by Art Davie
The Dutchman then went in for the kill, and landed a huge right hand that dropped Rosier against the base of the fence. Gordeau then proceeded to pummel Rosier, who kept trying to get up, only to be literally beaten back down by his opponent.
Rosier had fought his way back against Frazier, but this was clearly not Zane Frazier, and I knew that there would be no late rally.
Sensing the end of the fight, Gordeau delivered a vicious elbow to the head, and then a stomp to Rosier’s ample gut. Rosier rose up and tapped the mat in submission, which the ref Vigio missed completely. Gordeau did see the tap, and mercifully walked away from his annihilated opponent. The towel was thrown in a few seconds later, which was spotted by the referee.
Gordeau had followed his twenty-six second squash of Teila Tuli with a 59-second demolition of Rosier, which earned him a place in the final.
I felt certain that Gordeau had engaged in tougher battles on the streets of Amsterdam against unruly brothel and hash bar owners who were late on their debt payments. In two fights, he had thrashed a pair of men who weighed in at a combined 740 plus pounds, and he hadn’t even been hit.
I said out loud, to no one in particular, “Fuck, who’s going to beat this guy?”
Semifinal #2—Royce Gracie vs. Ken Shamrock
While both Shamrock and Royce possessed a grappler’s base and mentality, it was clear from what they wore that they came from two very different styles.
The visual contrast was amazing: lanky Royce in his spotless white gi, muscular Shamrock in his flashy red trunks.
As dismissive as the Gracies were of all other fighting styles, I knew that Rorion took Shamrock very seriously, and felt that he could be his brother’s toughest opponent. He didn’t tell me much about Royce’s week of training in their Executive Tower Inn hotel suite, but Rorion did say that Rickson had special drills that he was putting Royce through, so as to be ready for Shamrock in case they fought.
By contrast, I got the feeling that Shamrock thought that Royce was a skinny karate guy with a worthless black belt, and that he clearly hadn’t done his homework on Gracie Jiu-Jitsu. Shamrock had been grappling with monsters in Japan, and whether those fights were shoots, works, or somewhere in between, he knew how to move very large bodies around on the mat. Royce was giving away almost 40 pounds in weight.
Just like he had done against Jimmerson, Royce opened with a quick low kick. But rather than play around, he immediately followed the kick with an attempted double leg takedown. Shamrock effectively sprawled, and after a quick scramble, the two fighters were back on their feet.
Immediately Royce went for a second takedown, this time by clinching Shamrock, and pulling him into his guard. Right there, I saw a clear illustration of the confidence that comes from Gracie Jiu-Jitsu. Royce actually wanted to be on the ground, with Shamrock on top of him, feeling that he could now really go to work. From his open and active guard, Royce started landing rapid fire heel kicks to Shamrock’s body.
The over-confidence of Shamrock was then evident, as from the top position, he dropped back for a heel hook, just as he had done against Pat Smith. But rather than lie there and elbow the shin, Royce followed Shamrock over, and immediately gained top position. This was as simple and reflexive as blinking for Royce, as it would have been for any Gracie Jiu-Jitsu black belt.
Shamrock then had open guard, but could do nothing with it. Royce landed two palm strikes to the side of Shamrock’s head, and put heavy pressure on his grounded opponent’s chest with his top game.
Seeming to having no interest in fighting from the bottom, Shamrock turned on his left hip and tried to hook Royce’s right ankle, exposing his neck in the process. Like he’d probably done 10,000 times before at the Gracie Academy, Royce locked on a rear-naked choke, then positioned his opponent on all fours, and got him to submit.
Once again, our Brazilian referees fucked up the ending of a fight. Shamrock clearly tapped, not once, but five times on the mat, yet Vigio failed to see any of this.
As with Barreto at the end of the Jimmerson bout, Royce had to tell Vigio that his opponent had submitted. I could see that Shamrock was thinking about acting as though he hadn’t tapped, but Royce was having none of it, as he gave both the ref and his opponent an ear full. Either through a sense of sportsmanship, or perhaps more likely because Royce was still on his back, Shamrock admitted defeat, and the fight was over in fifty seven seconds.
