(I love the serious, half-bored expressions on the Japanese fans’ faces, as if Giant Silva vs. James Thompson is something totally normal that happens all the time. / Photo via Sherdog)
To put it another way — Bellator isn’t the best MMA league in the world, but it has the potential to be the craziest, and that makes it undeniably compelling. The promotion surely recognizes this, which could help explain the new signings of MMA freak-show veterans Rameau Thierry Sokoudjou and James Thompson. Both fighters have been added to the main card of Bellator 121, June 6th at the Winstar World Casino in Thackerville, Oklahoma (aka, the event that just lost its legitimate headliner).
After the jump: Videos of Sokoudjou and Thompson beating the crap out of Bob Sapp.
(I love the serious, half-bored expressions on the Japanese fans’ faces, as if Giant Silva vs. James Thompson is something totally normal that happens all the time. / Photo via Sherdog)
To put it another way — Bellator isn’t the best MMA league in the world, but it has the potential to be the craziest, and that makes it undeniably compelling. The promotion surely recognizes this, which could help explain the new signings of MMA freak-show veterans Rameau Thierry Sokoudjou and James Thompson. Both fighters have been added to the main card of Bellator 121, June 6th at the Winstar World Casino in Thackerville, Oklahoma (aka, the event that just lost its legitimate headliner).
After the jump: Videos of Sokoudjou and Thompson beating the crap out of Bob Sapp.
(Sokoudjou vs. Bob Sapp, DREAM.11, 10/6/09. Listen to Lenne Hardt’s introduction of Sapp from 1:15-1:30. Damn, I’m getting kind of emotional over here.)
(James Thompson vs. Bob Sapp, Super Fight League 1, 3/11/12)
(I know what you’re thinking, Alistair, and yes, that shirt is breathtaking. / Photo via Sherdog)
As we’ve seen so many times before in MMA, some fights only come together out of total desperation. When Alistair Overeem was booked against James Thompson for DREAM’s “White Cage” event in October 2009, we rolled our eyes at the prospect of yet another Japanese squash match. At the time, Overeem was steadily building his reputation as the scariest heavyweight outside of the UFC, while Thompson had suffered stoppage defeats in his last four fights. Why in God’s name would anybody think this was a good idea?
Well, nobody else would fight Overeem, for one thing. Also, Thompson had gambled away all his money and the bank was going to take away his ex-girlfriend’s house. Thompson explains the whole sordid affair in a two-part column with Fightland, which you can (and should) read here and here. Here’s an excerpt:
**********
I was living in London and training at London Shoot fighters. Well, I say “training”; it was more like the idea of training that would quickly dissipate into nothingness at the sight of the bookies (gambling establishment) and that’s were you’d find me surrounded by other hopeless souls — human-ish males all queuing up to feed what little money they have into the never-ending abyss that separates you from much more than the money you feed in, in hope it spits more money (aka “hope”) back out at you. It wasn’t the best of times for me, to say the least, and the phone call I received next wouldn’t be improving said situation
It was from my ex (my fiancée now) Graz Merlino, aka the Merlean. I was in the bookies and winning, so at the time I was in a good mood, so I took the call (small note: Fellas, if you’re in a good mood, the chances of talking to your ex and that mood improving or even maintaining are slim to none). The Merlean started to explain to me that the bank had sent her papers saying they had mistakenly paid me too much money (which I’d gambled away), and since her name was on my account (part of a failed attempt to make it harder for me to gamble), they were now in the process of taking one of her assets, i.e., her house.
I don’t want to go into this too much as there’s no need, and it gets complicated, but the crux of the matter was the Merlean had tried to help me and now might lose her house because if it. We’d split up due to my gambling and I’d really put her though it—and when I say “it,” think about a shitter version of hell.
