What if the last day you have on earth, the person you became met the person you could have become?
It’s a heavy question, but if you are honest with yourself, it’s an excellent barometer to gauge how fulfilling and productive your life was, or could’ve been. One of the saddest things in life is seeing wasted talent, or worse yet, watching someone self-destruct right before your eyes.
This scenario seems to play itself out time and time again in sports and is an equal opportunity destroyer of lives. Take John Daly, Darryl Strawberry, and Ryan Leaf for instance. All three of these athletes wasted their careers away to varying degrees and never came close to reaching their perceived ceiling. Unfortunately, mixed martial arts (MMA) is no different when it comes to athletes wasting their careers away.
This year, the sport celebrated its silver anniversary. In that time the growing number of fighters who have squandered otherwise promising careers is staggering. We here at LowkickMMA compiled a list of the 10 fighters who wasted their careers away.
The list starts here, enjoy:
Jon Jones
We start the list off with none other than decorated-yet-troubled former UFC light heavyweight champion Jon “Bones” Jones.
Jones is still in the process of writing his story, but if history has shown us anything, it’s that athletes that continually mess up usually continue to self-destruct unless a comprehensive lifestyle intervention takes place.
“Bones” makes this list because he is perhaps the best and most recent example of an MMA fighter wasting their potential away. Once considered the unquestioned greatest of all time, Jones is, unfortunately, more likely the butt of a joke than in the running for the GOAT conversation nowadays.
Jones won the UFC light heavyweight championship on two occasions; he would also become the first fighter in company history to be stripped of the same title both times.
Couple that with “Bones” well-documented controversies that include a hit-and-run involving a pregnant woman, multiple failed drug tests, and a seemingly never-ending stream of generally head-scratching outside-the-cage trouble, and it’s no wonder Jones makes the list of fighters that wasted their careers.
Having the chance to fight in the UFC is every MMA fighter’s dream, and many have been willing to endure all kinds of personal struggles and sacrifices in order to make it there. However, the Octagon has a nasty habit of chewing fighters up and spitting them back out, and adjusting back to normal life […]
Having the chance to fight in the UFC is every MMA fighter’s dream, and many have been willing to endure all kinds of personal struggles and sacrifices in order to make it there.
However, the Octagon has a nasty habit of chewing fighters up and spitting them back out, and adjusting back to normal life afterwards can prove to be hard to deal with.
Suddenly out of the limelight, down on their luck, and with the knowledge that their best days in the sport were now behind them, some fighters were simply unable to cope, and that obviously brought out the worst in them.
In this article we’ll investigate 10 of the most dramatic cases of fighters whose lives spiraled completely out of control after leaving the UFC.
Terry Etim
Along with the likes of Michael Bisping, Liverpool’s Terry Etim was one of a small group of fighters who helped put UK MMA on the map in the UFC, compiling a respectable 6-5 record over a six-year period, though he’s most remembered for falling victim to an instant-classic wheel kick KO from Edson Barboza.
The UFC released Etim in early 2013 after a dip in form saw him lose three fights in a row, but he was still only 27-years-old and soon signed for Bellator, claiming a victory in his debut.
However, Etim then suffered an ACL injury, and for the next three years he simply vanished. No social media posts, no interviews, no fights.
Then, in February of 2017, almost exactly four years since his last UFC appearance, the now 31-year-old Etim suddenly burst back into the headlines for all the wrong reasons.
According to multiple witnessed, Etim jumped out of a car one afternoon in Liverpool city centre and deliberately ran into traffic, throwing himself into a series of stationary cars, and even a single-decker bus.
Photo Credit: Liverpool Echo
The blood-soaked Etim broke free from friends who were trying to stop him, but was eventually restrained and taken to hospital suffering from serious internal and facial injuries
Etim was released from hospital several weeks later and has once again vanished from the spotlight, with no explanation being offered for his alarming behavior.
( *sigh* They just don’t make squash matches like they used to. Photo via Getty.)
How good can a fight *really* be if it ends quicker than Michael Bisping’s prom night? That’s just the question we’re trying to answer this week, and we’ve got a whole slew of special guests to help us: Sydnie Jones of WomensMMA (making her second CP Roundtable appearance), Tim Burke (formerly of BloodyElbow), MiddleEasy Editor-in-Chief Jason Nawara, and MiddleEasy writer Nick Robertson. The topic: What is the Greatest One-Minute Fight of All Time? Join us for yet another thrilling CagePotato Roundtable, won’t you?