With that, Royce was through to the Final. Rorion’s baby brother was one big step closer to showing the world that Gracie Jiu-Jitsu reigned supreme, but the fearsome Gerard Gordeau was standing in the way.
Alternate Bout—Jason DeLucia vs. Trent Jenkins
I hadn’t given a guarantee to my two alternates that they would get the chance to fight, nor had I given them a guarantee of money. Basically, they got a free ticket to hang out and hope that one of the eight fighters got hurt badly enough so that they couldn’t continue. Or perhaps after seeing Gordeau kick Tuli in the face, hope to hell that they weren’t needed.
Right after our opening bout, once order had been restored and Gordeau was officially declared the winner, I’d hurriedly run backstage to see if Jenkins had finally arrived, and make certain that DeLucia was still eager for his potential chance in the spotlight. The sheer savagery of that fight made me think more than ever, that we just might need one or both of our stand-by fighters after all.
I was relived to find Jenkins in his dressing room, and I asked him where he’d been.
“I’m really sorry about that. I was going to take the bus here, but it was running late, so my friend gave me a ride.”
Any anger that I had built up towards Jenkins for his tardiness immediately went away. Karyn Turner had been right all along. The guy was so dependable and low-maintenance that he was willing to take a fucking city bus to the Ultimate Fighting Championship.
I genuinely felt that both DeLucia and Jenkins wanted their chance to shine, and I wanted to give it to them one way or another.
But through the six fights leading up to the Final, nobody had dropped out. I didn’t need one injury alternate, let alone two.
What I did need now, however, was a time filler.
None of us, Rorion and myself included, really had any idea how long these fights would go.
Gracie Jiu-Jitsu was all about being patient—taking the time to “cook” your opponent, as Rorion had always said. Maybe they needed two minutes, maybe like a young Hélio on occasion back in Brazil, they needed two or three hours. As a boxing fan, I was schooled on 15-round fights. That’s 45 minutes in the ring, plus 14 minutes for the between round breaks. Pro wrestling shoots from the early 20th century would routinely last an hour. My concern going in to our broadcast was fitting in the seven fights without going over our allotted PPV time of two hours, 50 minutes, that had been drilled into my head by everyone at SEG.
As it turned out, Gordeau took a grand total of eighty-five seconds to blow through Tuli and Rosier, in advancing to the Final. Royce needed exactly three minutes, 15 seconds to dispatch Jimmerson and Shamrock, and join Gordeau in the last bout of the night.
The longest fight thus far was the Rosier vs. Frazier slugfest, and that ran four minutes, twenty seconds. Our first six bouts hadn’t even produced eleven minutes of fighting. We’d yet to see Round 2.
Making my frequent runs back to the TV production truck, I knew that the commentators were clearly struggling, and would no doubt have real difficulty in killing time on-air during an extended intermission.
From my front row seat, I saw that the McNichols Arena crowd—already confused and agitated by a lot of what they saw and largely failed to understand—was getting really restless. And they were getting drunker by the minute.
Gordeau had taken a lot of damage in pummeling Tuli and Rosier, getting a fractured right hand and a right foot full of jagged tooth shards. He needed a rest period, even if only for a few minutes. I got together with Pillot and he was in complete agreement about havi
ng DeLucia and Jenkins fight
I then reached Kathy on my walkie-talkie, and told her to get our alternates ready.
“Tell them that they’ll both get $1,000, with an extra $500 to the winner. And I’ll seriously consider putting both of them in the next tournament.”
Unless the upcoming Shamrock versus Royce bout went really long, or the victor got injured, my plan was for DeLucia and Jenkins to fight each other as soon as the second Semifinal ended.
I then alerted Campbell to my decision, which he fully endorsed
After Royce defeated Shamrock in under a minute, the green light was given. I was happy to provide both alternates the chance to show what they could do, and even happier that we had a legitimate time filler before the final.
Jenkins was in front of his hometown fans in Denver, and even those who had no idea who he was, seemed eager to support one of Colorado’s own.
For DeLucia, this fight was about proving something to himself, to me, and most of all to the Gracies. He felt he was no longer just a kid from kung fu who had been easily submitted by Royce in the backroom of the Academy, but was now a man who’d used their teachings to become a complete fighter.