(I know what you’re thinking, Alistair, and yes, that shirt is breathtaking. / Photo via Sherdog)
As we’ve seen so many times before in MMA, some fights only come together out of total desperation. When Alistair Overeem was booked against James Thompson for DREAM’s “White Cage” event in October 2009, we rolled our eyes at the prospect of yet another Japanese squash match. At the time, Overeem was steadily building his reputation as the scariest heavyweight outside of the UFC, while Thompson had suffered stoppage defeats in his last four fights. Why in God’s name would anybody think this was a good idea?
Well, nobody else would fight Overeem, for one thing. Also, Thompson had gambled away all his money and the bank was going to take away his ex-girlfriend’s house. Thompson explains the whole sordid affair in a two-part column with Fightland, which you can (and should) read here and here. Here’s an excerpt:
**********
I was living in London and training at London Shoot fighters. Well, I say “training”; it was more like the idea of training that would quickly dissipate into nothingness at the sight of the bookies (gambling establishment) and that’s were you’d find me surrounded by other hopeless souls — human-ish males all queuing up to feed what little money they have into the never-ending abyss that separates you from much more than the money you feed in, in hope it spits more money (aka “hope”) back out at you. It wasn’t the best of times for me, to say the least, and the phone call I received next wouldn’t be improving said situation
It was from my ex (my fiancée now) Graz Merlino, aka the Merlean. I was in the bookies and winning, so at the time I was in a good mood, so I took the call (small note: Fellas, if you’re in a good mood, the chances of talking to your ex and that mood improving or even maintaining are slim to none). The Merlean started to explain to me that the bank had sent her papers saying they had mistakenly paid me too much money (which I’d gambled away), and since her name was on my account (part of a failed attempt to make it harder for me to gamble), they were now in the process of taking one of her assets, i.e., her house.
I don’t want to go into this too much as there’s no need, and it gets complicated, but the crux of the matter was the Merlean had tried to help me and now might lose her house because if it. We’d split up due to my gambling and I’d really put her though it—and when I say “it,” think about a shitter version of hell. Even after we’d split up it seemed I was still able to fuck her life up. I tried to calm her down, while secretly freaking out. I promised I’d get her the money. I apologized and told her I’d be in touch real soon. I put the phone down and racked my brain about how to get a large amount of money quickly. Actually, that’s not quite true: I went back in the bookies, lost around a grand, then I racked my brain about how to get a large amount of money quickly.
That phone call had really taken me aback. I only had a small amount of money left. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do; I only known I couldn’t let the Merlean lose her house due to my shortcomings as a human.
That night I was woken up by a phone call at the unsociable time of three in the morning. It was my agent, Ken Pavia, aka the Pav. He was calling from some remote part of the world where the time difference was, well, very different. The Pav has never been great with time differences, something I pointed out to him using as many four-letter words as I could, all of which didn’t affect him at all. The Pav was already five espressos into his day and firing on all cylinders.
I managed to make out that a couple of Alistair Overeem’s opponents had pulled out of the Dream 12 main event in Japan, and that the promoters were asking if I would fight him? The money was good, Pav said, because the offer was last minute. “What’s ‘last minute’?” I asked. “This Sunday” was the reply. This convo was talking place on Tuesday, and our flight would be Thursday and I’d fight Sunday. “I’m in,” I said…
I was due to fight Alistair Overeem, one of the best heavyweights in the world, in a couple of days. And I was in the worst shape ever. I felt an amalgamation of emotions. The first was relief that I could now save the Merlean house. This was closely followed by abject terror…
What had I done? What was going to happen to me? Whatever it was, I was treating my life like a joke and now I had to face becoming the inevitable punchline, which I was guessing wasn’t going to be too funny. I wasn’t too worried about being hurt. I’m not trying to sound tough here but it’s true. I was just sad that it had come to this. I’d always fought because I loved the sport and being part of it in whichever way I could. But in this instant there was no hiding the truth: I had taken this fight strictly for the money, and it made me feel hollow.