Coincidentally, Silva vs. Leben synchronizes perfectly to my favorite under-a-minute song of all time, “Wasted” by Black Flag, which is officially listed at 51 seconds, but includes about two seconds of dead air at the end. For your convenience, I’ve overlaid the Silva vs. Leben fight with “Wasted” in the video above, so you can see what I mean.
The whole thing is fast, dumb, and violent, just like MMA at its best. And when Leben collapses to the mat at the end of the fight, as Keith Morris shrugs off the final line “I was wasted,” it’s such a perfect summary of Leben’s persona. He’s reckless, self-sabotaging, often intoxicated, always driving forward with no regard for the consequences. He’ll wake up the next morning with a massive headache, take a couple bong rips, and go skateboarding without a helmet, because fuck it, if it’s your time to go it’s your time to go.
( *sigh* They just don’t make squash matches like they used to. Photo via Getty.)
How good can a fight *really* be if it ends quicker than Michael Bisping’s prom night? That’s just the question we’re trying to answer this week, and we’ve got a whole slew of special guests to help us: Sydnie Jones of WomensMMA (making her second CP Roundtable appearance), Tim Burke (formerly of BloodyElbow), MiddleEasy Editor-in-Chief Jason Nawara, and MiddleEasy writer Nick Robertson. The topic: What is the Greatest One-Minute Fight of All Time? Join us for yet another thrilling CagePotato Roundtable, won’t you?
Coincidentally, Silva vs. Leben synchronizes perfectly to my favorite under-a-minute song of all time, “Wasted” by Black Flag, which is officially listed at 51 seconds, but includes about two seconds of dead air at the end. For your convenience, I’ve overlaid the Silva vs. Leben fight with “Wasted” in the video above, so you can see what I mean.
The whole thing is fast, dumb, and violent, just like MMA at its best. And when Leben collapses to the mat at the end of the fight, as Keith Morris shrugs off the final line “I was wasted,” it’s such a perfect summary of Leben’s persona. He’s reckless, self-sabotaging, often intoxicated, always driving forward with no regard for the consequences. He’ll wake up the next morning with a massive headache, take a couple bong rips, and go skateboarding without a helmet, because fuck it, if it’s your time to go it’s your time to go.
Before there was a Nashville brawl in Strikeforce on American national TV, there was a Chute Boxe vs. Hammer House brawl on Japanese national TV that featured some of the more compelling characters in the history of the sport. And as a shameless Pride mark, I feel it is my duty to focus on the bout that led to this insanity. Yes folks, I’m taking you back to early 2006 for the first fight between Mark Coleman and Mauricio “Shogun” Rua. Joint dislocations, bear-pawed refs, and angry Ninjas. Oh my.
The fight itself had everything you could want in 49 seconds. Shogun was still only 25 here and his knees weren’t at that Terry Funk level yet, so he was able to deal with Coleman’s old man strength by consistently looking for subs from the bottom and landing the odd punch to the grill. He almost finished the fight with a kneebar but the wrestler yanked his leg out and went for an immediate takedown. Because Rua was off balance when Coleman shot in though, he posted his right arm in an awkward way and his elbow just popped out of the socket. Gnarly.
It wasn’t quite apparent what had gone down right away, but this was in Japan after all – there were 43 close-up replays that made the gruesomeness quite clear, including a ref cam. They had to wait to show them though, because Coleman had completely lost his shit in the meantime.
After Mark swatted away the ref like a Japanese cicada, Shogun’s brother Murilo (known worldwide as Ninja, the lesser sibling that kisses his younger brother on the head a lot) jumped into the ring immediately to first check on his brother, then to scold Coleman for being a bro. Caveman Coleman wasn’t happy with that, and it led to reinforcements from both sides joining the festivities – The New York Badass Phil Baroni on the Hammer House side, Pride legend and current NSAC track star Wanderlei Silva on the Chute Boxe side. And they all brawled for about 30 seconds while the camera stayed on Shogun, who alternated between watching them fight and screaming in pain. Yeah.
Because Pride was awesome, they followed Coleman and Shogun around for a few minutes with a camera afterward. Shogun is in a lot of discomfort and swearing in Portuguese while Ninja just wants to cuddle with him. Coleman’s segment goes all the way from punching his dressing room wall to giving the ultimate meathead speech backstage before finally deciding to apologize to Chute Boxe. Suitably, the apology is hilarious – after Coleman says he’s sorry, it’s just Wanderlei yelling at everyone and Ninja looking derpy while Rampage Jackson yells “Who, me?” over and over again back at him.
This was Pride FC at it’s goofiest, and just one of the many reasons I loved it so much.
