Iceman (17 page)

I thought Vitor was going to be more aggressive with his hands, but instead he kept his distance. When the kicks weren't working, he tried to take me down. And that seemed to be his strategy for the rest of the fight. We danced around each other for most of two rounds, occasionally connecting on a kick or a punch, but then we'd hit the mat. I thought I hit harder than him and I really wanted to test his chin, but I wasn't getting the chance. Instead, I'd try to throw everything I had in the few seconds we were both close enough to exchange some shots.

It was another of those fights that, as the third round ended, I was afraid was going to be left up to the judges. And this was way too big a match for something like that to happen. Vitor's corner was yelling for him to make something happen. And then I decided to take the fight to Vitor. With about a minute left, I caught him with a strong right that knocked him down. He wasn't knocked out, but I was able to pummel him for the last minute of the fight. It left little doubt that I was the unanimous winner, and the judges agreed.

UFC 37.5 vs. Vitor Belfort. He took me off guard with a nice pop, but in the end I nailed him with some major blows and won by unanimous decision.

I wanted that shot against Tito, but I knew I was going to have to wait. Dana had told me before the fight that he had a chance to set up an Ortiz-Shamrock match for UFC 40 that November. It was a grudge match, with one of the UFC's most respected statesmen taking on its resident bad boy. Shamrock was still pissed about the way Tito had treated his protégé Guy Mezger. This was going to be a boon for the sport. Ken had wrestled in the WWE and brought along an entirely new audience because of it. It could be the fight in which the UFC and MMA took one more step toward becoming mainstream. And because Dana asked me to, I told him if I beat Vitor I would step aside and let the Ortiz-Shamrock fight happen. I'd been patient; I could continue to be patient.

I would have been content that night to walk out of the ring a winner and collect my $70K. Tito was sitting in the front row for my fight with Belfort. But I didn't feel the need to point to him with national TV cameras rolling and tell him that he was mine or that I was going to kick his ass.

He felt differently. Maybe he couldn't handle that someone else was getting attention. Or maybe he wanted to prove to himself that he wasn't afraid of me. Whatever the case, he jumped into the ring and started talking. As soon as he was done fighting Ken, he said he was coming after me. It was going to be in his home, and he was going to kick my ass. Before that, neither of us had ever talked publicly about a fight. It was always something bubbling under the surface. I wouldn't bring it up because it's not my style. And he wouldn't bring it up because he wanted to avoid it. But that was impossible now. Other than Shamrock, there was no one left for Tito to fight except me.

I was just hoping to get the chance.

A
FTER UFC
37.5,
I HAD A FREE PASS. I COULD HAVE
taken a long time off and fought a chump. I could have relaxed, traveled, spent time with my kids, trained occasionally, and awaited the outcome of the Ortiz-Shamrock fight, which was set for UFC 40 in November of 2002. Because Dana had asked me to step aside for the good of the sport, I had plenty of leverage.

But I didn't want to sit around. I wanted to fight. And with all the hype surrounding Tito and Ken's fight, it got me anxious to get back in the cage. Of course, Dana was adamant I not do it. As my friend, he was thinking about my career. I didn't need to take on a fight, to put my number-one contender ranking on the line just because I wanted to hit somebody. It was a stupid risk. As the boss of the UFC, Dana definitely did not want me getting into that Octagon. UFC fans were ready to shell out top dollar for a fight between me and Tito or me and Ken. The pay-per-view revenue for either fight would be astronomical. By the time UFC 40 happened, it would have been more than three years since I had lost a fight. I had become a fan favorite by dominating opponents. If I dropped a meaningless fight, all that goodwill and hype would go away, and so would my shot at the title.

But screw it. Screw plans and expectations. When you start worrying about them, you stop doing what put you in a position to be great in the first place. I wanted a fight in UFC 40. And I didn't want some bum. That would just be a waste of time. I wanted a challenge, someone who could keep me sharp, because I expected to have a title fight soon after. I called Dana again and told him to get me a fight. The matchmaker came up with Babalu.

Babalu's real name is Renato Sobral, a Brazilian. But everyone calls him Babalu because that's what kind of bubble gum he likes to chew. Shocker, this Brazilian was an expert in jujitsu, the Gracie style, and loved getting opponents on the ground. He'd won with armbars, key-locks, and rear-naked chokes. But as much as for his fighting, Babalu had a rep for his serious workouts. He didn't just go for jogs, he sprinted through the mountains of Brazil. He didn't just bench-press at the gym, he used training partners as dumbbells and lifted them. He didn't just swim, he swam two thousand meters in less than an hour. This was an appropriate challenge. I liked this fight, and when I told Dana, he said, “Screw you. Screw you because you are not fighting, and screw you because there is no way you are fighting Babalu. That is a dangerous fight. Sit back, relax, watch the fucking Tito and Ken fight, and get ready to fight the winner.”

I told Dana, “No way.”

Then the argument got really high-minded. Dana said to me, “Screw you, no way, screw you.”

“Screw you,” I countered. This is how we talk to each other. I was still as close to Dana as I'd ever been. But I wanted a fucking fight against Babalu. I called my attorney, who pointed out to Dana that I had the right in my contract to fight on that card and he had to set it up. Dana's response was “All right, fuck face, you are stupid and dumb. You got me. You got the fight.” That, naturally, made me happy.