Jade Bryce was our favorite MMA ring girl even before she agreed to do this video with us. Now, she’s officially reached CagePotato Hall of Fame status.
Follow Jade on Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram, and keep an eye out for her new website, coming soon. And if you want to see a sequel to “MMA Impressions With Jade Bryce,” please throw some impression-suggestions into the comments section…
Jade Bryce was our favorite MMA ring girl even before she agreed to do this video with us. Now, she’s officially reached CagePotato Hall of Fame status.
Follow Jade on Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram, and keep an eye out for her new website, coming soon. And if you want to see a sequel to “MMA Impressions With Jade Bryce,” please throw some impression-suggestions into the comments section…
(I was a big fan of James Thompson until he TKO’d my beloved Giant Silva. You broke my heart, James. You broke my heart. / Photo via Sherdog.)
We’d like to send out a CagePotato Fist-Bump to reader Joseph Cisneros, who submitted today’s topic on this Facebook thread: “Fighters that u hated, that now u are a fan of.” It’s a good question (despite its grammatical quirks), and so is the reverse of it — fighters who you were a fan of, but can’t stand anymore. We figured, why not cover both sides of the coin?
Joining us for this installment of the CagePotato Roundtable is a very special guest, and former Roundtable subject: veteran MMA heavyweight James “The Colossus” Thompson. It’s been a fruitful year for Thompson, who has scored wins over Bob Sapp and Bobby Lashley under the Super Fight League banner, and launched his own MMA media empire with a fantastic blog (ColossalConcerns.com) and a highly entertaining MMA podcast, which you should subscribe to on iTunes right here. Follow the Colossus on Twitter @JColossus, and quiet down children, because the man is about to speak…
James Thompson
When I was told the subject for this round table, I thought I’d have to pass on it, simply because on first reflection I couldn’t think of any fighters that I was a fan of, but then went off completely, or vice versa. But then I did something I try, as often as possible, not to do…I used my brain. After this painful but mercifully brief process was over, I remembered a couple of fighters hidden deep in my grey matter that did fit this description. So here’s what I dug up.
(I was a big fan of James Thompson until he TKO’d my beloved Giant Silva. You broke my heart, James. You broke my heart. / Photo via Sherdog.)
We’d like to send out a CagePotato Fist-Bump to reader Joseph Cisneros, who submitted today’s topic on this Facebook thread: “Fighters that u hated, that now u are a fan of.” It’s a good question (despite its grammatical quirks), and so is the reverse of it — fighters who you were a fan of, but can’t stand anymore. We figured, why not cover both sides of the coin?
Joining us for this installment of the CagePotato Roundtable is a very special guest, and former Roundtable subject: veteran MMA heavyweight James “The Colossus” Thompson. It’s been a fruitful year for Thompson, who has scored wins over Bob Sapp and Bobby Lashley under the Super Fight League banner, and launched his own MMA media empire with a fantastic blog (ColossalConcerns.com) and a highly entertaining MMA podcast, which you should subscribe to on iTunes right here. Follow the Colossus on Twitter @JColossus, and quiet down children, because the man is about to speak…
James Thompson
When I was told the subject for this round table, I thought I’d have to pass on it, simply because on first reflection I couldn’t think of any fighters that I was a fan of, but then went off completely, or vice versa. But then I did something I try, as often as possible, not to do…I used my brain. After this painful but mercifully brief process was over, I remembered a couple of fighters hidden deep in my grey matter that did fit this description. So here’s what I dug up.
Before I get into this, please don’t mistake a dislike for a person — or in this case a fighter’s character — for his skill in the ring. A fighter can have a few character flaws and be a great fighter or vice versa. Now, some people might say it doesn’t matter about what the fighter does on the outside of the cage; it’s all about what happens inside. Which is true to an extent but, come on, MMA fans, for the most part, aren’t mindless robots. You are always going to want to root for the fighter that you can relate to and like as a person…
Now, the reason Tito didn’t jump to mind straight away was because I haven’t been a fan of his for such a long time. Before I go on to make it clear why I feel this way, I must say I’ve never met him. He might be the greatest guy in the world for all I know but the reasons I’m no longer a fan of his is from things I’ve gleaned in interviews and situations I’ve see on TV and interviews over the years.
