Let’s Get It On! (30 page)

It’s a pleasure to be able to see fans respond to the sport firsthand. I’m a lucky guy, and I know it. I do get extra attention and always have people to talk to who love MMA as much as I do.

But it goes both ways. I have been bombarded by fans at hotels and casinos during fight weekend and had to leave my family alone so they could walk around freely without me. Nowadays, I don’t leave my hotel room until it’s time for the show.

I’ve never felt that being recognizable made me better than anyone else. I learned early on that celebrities aren’t necessarily better people than the average person. Usually, they’re worse off because they have the means to get away with more. When I first became a police officer in 1988, I met one of my childhood heroes. I was called to Melrose Avenue to assist another officer already on the scene. When I arrived, I saw none other than O. J. Simpson and an attractive blonde lady standing there. They’d been arguing, and she said he’d hit her, though I couldn’t see any visible marks.

I stood there talking to Simpson, who had the same calm, personable voice you’d hear each week on ABC’s
Monday Night Football.
He didn’t hide the fact that they’d had a disagreement but said his wife had been hitting him and he’d put his hands up to defend himself.

Gene, the first officer, wanted to take Simpson to jail, but I couldn’t stand by and watch this three-time American Football Conference MVP and pro football Hall of Famer get dragged away. I was twenty-four years old and impressionable. “Gene, this is O. J. Simpson. You can’t take him to jail for this. Let me talk to her.”

We told the Simpsons they could each go to jail for accusing the other of domestic abuse. Neither of them wanted that, so we talked it out and Gene and I eventually left. As we drove away, I felt good for saving Simpson from certain public embarrassment.

Six years later, Simpson was charged with killing his wife, Nicole, and her friend Ron Goldman on the steps of her condo. I know it wouldn’t have made a difference if we’d arrested him that day, but I never forgot how I’d been swayed into thinking Simpson was somehow better than the rest of us.

I crossed paths with more celebrities as the UFC’s popularity grew. In early 1997, I got an interesting call from Bob Meyrowitz that demonstrated how much the UFC had penetrated mainstream culture. “How would you like to be on
Friends?
” he asked.

“What are you talking about?”

“Do you know what
Friends
is?” Bob asked.

Of course I knew what
Friends
was. In its third season on NBC, it was one of the most watched shows on television. It was also one of Elaine’s favorites.

Meyrowitz explained that the show’s staff had written a premise around the UFC, in which Monica’s Internet millionaire boyfriend enters the Octagon to test himself. When he mentions “the ring” to her, she mistakes it for a pending marriage proposal. I was a little surprised, given the UFC’s current problems with its public perception, that a hit NBC show would want it on, but of course I said yes.

Announcer Bruce Buffer, Tank Abbott, and I were hired for the episode. We were brought onto the NBC lot to rehearse and then shoot.

Some of the actors knew about the UFC and the sport and were very welcoming. Jon Favreau, who played Monica’s boyfriend and would go on to direct the blockbuster
Iron Man
films, talked about watching UFCs and liking them. Most of the other cast members were very cordial as well.

I was told that the biggest fan on the set was Matt LeBlanc but that he hadn’t been available to shoot on these two days and would kick himself for missing them.

Wow, Joey Tribbiani wants to meet me,
I thought.
That’s pretty cool.

Former teen actor Robby Benson directed the episode. I remembered him from a college basketball movie he’d done called
One on One.
I’d loved that movie, but I was too shy to go up to Benson and tell him that.

On the first day, the stunt coordinator approached me and said a couple of stars had questions about the UFC, so I said I’d be happy to answer them.

This tiny woman approached me, baseball cap pulled down low on her forehead. She was so petite I did a double take. “Do people die in this?” she asked, peering up.

I hadn’t even realized who she was at first, and all I can tell you is that she was one of three female leads. I dove into my well-rehearsed explanation, and she listened for about thirty seconds before she turned and walked away.

It wasn’t my final interaction with the woman I’ll call Miss X. In the makeup room, I was told to sit next to her to prep for the episode.

Soon a production assistant came in and gently said to her, “Mr. Benson wants to work through the lunch break, so I took it upon myself to order you grilled chicken, steamed vegetables, and some pasta.”

She exploded like the assistant had just run over her dog. “No, no, no. That’s my time. That’s my thirty minutes, and I want to go to the commissary.”

“Okay, but Mr. Benson—”

“I don’t care what Mr. Benson wants. That’s my thirty minutes. If I want to stand out on Barham Boulevard and pick my nose, that’s what I’m going to do.”

The assistant nodded, walked to my chair, and gave me the same line and lunch menu. In my one Academy Award—worthy moment, I went for it. “No, no, no, no,” I shrieked, startling the makeup artist. “That’s my thirty minutes, and if I want to stand out—” I paused. “You know what, bud? If I said something like that, I’d be a dick. Thank you so much for the lunch. That would be great.”

Miss X looked at me, daggers coming out of her eyes, and stormed out. Everybody in the makeup room applauded me, but I can tell you with the utmost confidence that she will never “friend me” on Facebook.

Now, it could have been a bad day for her, and she’s probably a wonderful person the rest of the time, but her behavior always reminds me of how to not act. She’d made a hardworking man, who was simply doing his job, feel insignificant. I’d tried in my own small way to right that wrong. Nobody’s above anybody else, even if they’re well-known.

My second big brush with fame came from another unexpected phone call, supposedly from a production assistant to Nicolas Cage who said the A-list actor wanted to put me in a film he was directing.