Though I have sentimental feelings for UFC 2’s opening televised bout between Pat Smith and Scott Morris because it took my MMA-viewing virginity back in 1994, I would be doing a disservice to one of the sport’s more revered competitors if I chose a brawl from the human cockfighting era. Therefore, I have decided to gush over BJ Penn. The Prodigy was widely acknowledged as the first truly complete mixed martial artist and in lieu of his latest (and hopefully final) retirement announcement; his 11-second obliteration of Caol Uno at UFC 34 is at the top of my list.
I will be the first to admit that I was never the biggest Penn fan due to my creepy fanboyish love for Georges St. Pierre, but even I have to show respect for the skill and achievement that a very special few are able to exhibit. That being said, I am not here to ballwash Penn like FOX and the MLB did to Derek Jeter during the All-Star Game, but BJ was in rare form that night in 2001.
The fight started with Uno’s only offensive maneuver when he ran forward and threw a kick that would make Liu Kang proud. Penn, however, easily sidestepped it. A straight right/left hook/right uppercut combo from BJ put Uno on his back with his head propped up against the cage. From there Penn unloaded 4 brutal punches to Uno’s mug and the fight was over. BJ popped up, bowed to several directions of the crowd, then sprinted out of the cage and up the ramp where he disappeared. It was almost like Penn had the meter running on a cab that was parked in the alley behind the arena.
It took 32 seconds from the moment the bell sounded to start the round until the moment Penn made it backstage. A slow-motion replay showed the damage he did as Dana White (WITH HAIR) sits cage-side clapping. When the dust settled, Uno’s expression resembled that of a college freshman. A college freshman attending his first frat party that is one Natural Ice away from getting dicks drawn all over his face with a Sharpie.
I thought long and hard about this topic, and I just couldn’t think of an answer. I had come up with a handful of candidates, but something about them didn’t feel right. I knew I was missing something. I was going to need to try a different approach. So like a young Ozymandias, I ventured out into the desert and swallowed and swallowed a small handful of hashish (approximately 6.7 grams).
I walked and walked searching for an answer. The hash wasn’t really kicking in and I was starting to get restless. When the hash finally did kick in, it hit me hard. My body started to produce a thick glossy sweat that almost looked like gelatin. A chill rolled up my spine and my stomach turned. I was starting to get sick, and I knew I was in for a long uncomfortable night.
After throwing up for what seemed like an eternity it seemed I was finally starting to gain clarity. It was like I suddenly had HD Glasses on. I looked out into the vast desert and there appeared two figures. One had a giant head of gold and an aura of invincibility. It was The Huntington Beach Badboy himself, Tito Ortiz. Across from him stood a dude who looked like an angry stepdad who hid his muscles under an unassuming polo shirt. It was a young, lean, Evan Tanner.
I watched as they felt the fight out on the feet for a brief moment before tying up. Tito managed to get a body lock and I knew the fight was already over. This was a prime Tito Ortiz, who likely had a broken spine at this point in his career, and he wasn’t going to let Tanner take his belt. Ortiz slammed Tanner so hard that he went unconscious. Before Tito could land a second punch Tanner’s spirit had ascended to the heavens. It was both terrifying and beautiful. Moments later I was vomiting uncontrollably again.
When I returned home later that evening I knew I had found what I was searching for and knew, the greatest MMA fight under one minute is most definitely Tito Ortiz vs. Evan Tanner at UFC 30.
The greatness of Mark Kerr vs. Greg “Ranger” Stottat UFC 15 simply cannot be overstated, although I’ve tried my hardest to do just that in my tenure at CP. It is a 17-second window into what MMA was in the late 90′s — Japanese-level freakshow fights, made up fighting styles (R.I.P!!), and the Just Bleed guy. And beige swim trunks used as fighting shorts. My God, those beige swim trunks.
To be a fly on the wall of Stott’s locker room in the moments leading up to the fight…
Coach: “Greg, I know what you’re thinking: ‘This Kerr fellow just won the last UFC tournament and appears to weigh approximately 450 pounds. He is going to murder me and possibly eat my children.’ But you’re gonna beat him, Greggy! You hear me! You’re gonna shock the world!”
Greg: “But coach, I’ve never even been in a real fight before. Like, ever. R.I.P isn’t even real; I invented it two weeks ago while high on nitrous in my garage. It’s basically just a bunch of awkward jabs and stomps.”
Ah, so this is CagePotato headquarters, eh? I find it pretty funny that I get invited here for a roundtable only to see that what we’re gathering around seems to be an octagonal table. Did you guys get this made in 2009 or something? Does the irony of being near an octagon burn your heart and soul considering you’re not allowed near the Octagon™? Sorry, I know this is off-topic, I’m just kind of in awe of finally being here after reading you lovely humans for years. It’s pretty cool, but it smells kind of weird to be honest.