When I look back to when I first started watching Tito fight in the UFC, I was definitely a fan. I mean how could you not be? I loved his fighting style, his GNP was great to watch and back then most of his opponents didn’t have an answer to it. Even the grave digger routine he did after fighting, which some deemed disrespectful, I thought was a good trademark that helped ‘brand’ him and it got him noticed and helped make him popular.
So, it begs the question, ‘where, for me, did it go wrong’? I started to go off Tito, a little, when he would list a catalogue of injuries that he had to fight off to be in the cage that night. It’s not that I didn’t believe him it’s just, I believe, if you make the decision to fight, injury or not, you’re doing it because you think you’ll win.
That being said, I can forgive Tito for going on about his injuries because, as a fighter, I realise that sometimes you need an excuse to fall back on and make the loss that much easier to swallow, so you can get over it and get back in there should it all go wrong this time. What really did it for me was when I heard him commenting on an Affliction show. It wasn’t so much the mistakes he was making in his commentary, as while these were cringe worthy they were also really funny. What wasn’t funny though was when Vitor Belfort KO’d Matt Lindland with a devastating left hook, and Tito started laughing, and then started singing “good night sweet heart.” Not only was this not funny but, as a fighter himself, he should have known better than to take the piss out of a fellow fighter that got caught. I mean, come on, it’s not like it’s never happened to him!
Another reason he lost me as a fan was that I didn’t like it when Joe Rogan was interviewing Marc Coleman, after his loss to Shogun, and Tito was shouting abuse at Coleman during Joe Rogan’s interview with him. This was because Tito was trying to reignite a fight that was supposed to have happened before Coleman tore his MCL, because he thought he could get an easy win off Coleman like he did with Ken Shamrock as Coleman, in Tito’s eyes, was now past his best. I don’t have any respect for that.
I’m going to stop there as I don’t want to fighter bash and for all Tito’s faults, he has been at the top of a big heap for a long time and provided entertainment to a lot of MMA fans along the way. I now see him a bit like one of those troublesome uncles you see at weddings, that has had far too much to drink and causes trouble by trying to shag a bridesmaid.
Fighter I didn’t like than ended up being a fan of.
I found this a lot harder, as most of the time it’s pretty clear cut whether you’re a fan of a particular fighter or not. Then I remembered Dave Legeno. If you don’t remember Dave, let me refresh your memory. He came into MMA with little to no experience of the sport, but being an actor by trade he was always able put on a ‘show’. I remember seeing him in Cage Rage doing an entertaining monologue then, as the camera panned, he screamed & he was holding a severed Japanese head aloft. All very WWE, which isn’t my issue, my issue was it didn’t seem like he had much to back up any of these antics and he seemed like he was just ‘all show’.
He lost the fight that night, by Achilles lock, to Minowaman who was, coincidently, Oriental. [Ed. note: He means “Asian.”] That was Dave Legeno’s second loss in two fights after he suffered a brutal KO loss to Mark Epstein.
I thought Dave was going to take his acting ability and Oriental severed head off into the distance to try his hand at something else. [Ed. note: He means “Asian severed head.”] But this didn’t happen.
Dave picked himself up to then go on and win his next four fights, before calling it a day and giving acting another go, where he’s had a lot of success in films like ‘44 Inch Chest‘ , ‘Snatch’ and ‘Harry Potter’ to name just a few.
Now, I know first-hand how hard it is to pick yourself up from a KO loss and try again, never mind if you had lost all three of the only fights you’ve ever had. But that he did and he picked himself up well and in the process turned me into a fan. Fair play, Dave.
