Iceman (15 page)

The fight with Mezger was the kind of bout—high energy, a couple of strikers—that ends in a knockout. And it wasn't going to be me. Late in the second round, I had an opening. As he was backpedaling, I caught him with a combination of three punches to the head and face. He staggered, which gave me an even bigger opening to deliver some punishment. I set up, stepped in with my left foot, and threw a right hand that hit him square on the cheek. His neck gave way and his head bobbed back and then forward as he fell to the ground. It was over. Guy wasn't just knocked down, he was knocked out, with his left leg twisting at an ugly angle underneath his ass and back.

I screamed at the top of my lungs, hugged my corner guys, jumped on the turnbuckle, and pointed to the crowd. Winning a fight never gets old. The payoff is never less than what you expect after months of working. And in the euphoria of all that, it's easy to forget about the guy you just pummeled who's lying on the mat. For those guys, you never know how bad the damage is, when they'll recover, when they'll fight again, or if they'll fight at all. After that night, Guy Mezger would fight just four more times in his career. It happens to everyone.

But it wasn't even close to my time. I felt that I was just getting started. And I celebrated. I had made more money in that month—between the Randleman fight and the Mezger fight—than I had in my entire UFC career combined. Now I had a contract guaranteeing even more than I could fathom getting paid as a fighter. So I splurged. I had been driving a 1988 Ford Ranger that was in bad shape. It was leaking clutch fluid, and I felt that I was replacing the clutch nearly every month. The car was such a beater it was hard just to keep it together, and I was afraid to drive long distances. I took $14,000 in cash and got myself a 1997 Expedition.

Now I was rolling.

N
EW CONTRACT, NEW CREDIBILITY, NEW CAR. MIDWAY
through 2002 I was thirty-two years old and a legitimate pro fighter, making a living at what I did best, probably better than anyone else in the world. I felt that I was peaking, too. The Mezger fight just flowed and gave me a confidence I didn't have before. I had always felt I could beat anyone in a fight, a knockdown, drag-out brawl. But I was feeling now that I could beat someone in a test of talent. The original intent of the UFC, of all the mixed martial arts competitions, was to find the most skilled fighters in the world, whether it was in wrestling, karate, boxing, jujitsu, or any other form of hand-to-hand combat. While some people thought the UFC had veered off the path and become nothing but a tough-man contest, it was viewed that way less and less now. And I knew I could compete. I was proving time and again in the cage that I was among that top tier of warriors.

Most athletes, when they reach their midthirties, start to show signs of slowing down. Their reflexes aren't as quick, their timing suffers, their body takes longer to recover from training, let alone a game or a fight. Boxers especially find themselves in a steep decline. By that point in their careers they've probably been fighting for twenty years. Between sparring and actual matches, they've taken thousands of blows to the head. Whether they are punch-drunk or not, a lot of them can't help but have lingering effects from all those shots. But we UFC fighters, despite all the controversy surrounding the brutality of mixed martial arts, seem to get stronger as we get older. For starters, we don't take countless hits to the head. So many other disciplines are involved in our sport that we spend as much time grappling on the mat and trying to twist each other's limbs as we do trying to knock each other's brains out. A boxer probably takes more hits to the head in one round of a twelve-round fight than a UFC fighter will take in three rounds. Which means, despite some of my media appearances (more on that later), our heads are pretty clear as we get older and we can keep fighting longer.

I'm not trying to keep people from being boxing fans. I loved the sport when I was growing up. Guys like Marvin Hagler and Sugar Ray Leonard were great to watch, but I think the sport has run itself into the ground. There are too many divisions, too many promoters more interested in making a buck than in making a good fight that will keep fans interested. One reason I think the UFC is doing so well is that lots of boxing fans are fed up with the way that sport is run—and the lack of exciting fighters—and are crossing over to watch MMA fights. But you don't see a lot of our fans getting all that pumped up to watch a boxing match. We're gaining new combat sport fans and enticing the boxing lovers, while boxing's followers are getting older or switching over. It doesn't help their cause that the more well-rounded athletes are going into UFC. People always ask me, who would win a fight between a boxer and an MMA fighter? I'm pretty sure I could handle my own in the ring if all we were allowed to do was box. I am a slugger and I like to land a punch. But if you let an MMA fighter go against a boxer, it's no contest. MMA fighters have too many skills. Remember UFC 1? The boxer didn't last long against Royce Gracie.

Boxing will also always be about speed and strength. A fighter's ability to strike with power, elude punches, and take advantage of openings quickly are the keys to his success. While some wily guys can last on talent and wits, boxing is a young man's game. But in the UFC, leverage plays just as important a part of success as punching. Learning jujitsu for me was as much about longevity as it was improving my ground game as I began my career. Randy Couture is a heavyweight champ at forty-three. And he is not slowing down. That comes from his ability to dominate on the mat. I know I won't be the most powerful striker in the sport forever, but that doesn't mean I won't be able to compete. That's the beauty of mixed martial arts. Multiple disciplines mean multiple ways for fighters to evolve during their career.

Winning a fight—there ain't nothing like it.