So yeah, my favorite fight that lasted under a minute. Well, when you guys told me the subject, I thought the pickings were going to be slim, but then I closed my eyes and exhausted all other thoughts out of my brain, and only let the fighting come through. You know what I saw in that moment of complete clarity? A mustache, my friends. A mustache. And it was good.
Let’s go back to UFC 8, the David vs. Goliath tournament held inside a hot arena located in Bayamon, Puerto Rico. A young Donnie (Donny?) Frye, stood like an adonis across from one Thomas Ramirez. A 300+ pound man, who, if I recall even somewhat correctly, had over one million unsanctioned street fight wins. They met in the center of the Octagon™ and after a quick bop to Frye’s forehead, Ramirez was overcome by a flurry that put him to sleep in 8 seconds. It was glorious. These early UFCs are my favorite era of MMA, and I remember specifically watching this show for the first time thinking that “Tom Selleck’ was going to get killed by Mr. Ramirez, but he ended up doing the killing in a figurative manner.
This was the fastest knockout in UFC history for almost a decade until Duane Ludwig’s 6.26-second KO over Jonathan Goulet was officially recognized in 2012 (Todd Duffee and The Korean Zombie also broke Don’s record with 7-second KOs, respectively). So how can this not be my favorite knockout in under a minute? It’s Don Frye knocking out a 300+ pound man in 8 seconds in his debut. This is what life is all about, right here. I’m not ashamed to admit that.
Special CagePotato Roundtable Bonus Selection!
Later that night, Don Frye would go on to TKO Sam Adkins in 48 seconds. This is worth mentioning because it’s a technical knockout in less than a minute, it was immediately after Don’s initial 8-second knockout (which I wrote about above if you’re coming in halfway) and most importantly, it was a fight that featured these unfortunate pants:
Way back in the day, before Matt Hughes was anything more than a regional fighter and former wrestler who once paired up with his twin brother to beat up their dad, Dennis Hallman took Hughes gently by the neck and schooled him on how to be a wrestler and suck in the cage. Hughes catches Hallman’s kick and starts to drive forward for a single leg, but I guess nobody told him, ‘protect ya neck,’ because he leaves it right out there. Hallman takes advantage of all that room created by the complete lack of level change and locks in an arm-in guillotine. It’s over in 17 seconds and Hughes is out cold.
In retrospect, this is pretty satisfying, but Hughes was fighting in relative anonymity and it was only his fifth fight (and third of the night), so, so the fuck what, right?
Well, when paired with Hallman vs Hughes II from UFC 29: Defense of the Belts (video here), it’s extra satisfying. It’s lagniappe satisfying. Because two years and a shit ton of fights later, Hughes is felled by his own blustering over-confidence, this time in 20 seconds, as he shoots in for a single leg and a slam. Having been slammed from a height of maybe 8 to 10 inches, I can say from experience that it hurts, but Dennis Hallman DGAF and he was a straight up angel on high when Hughes brings him down. Instead, he transitions to a fake triangle threat as a way to set up the arm bar…and Hughes slams him again, still to no avail. After Hughes steps on Hallman’s face, he topples over like a dumb tree while Hallman stays tight and finishes the arm bar.
From almost the first second of the fight, Hughes bungled nearly everything, like he was giving a very brief but pointed seminar on how brute strength and wrestling isn’t at all effective if you haven’t formulated a defense against the positions and techniques wrestling overlooks. The two fights combined create a 37-second cautionary tale, if you’re a Hughes fan. And if you’re explicitly not a Hughes fan (or, more charitably, if you’re a jiu jitsu fan), then the two fights are the MMA equivalent of Station: lovely discrete, but nothing short of divine when taken as a whole.
There’s a reason why nobody brings up a Fight of the Night earning preliminary scrap when discussing the greatest fights of the year, and that reason is because the greatest fights need to have something important behind them. A great one-minute brawl can go down at even the most obscure amateur MMA event, but the greatest one-minute fight has to have something on the line. My pick wasn’t for a world title, it wasn’t for a tournament championship, and it certainly didn’t cement the victor as one of the pound-for-pound greats. But Gerard Gordeau vs. Teila Tuli quite literally set the tone for the entire future of the UFC, in all of its bloodstained glory.
Through the hardened eyes of the modern MMA fan, Gordeau vs. Tuli isn’t much of a fight. It ended – many would argue prematurely – shortly after Gordeau landed his first (and only) kick. It was far from a technical masterpiece, but the thousands of viewers who paid for a tournament advertised as a ruthless bloodsport didn’t want it to be one. When Tuli’s tooth gets kicked into the third row, those viewers received everything that they were hoping the UFC would deliver. When the fight was called off seconds later, they booed mercilessly – not because they were frustrated by the fight, but because they wanted even more of it. Just like that, almost everybody watching the UFC was hooked on it. The rest, as they say, is history.