Both Jenkins and DeLucia came out in full karate stances, and unloaded action film-style kicks, in that they looked great, but were largely ineffective. One of Jenkins’ flashy head kicks missed the mark, but grazed the bridge of DeLucia’s nose, opening a small cut. At that point, DeLucia seemed to say, “Fuck this karate bullshit,” and drove in for a takedown, which morphed into an outside trip, and then into a full tackle of his opponent.
Jenkins fell on his ass, squirmed to his hip, and quickly shot back to his feet. But staying tight, DeLucia followed his opponent up, locked on a waist cinch, and pulled Jenkins on top of him, as both fell to the mat. In full control, and now in single-minded pursuit of a Gracie Jiu-Jitsu finish, DeLucia sunk in a very deep rear naked choke, positioned well below Jenkins’ chin. With the panicked look on his face of someone who knew that he was caught, Jenkins quickly tapped out.
DeLucia claimed victory in 52 seconds, and no doubt hoped that the Gracie Family took note. But I knew that they were focused on just one thing—getting Royce ready for the biggest moment of his life.
Final—Royce Gracie vs. Gerard Gordeau
After the alternates fight, I went backstage to see Gordeau in his locker room. His right hand was grotesquely swollen, and he was limping pretty badly on his right foot.
“You can do this right, you can fight?” I asked him, as it occurred to me I probably should have had this conversation before sending Jenkins and DeLucia out to fight each other.
But it would have spoiled the night to have an untested and previously unseen alternate suddenly appear in the Final. We had to have Gordeau.
“You’re good to go, right Gerard?”
“No problem, Art Davie.”
I knew that Gordeau wasn’t a ground fighter, and even if he did know something about grappling and submissions, it would have been a drop in the ocean compared with Royce’s knowledge and experience. Gordeau’s way to beat Royce was to establish his devastating strikes, and keep the fight standing. But I could see clearly that he had a fucked up hand, and an even more fucked up foot. I thought this guy hasn’t been touched in two fights, and his body is falling apart.
In effectively using his Gracie Jiu-Jitsu to reach the Final, Royce was fresh and ready, at least physically. I kept thinking back to what Todd Hester had told me earlier in the day about Royce’s breakdown in front of Rickson, and I wondered if he could continue to hold it all together. This wasn’t really about winning the tournament and the $50,000 that came with it—this was about defending the Gracie Family name.
Before the Final, the entire Gracie clan, Royce included, moved to the fighting area for Hélio’s award ceremony. Rorion acted as master of ceremonies, and as soon as he started talking, a number of idiots in the Denver crowd started booing and jeering. I figured that they wanted to see more fighting, and not hear a speech.
But the grumbles quickly subsided, as Hélio stood there in his dark suit, looking incredibly dignified. His sons Rickson, Relson, Rolker, Royler and Royce lined up side by side.
Rorion proclaimed, “The fighting world respectfully addresses him as the Grandmaster Hélio Gracie. But my brothers and I are proud to call him father.” This heartfelt statement was greeted by cheers and applause from the audience, who I doubted had any idea who Hélio was, but seemed to appreciate the ceremony. The old man’s dignity was a factor too. He radiated quiet magnetism. Hélio then accepted a kiss on the cheek from Rorion, and then the plaque, which described him as the “first ultimate fighter.”
It was a really powerful moment, and I knew how much it meant to Hélio, and the entire family—but no one more so than Rorion. It hit me that by agreeing to be honored in public by his oldest son, Hélio was officially passing the torch to Rorion. Hélio had always felt that it was he, above his other brothers, even Carlos, who had worked the hardest to popularize Gracie Jiu-Jitsu in Brazil. And now he was letting it be known that he felt that Rorion, above his six other sons, was the one most responsible for carrying his legacy of Gracie Jiu-Jitsu to the U.S., and now finally, to the world.
All that was left now for Rorion on this night, was to see Royce win the Final.
At the opening bell, Gordeau started slowly and methodically moving straight ahead, as he tried to cut the angles, and trap Royce against the fence. Royce backpedaled with his hands held high, and then exploded forward at Gordeau with a low kick into an attempted double leg takedown. Gordeau sprawled, causing Royce to adjust, stand straight up into a clinch, and go for an outside trip.
