazier shot back, “Well what about hand wraps? It says right here on the sheet that the tape has to be one inch below the knuckles. I want to tape my knuckles.”
And just like that, it was on.
From his front row seat, Frazier began acting like the jail house lawyer of the group.
I was fascinated to see where everyone had plopped themselves. Gerard Gordeau was predictably in the last row. He looked incredibly disinterested, and stayed quiet. Teila Tuli, his huge brother, and cousins were in the back as well, against the far wall. Royce was in the middle, surrounded by his father and brothers, eyes locked on Rorion.
Jimmerson was seated close to the door, and yelled out, “Man, I’m a boxer. I have to have my hands wrapped. This is bullshit.”
Shamrock, who had hardly said a word to Rorion or me all week, suddenly spoke up, and said that he wanted to wear the boots that were part of his Pancrase gear.
“If you kick, no shoes. Otherwise, it’s OK!” Rorion said, his voice rising.
“Well, what about shin guards?” asked Shamrock, as he wore those in Pancrase as well.
“No shin guards, no elbow pads!” I could tell that Rorion’s temperature was rising.
“Can we wear knee wraps?” was Shamrock’s next question.
“Yes, knee wraps are allowed, as long as they’re not padded.”
Campbell gave me a look to indicate that this was going awry.
This is sumo wrestler Teila Tuli’s copy of the Fighters’ Meeting Rules. Note his signature on the bottom.
Pat Smith then piped up, “Can we wear a mouthpiece? It’s not in the rules.”
“You can wear a mouthpiece if you want,” Rorion responded.
“Even though it’s not listed on the sheet?” asked Frazier. “Well, how about boxing gloves?”
“Yes on mouthpieces, and yes on boxing gloves if they’re 6- or 8-ounce gloves. It’s written right there on the sheet.”
Rorion really seemed to be losing his composure now. He didn’t have the patience for this type of thing.
“So we can wear boxing gloves, but can’t tape our hands,” Frazier shot back. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“If you’re in a street fight, are you going to wrap your hands?” was Rorion’s reply.
I thought to myself, if you were in a street fight, you probably weren’t going to be wearing boxing gloves or a gi, but I kept that thought to myself.
“How about if we tape half an inch below the knuckles?” Frazier countered.
“No! It’s already been decided. Look at your sheet. One inch below the knuckles.”
Frazier then yelled, “This whole thing is rigged for your brother to win.”
Now all hell broke loose.
Rorion tried to restore order by yelling, “You can wrap your hand one inch below the knuckle!”
There were calls for allowing a half-inch below the knuckles, then a quarter-inch, then across the knuckles. Frazier led the charge, and shouted that he was being held back by a jiu-jitsu guy who didn’t know how to punch.
At this point, Rorion and I had completely lost control of the meeting. The fighters and their camps were all loudly arguing, and I could see that this whole event was coming apart before it had even started.
Everyone, with the lone exception of Gordeau, was going crazy, and Rorion was completely swallowed by the moment.
It then hit me like a full on punch to the face that I’d made a terrible miscalculation. From the fighters’ perspective it was bad enough that Rorion was one of the people in charge of the Ultimate Fighting Championship, but now he was also the rules director of an obviously made-up sanctioning body. The fighters couldn’t help but ask how Rorion could pos
sibly be impartial when his brother was in the tournament, representing the style of fighting created by his father and uncle? I was the one who personally wrote the rules—not Rorion—but he was the one standing in the front of the room, listing and defending them.
Of course Rorion wanted Royce to win. Of course he wanted to showcase Gracie Jiu-Jitsu. Of course he wanted to honor his father’s legacy. I knew all of this without a doubt. But Rorion never interfered with me when it came to the integrity of the event: the rules, the equipment, the match-ups, the fighters that we signed. But God almighty, did this look bad.
I tried to restore order, but I couldn’t be heard over the wall of chaos. I looked over at Michael Pillot and his face said, ‘You better put a cork in this. Now!’
Rickson started saying something, and then quickly jumped to his feet. When I saw this, I realized that the next thing that happened was likely going to be disastrous.
Then Teila Tuli, in the most dramatic and theatrical of gestures, stood up and announced, “I just signed my paper. I don’t know about you guys, but I came here to party. If anyone else came here to party, I’ll see you tomorrow night at the arena.” He then slammed his signed paper down on the table. The sound reverberated throughout the room.
With that, it became eerily quiet. And then the Gracie brothers started applauding. Then Trent Jenkins started applauding. And within seconds, everyone, apart from Frazier, was applauding.
The tension was completely sucked out of the room, and that was the end of the arguing and debating. I quickly announced the match-ups and bout order, reminded the fighters to sign the paper in front of them, just as Tuli had already done, and thanked everyone for attending. Meeting adjourned.
As he was exiting the now emptying conference room, Gordeau said to me, “I sign the paper and now I go. Everyone wants to debate what is allowed and what is not allowed. Americans, they talk a lot. But if you have no rules, you are finished explaining in two seconds.”
Rosier then came up to me.