Let’s Get It On! (44 page)

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.

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.

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.

Back home in the United States, Zuffa was winning some minor battles in its war to legitimize MMA. Around UFC 46 and 47, fan interest seemed to pick up a little with the introduction of the Couture-Liddell rivalry in the light heavyweight division.

The second true rivalry of the Zuffa era had been born out of chance. Couture, coming off two losses in the heavyweight division, had agreed to drop down a weight division and fight Liddell for the interim light heavyweight title after champion Tito Ortiz had turned down the matchup due to an injury. In reality, Ortiz hadn’t wanted to fight Liddell because he’d had a lot of problems sparring with him in the past. So while Ortiz had stayed out of the Octagon tending to injuries, movie roles, and other commitments, Couture had slid into the role as headliner against Liddell at UFC 43.

Most people hadn’t given the nearly forty-year-old Couture a chance against Liddell. I’d known Liddell would have to avoid the clinch, where Couture would surely try to trap him, and I’d thought he would tag Couture before he could get ahold of him. I was wrong. Couture outstruck Liddell and got a third-round stoppage in one of the most surprising fights ever in the UFC.

Their rematch at UFC 52 on April 16, 2005, at the MGM Grand Garden Arena in Las Vegas, was something different. In reaction to their first bout, most people now thought Liddell couldn’t beat Couture, though at this point Liddell had been on one hell of a run and had even taken out Ortiz at UFC 47 along the way. There was a real swing in public opinion for this fight, and the buildup from both appearing as coaches on The Ultimate Fighter made it even more interesting.