This dichotomous set of feelings wasn’t always so. At first, I just hated him. Not because of anything he’d really done, you see, but because of what he wasn’t doing. He wasn’t entertaining me. And my opinion of the dude, who was obviously a very skilled and very capable wrestler, was formed long before he ever set foot in the Octagon.
Way back in September, 2003, the International Fighting Championship had a badass one-night eight-man tournament in Denver, CO, featuring the likes of Jeremy Horn, Renato “Babalu” Sobral, Mauricio “Shogun” Rua — the works. And who got triangle choked by Forrest Griffin in a quarterfinal bout on that card? Sonnen, of course. Sonnen, who seemed to be of the mold of wrestlers who’d lay on opponents like a human down comforter, riding out the clock or, thankfully, getting caught in a submission somewhere along the way.
I was ringside when Sonnen put forth a pedestrian performance against the Russian Arman Gambarayan at a promotion called the Mixed Fighting Championship, and though he won a follow-up bout in the organization via first-round TKO, he was still pretty much a blanket. Sonnen went on to compete in the Octagon — which should be an indication of progress — but he crapped the bed, taking an uninspired decision against Trevor Prangley and tapping to Babalu and Horn. Again, I was ringside when he stopped Amar Suloev at a BodogFIGHT show, but honestly, the most memorable thing about that fight was how much Suloev grabbed the ropes. Even Sonnen’s run in the WEC was forgettable. Remember when he took on champ Paulo Filho for the belt? The story of that bout was Filho acting like a lunatic, not Sonnen kicking any degree of ass. It got to the point that, when I knew a Sonnen fight was about to grace my television screen, I’d go to the kitchen and make another batch of popcorn. Or I’d go take a dump. Anything was better than watching him in “action”.
And then the improbable happened. At UFC 104, Sonnen beat the ever-loving snot out of Yushin Okami, and at UFC 109 he prison-raped Nate Marquardt, and when he spoke…it was as if the heavens had opened up, and the ghost of every dead pro wrestler began channeling their collective energies into this formerly unworthy earthly vessel. Suddenly, Sonnen was interesting. I was entertained.
For sure, it helped that Sonnen was inexplicably very, very good at beating the piss out of dudes — which he did for about four and a half rounds against the heretofore untouchable Anderson Silva. But there have always been fighters in the cage who possessed great ability yet had the personality of a discarded dildo. Sonnen, somehow, someway, came to have both the gift of fighting and gabbing in spades, and he wielded them in expert fashion. Yeah, it was interesting how he nearly beat Silva, but that interest was increased a thousand-fold because Sonnen’s mouth had written checks that he was very nearly able to cash.
Failed testosterone tests and suspensions? Mortgage fraud? Pshaw. Ain’t nothing but a thing when it comes to Sonnen, who went from a boring, no-potential fighter whom I hated, to the most interesting man in the world, and a fighter I love.
I am going to be completely fair and honest with the CP brethren. I am a notoriously meticulous individual who can hold a grudge like nobody’s business. Basically, I am not the easiest dickhead to get along with and once you cross me, no matter how trivial or juvenile the slight might be, you have made the list. I don’t easily change my mind to fondness once I view an individual as untrustworthy. Because I am such a judgmental prick, I found it extremely difficult to think of a fighter that swayed me from distain towards affection and before I spontaneously combusted, I opted to discuss a fighter that I used to be partial to but he has since fallen out of my (and I am sure most of the CP community’s) good graces.
Royce Gracie may have been the first star to come out of the UFC but Ken Shamrock was the one who had the appearance of a star. Although the Brazilian was very successful, physically he looked more like your average hairdresser. Kenny’s physique resembled an action figure on Winstrol and he reminded me of every cinematic hero of the 1980’s (except for Jack Burton). Shamrock was multidimensional because he could strike as well as submit his foes and I quickly jumped on the Shamrock band-wagon back in 1993.