With more than 13,000 people in the stands at the MGM Grand Garden Arena and 150,000 buying at home, this was the biggest event in UFC history. With an audience like that, I wanted to make an impression. Even if I wasn't saying anything out loud, every time I won, it was a statement that I was the best fighter in the world, no matter who held the title. To do it on this stage, on the same night that Tito was fighting, would only create more of a stir.

At the start of the fight, Babalu and I danced. He went for a low leg kick, I probed with some left-handed jabs. He didn't make a move to shoot for my legs, the way a lot of the jujitsu guys do. He was willing to stay on his feet and move in close with some kicks to my legs. I hurt him after the first minute with a big right, then around twenty seconds later followed that up with another looping right. This one felt heavy, you could hear the air compress out of my glove. I was determined to push this fight. Babalu was a tough guy and I wanted to rattle him. My eyes were so wide-open during the fight that even the announcers could see I wanted to get the knockout fast. The longer we were in there, the more of a risk I was taking. I just needed one opening. And I got it.

Babalu went in for a low leg kick, leaving himself wide-open. I leaned in for a big right, and when he ducked, I gave him a left hand to the face and then a left leg kick into the forehead. He went down fast and hard. As soon as I pounced to finish him, the ref was jumping on top of me, knocking me off. This fight was over. TKO. Afterward I jumped up, pointed to the crowd, went to help Babalu up, and felt as relieved as I have in a long time. I was still fighting my way, setting myself up for the title my way. Now I could sit back and join the rest of the crowd to watch Tito and Ken.

From the beginning, it was worth the buildup. Ken came out first, introduced by a video of him saying, “Tito Ortiz is a punk,” which repeated over and over. Then the stadium went dark, and when the lights came back on, Ken was standing on a platform near an entrance to the arena, with his arms raised. The crowd went nuts. This guy had fought in UFC 1. He had done professional wrestling. Now he was back to try to swipe the title from the guy he thought was disrespecting the sport Shamrock had built.

Tito came out to even more mayhem. He had pillars of fire shooting up around his entrance platform. When the lights came up to show his face, he was dancing on his platform, waving an American and an Irish flag and wearing his UFC light heavyweight belt. He was amped, bouncing down his ramp into the cage, where his feet barely touched the ground. You could tell the whole thing was making Ken sick. When Tito bounced his way, Ken almost charged him, before the fight even started. When they stared down at center ring, Tito couldn't stop moving, while Ken just stood there looking pissed.

I was wailing on Babalu in UFC 40, until I knocked him out with a kick to the head.

So many of these big fights start off slow, with the opponents feeling each other out. But in this one, the guys seemed to have so much built up aggression, they couldn't wait to unleash it on each other. They sprinted to the middle of the cage and started swinging. Tito locked Ken up right away, then hit him with a punch, then a knee to the face. Ken swung back, but then Tito got his hands wrapped around the back of Ken's head, pulled his face down, and started kneeing him just above his eyes. Tito had spent seven weeks at Big Bear getting ready for this fight, and he looked as good as he ever had. The crowd was chanting his name, and he took Ken down to the mat, where he beat up on him for the rest of the round. A big cut was bleeding over Ken's eye as the first round ended.

The second round was much of the same. Tito got Ken on the mat again and kept up the ground-and-pound. Ken had a good defensive guard, with Tito locked between his legs, but then Tito pulled himself out of it and got a side position. He kneed Ken to the body again and again. Ken's a warrior, one of the originals, and he wasn't about to tap out. He made a beautiful spin move from the ground and got back on his feet as the round ended. But he looked beat-up and tired. When he threw punches, they were tentative and from too far away, as if he didn't want to get too close.

By the third round, Tito was trying to set Ken up for the knockout. He took one of my moves, a big looping left hand. Then he unleashed a vicious combo of knees and punches before taking Ken down to the mat again. Ken could do nothing. He was too winded and his face was a mess, while Tito looked as if he had barely started fighting. Ken pulled himself off the mat with about a minute left in the round, but Tito came at him again with more combos of kicks and punches. This was a five-round fight, and the third round ended with Ken just trying to keep Tito at bay. Ken could only win if he knocked Tito out. If it went the distance, the fight was Tito's.

It didn't get that far. Between rounds, after looking at Ken's face, the ref called it. Then Tito acted like the punk that he is. When Ken tried to walk over and give Tito a hug, Tito walked away. He put on his postfight T-shirt, which read
I JUST KILLED KENNY, YOU BASTARD
. Only after people had seen it did he take it off, go back to Ken, and embrace him. Then Ken walked around the cage with Tito's arm held high. The guy was all class. Tito, the champ, not so much.

But he had put on a devastating display of mixed martial arts and dominated one of the legends of the sport on its biggest stage. Between Tito's win and the way I'd dispatched Babalu earlier that night, Joe Rogan, the actor and UFC commentator, could only say before he signed off, “I can't even begin to fathom a match between Tito Ortiz and Chuck Liddell.”

I could. And I couldn't wait.