I thought one of my friends was playing a practical joke on me and said, “You’re full of shit.”

After many assurances, the caller said, “Could I at least deliver the script to you within the hour so you can look it over?”

“You’re really going for this one, but sure, why not? Send the script over within the next sixty minutes.”

When the script arrived at my house within the hour, I thought,
My friends are good.
The script looked legit. Even the Saturn Productions company listed at the bottom of the front page checked out when I searched for it online. Having watched my dad and his LAPD friends orchestrate the most elaborate jokes on each other, I had to admit this was a pretty good one.

When I started reading the script, though, I quickly realized it wasn’t a prank. I’d seen real scripts. Besides appearing on
Friends,
I’d had the opportunity to work stunts and advise on the 1999 cop comedy
Blue Streak,
starring Martin Lawrence and Luke Wilson.

Looking at this script, I knew my friends weren’t smart enough to come up with something this detailed.

I called the assistant back, and he asked if I’d meet Cage at his house to read for him.

The next day, on my lunch break and in my LAPD fatigues, I found myself pulling into Cage’s driveway in Bel Air in my Audi TT. There was the latest model, red Ferrari 360 Spider in a line of classic cars.

Holy shit,
I thought.
I don’t belong here.

Cage was a friendly guy. He told me he’d been training with Royce Gracie and had watched me since UFC 2. I fumbled through the read while Cage kept telling me I was doing great. I knew I sucked.

Afterward, he said, “I want you to do the part, but I need to check with some people before I can give you a final answer.”

Later that day, I got the call. I’d been cast.

Sonny,
the story of a young returning Army veteran who can’t escape his seedy past, was filmed in New Orleans. They flew me down South for four days and later had me come back for another week of shooting.

The movie starred future Academy Award nominee James Franco. I played Detective Rollo, a crooked cop whose one purpose seemed to be beating up Sonny or another character every few scenes, then leaving.

In one of my scenes with Franco, I had to blindside him next to his car parked on Bourbon Street. Cage wanted me to knee Franco’s stomach and face. Franco was such a good sport about it. I tried to pull it back to not hurt him, but he said, “Keep it coming,” as wardrobe stuffed more and more padding under his costume.

The movie was about prostitution—something I knew a lot about—so I remember being impressed with the authenticity of it all when one of the women on set walked toward Cage to speak with him. She was wearing a rabbit fur jacket, which was all the rage with the prostitutes back in Los Angeles. She was a pretty girl, and I kept thinking she looked familiar. I realized a few seconds later that she was Cage’s girlfriend, Lisa Marie Presley.

American Pie
actress Mena Suvari and veteran actor Harry Dean Stanton were also in the film. Acclaimed British actress and Academy Award nominee Brenda Blethyn played Sonny’s mother. I shared a van with her on the way to the set the first day of shooting. She looked at me and started speaking in a slow New Orleans drawl. It took me a few seconds to realize she was speaking her lines and wanted me to respond with mine. She was in character and wanted me to play along. In that moment, I knew actors were a different breed altogether and I was way out of my element.

On the set of NBC’s
Friends:
the UFC’s logo mascot, Ulti-Man, would be “softened” in a later version as the UFC tried to change its image.

One scene was particularly difficult for me because it required Franco to spit on me after I’d beaten him up. I had to stand there and take it, and I had to change my clothes between each take because Franco would get his syrupy fake blood all over me. Each time Cage yelled, “Cut,” I prayed it would be the last. But we must have done that scene ten times.

During one of the takes, Cage walked up to Franco and me. “Hey, I want to put one more thing in. When he spits and before you hit him again, give him the ‘kiss of death.’”

At first I thought my wife was putting Cage up to it. I don’t kiss men, other than my dad or my sons, unless I’m joking around.

“Do you have a problem with this?” Cage asked.

With the set waiting for Cage to leave the shot, I nodded. “I can do it.” Then at the right moment, I grabbed Franco by the ears and kissed him on the lips.

“That was awesome,” Cage said. “Let’s do one more take or would that be a problem?”

“Of course he has a problem,” Franco said to Cage, cracking up. “I’m kissing John McCarthy!”

Imagine my relief when I got a call a few months later from the assistant. Despite everyone from Cage down to the director of photography telling me how great I was, Detective Rollo and his kiss of death were left on the cutting room floor. I’m not a religious person, but I thanked God profusely in that moment.

Acting wasn’t really my thing, but I’ve always been grateful for the opportunities that come from being associated with the UFC and the sport. Over the years, I’ve been asked to play myself for films, in popular TV shows like HBO’s
Entourage,
and in music videos. Once I was even asked to record a ringtone.

I haven’t accepted every offer, and some have been a little ridiculous. I’ve been asked to officiate weddings many times, even though I’m the furthest thing from an ordained minister. I also felt some of the offers could damage the sport’s reputation.

In 2000, when pro wrestling juggernaut World Wrestling Entertainment decided to produce
WWE Tough Enough,
a reality series about training young hopefuls for the ring, they tried to incorporate real fighting. WWE hired Dan Severn and Ken Shamrock to wrestle for the organization, but when this show came around, Severn was moved to coaching. The show then morphed into having the lesser-known WWE wrestlers enter boxing matches against one another. Guess who they called to referee that circus? Though the WWE was a hugely popular and established operation, I thought affiliating myself with it in such a visible way would only confuse fans and the general public—some already thought MMA was just as fake as pro wrestling—so I politely turned down the offer.