His list of MMA opponents is like a who’s who of the sport that include names like Bas Rutten, Maurice Smith, Dan Severn, Oleg Taktarov, Kimo Leopoldo, Don Frye, Tito Ortiz, Kazushi Sakuraba and Rich Franklin. Although he did not win against all of these icons, a laundry list like that has to make you say, “Holy shit!” Shamrock then took a hiatus (1997-1999) from MMA to make some easy money testing his skills in the WWF (yes – it still had the “F” back then). Though I wanted him to continue with legitimate fighting, the move did not necessarily bother me because I would much rather pretend to get hit in the face than actually get hit in the face, especially if it was lucrative. Kenny used the moniker “The Worlds Most Dangerous Man” and although I didn’t know it then, it was the beginning of the end with my affinity for Shamrock.
Once Ken returned to the UFC he was a shell of his former shit-kicking self. He still looked physically imposing but almost magically his muscles looked deflated (if you know what I am saying). I reached the end of my rope during The Ultimate Fighter season 3 where Shamrock opposed Chico Tito Ortiz. Prior to the show, the Huntington Beach Bad Boy was at the pinnacle of his arrogance and Ken was viewed as the far superior coach due to the fact that he founded his own MMA training camps, The Lion’s Den. What transpired was nothing short of a legitimate WTF episode after episode. Ortiz seemed to genuinely care about the fighters on his team and brought in valid coaches like Dean Lister (BJJ) and Saul Soliz (kickboxing). Kenny on the other hand, constantly bickered with his students while surrounding them with a mediocre boxing coach and a gigantic buffed-out Nutrition/strength coach. Ken decided his team would be better served watching old fights of HIMSELF during a training session instead of teaching techniques and that is when Ken made my list.
He went on to get his ass kicked by Tito a total of 3 times and each fight was about as entertaining as watching morbidly obese people French kiss at Wal-Mart. It didn’t stop there though. Once I cut the cord on Shamrock he went on to embarrass himself like a fat kid in gym class. He was KO’d by a guy named Robert Berry at a Cage Rage event and then he was incidentally head butted during warm-ups for his fight with Kimbo Slice which resulted in a six stitch gash and Shamrock’s withdrawal from the primetime network television fight. After that, Ken started the MMA freak show circuit where he fought (and beat) 6’6” 380 lb. Ross Clifton who physically resembled a gigantic mound of manure stuffed into a Hefty bag (R.I.P. Ross). The victory was short-lived as Kenny tested positive for steroids afterwards and went on to wrestle for Juggalo Championship Wrestling. Yes, those Juggalos. What could possibly be worse than that? Answer: this.
So I raise my glass in one hand and raise my middle finger with the other as I stand up and say, “You’re a dick Ken Shamrock.” You are a UFC Hall of Famer and by your ego-driven actions, you made a mockery of yourself. By doing that, you made a mockery of the sport and basically told the fans that once cheered for you, that you didn’t care. Well, right back at’cha buddy. I don’t care . . . . . anymore.
On the other hand, I used to be the biggest BJ Penn fan around, and now I can’t wait until he’s pushed out of the sport. Look, there’s nothing wrong with being a “brash young man,” but as you get older, it’s important to gain some measure of perspective and humility. (It’s what makes Mike Tyson one of the most fascinating former athletes alive.) To put it another way, nobody likes a young punk when he’s 33, especially when he’s only won one of his last five fights.
A grappling phenom with the heart of a street fighter, Penn’s early run in the Octagon was absolutely thrilling — he seemed to represent the next evolution in the sport — and his lightweight title reign in 2008-2009 was shocking in its gorydominance. While critics like to crack on his “motivation,” I think BJ’s ambition was his fatal flaw — his misguided desire to pursue a title at welterweight despite his natural lightweight frame. A thrashing at the hands of Georges St. Pierre in January 2009 (remember “to the death?”) should have pounded some reality into him, but instead it just made him more obsessed to prove himself above his most effective weight class.