Gordeau defended that as well, and with Royce in tight, moved backwards, finally grasping his fingers in the chain links of the fence to keep himself upright. Royce then grabbed a body lock and positioned himself chest-to-chest with his opponent. Gordeau now had no room to throw his strikes, and was forced to think defense, rather than offense, as he desperately worked to keep standing. Not giving an inch of space as they battled against the fence, Royce went for another outside trip, and this time hit it. He then landed on top of Gordeau in full mount.
Flat on his back, Gordeau raised his head up, and bit Royce’s right ear. This illegal action was predictably missed by Vigio. Royce responded with two quick head butts, and then thrust his forearm into Gordeau’s jaw. Gordeau attempted to counter by applying a side headlock, as he moved to his right hip. Royce easily escaped the headlock, and then rolled Gordeau onto his stomach. He then slid his left hand under Gordeau’s neck, but couldn’t quite find the rear-naked choke. Royce released, gave Gordeau another quick head butt, and then went for a second attempt at a rear-naked choke, this time leading with his right hand. With his left hand, Royce then reached across the back of Gordeau’s head, and grabbed his own gi at the right shoulder. Simultaneously, he pressed his head into Gordeau’s, to fully lock on the submission hold.
With his right hand, Gordeau tapped the canvas, then tapped Royce’s right shoulder, then tapped the canvas again. Royce refused to break the hold. Then Gordeau tapped the canvas with his left hand, and still nothing. I could tell that Vigio actually saw the submission, as he now moved in to pull Royce off of his beaten opponent. In full-blown panic, Gordeau slapped the canvas with both hands. Royce finally let go when the referee grabbed him, and then shouted at Gordeau for having bitten his ear. It was officially ruled over at the one-minute, 44-second mark.
Royce looked furious rather than elated. But Rorion was elated, as was Hélio, Rickson, and the rest of the family. The Gracie clan mobbed Royce, and they all celebrated triumphantly. They hoisted Royce on their shoulders and paraded him across the mat. When he passed by me, our eyes met, and I impulsively took his hand and kissed it. I then laughed at my out-of-character gesture, which had come from me being so thoroughly caught up in the moment.
Next, I looked for Ethan, who had been in his front-row seat next to mine the ent
ire night, holding and guarding my briefcase. But now he was on his feet, having jumped up to join in the victory party. Without question, Ethan was thrilled that his role model and instructor had triumphed.
“Ethan!” I screamed. “Where’s my baby?”
I could tell that what I was saying didn’t register with him. Then a look of abject horror overtook Ethan’s face, and he covered his mouth with his hand.
“My baby, Ethan. My briefcase. I told you not to let it out of your sight. Where the fuck is it?”
“Oh shit. Don’t worry, Art, I know where it is. I gave it to Royce’s cousin. I’ll get it. I’ll get it. I’ll get it.”
He then turned and started running at full speed.
We’d had an oversized prop check in the amount of $50,000 created for the championship ceremony, which I was now supposed to present to Royce. But I couldn’t find that either.
Here is young Ethan Milius, John Milius’ son. The night of the event he was by my side right up until the end.
I spotted Kathy, and yelled at her, “Where’s the fucking giant check?”
Calm and organized as always, she told me that it was backstage, and being brought out as we spoke.
Brian Kilmeade conducted the post-fight interview with Royce, who said, “I’m just Royce, I’m always going to be. There’s no change in me, money or no money. I’m not here for the money, I’m here for the honor of the family.”
There was no doubt in my mind that he had indeed honored his family.
I handed Royce the huge check, and Rorion put the tournament winner medal around Royce’s neck. Surrounded by his dad and brothers, Royce finally allowed himself to smile—the first time that I had seen him do so all week.
Immediately afterwards, I walked back to the TV production truck to congratulate Pillot, Campbell and Lucas. They seemed pretty happy, especially that we’d gone off the air in just under 1 hour, 55 minutes. Campbell said that this would make selling the rebroadcasts a lot easier for them. Pillot wanted to tear down our beautifully constructed fighting area, and throw it away. He told me it was like a concert set, and that you always build a new one for the next show.