In 2002, however, I was just thinking about beating the crap out of people the best way I knew how, with pure striking power. After the Randleman bout I didn't get the title fight against Tito because he was going to fight Ken Shamrock. Still, I wanted to stay sharp. I was in too good of a rhythm not to challenge myself against topflight challengers. Even while Dana was telling me I shouldn't take fights against guys like that in case I slipped up once and lost. Then I'd have to fight my way back into contention for the Ortiz fight. But I fight to prove I'm the best, every time. And that means standing toe-to-toe with the strongest guy willing to challenge me. In UFC 33 in September of 2001, that was Murilo Bustamante, a Brazilian who, naturally, was a jujitsu expert and had been schooled in the Vale Tudo style. Basically that meant he was impossible to hurt and would never tap out. Bustamante was actually a founder of the Brazilian Top Team, which had been established to come up with entirely new styles of fighting in mixed martial arts. Bustamante was at the top of his game when we fought, so much so that four months later he would actually win the UFC's middleweight title. This is what Dana was warning me against: Why take a fight I didn't have to? Why risk a loss when a title shot was mine if I was patient and strategic about my choices? Well, because I don't ever want to waste a fight. It's an insult to whatever gifts I'm lucky enough to have.

Besides, if I lost the bout, I didn't deserve the title shot in the first place. Then whomever I lost to would obviously deserve the title shot. I am a fighter. The belt was just a symbol of being the best. The only reason I wanted the belt was because I wanted to beat Tito. People considered him the best guy out there at the time, so he was the guy I wanted to beat.

But for now, I had to beat Bustamante. To be honest, I didn't train well for that fight. I had gained too much weight the summer after beating Mezger and I had to rush to cut pounds. I normally like to fight at 205 pounds. I walk around weighing between 212 and 222 pounds. I was 220 pounds just days before that fight, which left me feeling sluggish. That cost me some stamina and power. Even worse, I underestimated Bustamante, especially stupid considering his experience and that he was peaking toward a title shot as well.

When the fight began, I was the aggressor, on the balls of my feet, leaning in, looking to strike quickly. I knocked him down in the first round, and the crowd started chanting, “U-S-A, U-S-A.” Then I nailed him again at the end of the first round with a huge right to the side of the head. He started swelling up just as the bell sounded. I was hoping I had hurt him and could pummel him a bit more in the second round.

But then my lack of training caught up to me. He went for an ankle lock early in the second round and I escaped, but I was winded from that. Then he nailed me with a huge right-left combination. I had let the fight slip away a bit, mainly because he was getting more confident that he could stand. He was throwing some quick, stinging jabs, which I didn't expect since even he had described himself as 100-percent Brazilian jujitsu. Late in the second he shot for my legs again and tried to lock me up, but I was able to slither away. Still, I was not being assertive. I did a lot of dancing in that second round and wasn't looking for openings—or taking advantage of the ones that I saw—nearly as much as the first. Sometimes, when I did make a move, I was reaching and didn't have great form. He took advantage when I opened myself up.

In the third we were both pretty tentative, partially because we were wary of each other and partially because, by now, we were both winded. If either of us got in a big hit, it might have ended. And, with 2:13 left in the fight, I thought I had done that. I caught him with a big right that knocked him onto the mat. Normally I'd go for the ground and pound, but he was such a dangerous grappler I didn't want to get caught up with him. So I hovered over him while he lay on his back, kicking his thighs and making it tough for him to get up. We were like that for thrity seconds until the ref backed me up.

With about 1:15 left, I think we both felt that to guarantee a win, we had to go for a knockout. Putting it in the hands of the judges would have been too close of a call. I landed a nice combination to his head. Then he popped me in the face with a shot I wasn't expecting. But neither of us went down for the count. It was an exhausting, well-executed fight. I'm not sure either of us had the power to finish it by the end.

You never want a fight to go into the hands of the judges. It's too subjective. I may have thought I outpointed Bustamante, but the judges could have downgraded me for being kept on my heels in the discipline that is supposed to be my specialty. The punishment of a fight is easy compared to the torture of waiting for judges.

Luckily, they saw the fight my way, unanimously. Not that there wasn't a little controversy. Plenty of UFC fans debated the judges' call and believed that Bustamante deserved the win. I could see their points, so I went back and watched the fight twice. Both times I thought it was close, but I had still won. The fight did teach me two things: Listening to other people's scouting reports about fighters is a waste of time, and to leave no doubt, you've got to knock a guy out.

In UFC 35 in January of 2002, I fought Amar Suloev, an Armenian kickboxer. I had a five-inch height advantage on the five-nine Suloev, but he was an aggressive fighter who, while he had a wrestling background, liked to stay on his feet. He had also won twelve straight mixed martial arts matches.

Hackleman worked me hard for that fight because I was so sluggish in the Bustamante fight. And it paid off. I went after Amar right away and I hurt him early. But he didn't really reciprocate. I expected a different fight from him, honestly. He is so aggressive, and because of his experience as a kickboxer, I thought he would stay close and try to trade punches. But he backed off for most of the fight once I had connected. I won the first two rounds easily, and I kept chasing after him, but he would just take a punch and then run. There's nothing I could do about that. In the third round I threw fewer punches, partially because I couldn't get close, but also because I moved into kickboxing mode. I was kicking his legs and expecting to get a head kick in. I just didn't get it in before the bell sounded, and again it went to the judges.

Unlike with Bustamante, there wasn't a question about this fight. I could have pressed harder—I didn't throw much more in the third than an overhand right—but I was out there in control, just throwing my attacks. If he came at me a little bit, maybe I could have landed one. However, it is really hard to knock a guy out if he is running away from you. Fans didn't love that fight—a second straight decision after I had been knocking people out—but a win is a win.

In the UFC world, I was on fire. I had won eight straight fights against strong competition. I was becoming a name, a potential draw, developing a fan base, and doing it all the way I thought it should be done. Not by bragging about myself or ripping opponents, but by being a powerful striker who was feared as a fighter.

And my timing couldn't have been better.