I know that “The Unexpected Cosign” is a Complex Magazine’s shtick, but do I ever have one for you today.
As some of you may know, when English heavyweight James “The Colossus” Thompson isn’t busy smashing freaks and fools, he’s updating his blog, Colossal Concerns. Given his workingman personality and some of the nasty knockouts he’s been on the receiving end of, I half expected it to read “Mummba jummba slave to the white man mummba mummba jummba.” But believe it or not, it’s an incredibly well written, insightful blog. Then again, if you’ve been following him on Twitter, you probably aren’t surprised at all by this.
Last night, he offered fans a detailed analysis of Fedor’s career. It’s a pretty entertaining piece that examines the fine line between Fedor the Legend and Fedor the Can Crusher. Oh, and James Thompson totally drank with “The Last Emperor” this one time.
Take it away, James:
I’ll leave you with a story of mine from when we both fought on Pride shock waves 2006. I had beaten Yoshida on the NYE Pride show and had come back to the hotel early from cerebrating as I was drained and I’d had enough for the night. As I entered the hotel lobby Fedor was standing front and centre swaying from side to side, he straightened up as I came through the doors and looked up towards me. I started moving from foot to foot as if he was still swaying and he burst out laughing at this and beckoned me towards him. As I approached him he lightly grabbed me and we started play fighting in the lobby, it was only messing around however I’d be lying if didn’t say a small part of me was praying he wasn’t a violent drunk and that he wouldn’t snap and sambo throw me on to the cold hard floor of the hotel lobby. If the Truth be told I was actually checking the floor during our ‘play fight to see if there was a softer part of it for me to land on should things have started to go wrong!
I know that “The Unexpected Cosign” is a Complex Magazine’s shtick, but do I ever have one for you today.
As some of you may know, when English heavyweight James “The Colossus” Thompson isn’t busy smashing freaks and fools, he’s updating his blog, Colossal Concerns. Given his workingman personality and some of the nasty knockouts he’s been on the receiving end of, I half expected it to read “Mummba jummba slave to the white man mummba mummba jummba.” But believe it or not, it’s an incredibly well written, insightful blog. Then again, if you’ve been following him on Twitter, you probably aren’t surprised at all by this.
Last night, he offered fans a detailed analysis of Fedor’s career. It’s a pretty entertaining piece that examines the fine line between Fedor the Legend and Fedor the Can Crusher. Oh, and James Thompson totally drank with “The Last Emperor” this one time.
Take it away, James:
I’ll leave you with a story of mine from when we both fought on Pride shock waves 2006. I had beaten Yoshida on the NYE Pride show and had come back to the hotel early from cerebrating as I was drained and I’d had enough for the night. As I entered the hotel lobby Fedor was standing front and centre swaying from side to side, he straightened up as I came through the doors and looked up towards me. I started moving from foot to foot as if he was still swaying and he burst out laughing at this and beckoned me towards him. As I approached him he lightly grabbed me and we started play fighting in the lobby, it was only messing around however I’d be lying if didn’t say a small part of me was praying he wasn’t a violent drunk and that he wouldn’t snap and sambo throw me on to the cold hard floor of the hotel lobby. If the Truth be told I was actually checking the floor during our ‘play fight to see if there was a softer part of it for me to land on should things have started to go wrong!
After we’d stopped with the play fighting, Fedor beckoned me towards his table which was in a kind of Lounge area with sofas and chairs crowded around a coffee table. I said hello to the inhabitants who were all Russian males that didn’t speak any English- apart from Fedors manager Vadim Finkelstein who spoke good English. Fedor picked up a sports bag and placed it on the coffee table in front of us all. I could tell from the clinging and clanging of glass that his Mma kit wasn’t in it. A couple of his Russian mates went to get glasses & Fedor started to produce these strange shaped glass bottles from his kit bag. What struck me as odd was that none of these bottles had labels on and you could tell that they weren’t bought down the local off license; they reminded me of bottles you might find in a pharmacy. As Fedor brought out all these bottles of different shapes and sizes I could tell which ones were the strongest (or the favourites) by the gasps and applause each bottle would receive. Fedor delved in to his bag of tricks once again and produced a square bottle which had Smokey dark blue glass and a long narrow neck. But what I really noticed was the reaction of the group, as for a second they were silenced- before hushed gasps of shock and Awe reverberated around the table.
Fedor held this bottle up as if it was the world cup before cuddling it in his arms as if it was a new born child and this brought laughter. He poured a large amount in to one of the glasses -I’m not sure if smoke came off the liquid as it was poured or if I’m just embellishing that part for the story, but what I do remember was that the liquid was clear and handed over the table to me by Fedor with great care. All eyes were now focused on the Englishman and I felt like I was part of some experiment and seeing that I know how seriously Russians take their drinking; I didn’t want to spoil my street cred by asking if they had any Orange juice to mix with it. I was somewhat nervous of the drink that lay before me, so I pictured that what was in the glass was the ‘secret elixir to what made Fedor great’ and by consuming what was in the glass, it would have the same effect on me. With these thoughts I threw back my head and downed it in one.
Now bear in mind this wasn’t a shot glass, it was a normal sized glass filled half full (not half empty). As the contents of the glass filled my mouth, my tongue recoiled and looked for a place to hide. The burning sensation I felt in my mouth, then throat, then chest was overwhelming but I’m English and we too pride ourselves on our drinking ability and even if It was petrol that he’d given me to drink (which is not completely impossible judging by the taste) I was downing this fucker of a drink, not just for my own honour but for the honour of England! I slammed down my glass, gave my head a shake and with the machoness I thought eastern Europeans would recognise, I tipped my glass implying that I wanted another one… which was the last thing I wanted. My new Russian friends loved this and patted my head as I ran my tongue over my teeth to check were still there. Fedor laughed at this and poured me another healthy glass of evil.
With that Josh Barnett came into our drinking area, he had fought Big Nog earlier and lost a close decision. Josh and Fedor had talked and straightened out some problems they’d had the day before and in the process they realised they actually got on very well (I knew this as my trainer/manager at the time had arranged their talk). Fedor greeted Barnett like a long lost brother. He pulled up a chair for him and poured him a drink. I was pleased with this as it meant the Russians had a new westerner to experiment on, plus it gave me a minute to collect myself- which was needed as whatever it was that had been pushed in my direction a minute earlier was coursing though my veins and making me blink a lot for some bizarre reason!.
I talked to a mixture of people for 30 minutes or so which seems strange when I look back as there were only three people that spoke English including myself! I was still tired and I had to be up early in the morning for a stupid o clock flight home. My room (which was my original destination) for the second time that night, became my goal. I was saying my goodbyes to all my new friends when Fedor appeared and pointed to the (my) glass which I hadn’t touched since giving it the ‘big un’ half an hour previously in front of everyone. I felt a massive weight suddenly hang over my head again, I looked at Fedor pleadingly but he just held his glass up and tipped it just like I had done. I pick up my glass clinked it with Fedor and once again downed this un-godly liquid. It again felt like I was trying to down hot coals and I half expected my liver to write me a note whilst I slept that night stating that he could no longer take the abuse! Fedor tried to make me have another drink but I’d said my goodbyes and I stumbled off to my room… I’m sure this thing I call the ‘Russian turpentine ordeal’ wasn’t a big deal for Fedor as he was just being himself and I doubt that he would hardly even remember all this, but for me it was a big deal and I love my story and appreciate Fedor taking the time and just being able to have a laugh. For me, this doesn’t make him a great champion…but it definitely adds to it.