It’s hard to imagine how differently things would have played out for the UFC if Gordeau vs. Tuli was ten-minutes of circling, shoving, and jabbing culminating in a forfeit via exhaustion instead of a quick, decisive knockout. Would the UFC ever enter the World Fucking Domination era? For that matter, would it have even seen a second event if the audience stopped caring after a lackluster inaugural fight? It’s impossible to say for sure, but, as-is,one minute was more than enough time for the UFC to establish itself as the future of combat sports.
Gordeau vs. Tuli was everything we’d come to love about the UFC, well before we had any idea what to actually expect from it. Fights don’t get much greater than that.
Although the fight records officially list Cain Velasquez‘s 5th round TKO of Junior Dos Santos at UFC 166 as coming by way of “Slam and Punch,” the credit should rightfully be given to Dos Santos for executing a picture perfect ninja-choke-into-faceplant KO. It was truly the most spectacular self-destruct sequence ever carried out in the octagon, and one that got us thinking: What are the Most Brutal Self-Inflicted KO’s in MMA History?
Matt Lindland will be discussed at some point in this article.
As Ben previously noted, it’s a good thing that the 2002 Mark Kerr documentary, The Smashing Machine, ended when it did, because we wouldn’t have been able to sit through the tale of woe that Kerr’s career became from 2004 onward.
Following a pair of losses to Igor Vovchanchyn and Heath Herring at PRIDE 12 and 15, respectfully, Kerr would take a three year break from the sport before returning against Yoshihisa Yamamoto (who held a modest 13-16 record at the time) at PRIDE 27. Forty seconds into the fight, Kerr would knock himself out during a takedown attempt. He would walk away from PRIDE shortly thereafter and lose 7 out of his next 9 contests, all by first round stoppage.
This post has gotten off to an unexpectedly depressing start, but such is Mark Kerr. Let’s lighten things up a bit…
Although the fight records officially list Cain Velasquez‘s 5th round TKO of Junior Dos Santos at UFC 166 as coming by way of “Slam and Punch,” the credit should rightfully be given to Dos Santos for executing a picture perfect ninja-choke-into-faceplant KO. It was truly the most spectacular self-destruct sequence ever carried out in the octagon, and one that got us thinking: What are the Most Brutal Self-Inflicted KO’s in MMA History?
Matt Lindland will be discussed at some point in this article.
As Ben previously noted, it’s a good thing that the 2002 Mark Kerr documentary, The Smashing Machine, ended when it did, because we wouldn’t have been able to sit through the tale of woe that Kerr’s career became from 2004 onward.
Following a pair of losses to Igor Vovchanchyn and Heath Herring at PRIDE 12 and 15, respectfully, Kerr would take a three year break from the sport before returning against Yoshihisa Yamamoto (who held a modest 13-16 record at the time) at PRIDE 27. Forty seconds into the fight, Kerr would knock himself out during a takedown attempt. He would walk away from PRIDE shortly thereafter and lose 7 out of his next 9 contests, all by first round stoppage.
This post has gotten off to an unexpectedly depressing start, but such is Mark Kerr. Let’s lighten things up a bit…
(If the slam itself doesn’t make you laugh, the sound effects surely will.)
Matt Lindland is a man of many masks: Mixed martial artist. Olympian. Coach. Politician. Professional rafter. All of these masks are certifiably goofy as fuck. Hence Lindland knocking himself out while attempting to take down Falaniko Vitale at UFC 43. The incident ranks just beneath Tim Sylvia shitting his pants on the UFC’s list of All Time Most Embarrassing Moments.
But Matt Lindland is a man of character. Matt Lindland is a fighter’s fighter. Hence why he rematched Vitale at UFC 45 and literally did not stop punching until his opponent tapped out. Lindland also cut Fedor that one time, which was pretty cool. In short, there are those of us who choose to rise from the ashes of defeat and those of us who choose to drown in them. The former are referred to as “Lindlands.” The latter are referred to as “VanOrmans.”
According to the “About” section of this video’s Youtube page, uploader Cr125rmxr “just had some fun with a UFC highlight.” I’m not so much angry that this poor fellow has never experienced true joy, I’m just disappointed that the best available free footage of Gray Maynard vs. Rob Emerson was uploaded in 2008 and features Intro to Garageband hip-hop beats, beats that dramatically cut out halfway through the video, leaving you to suffocate beneath your thoughts in the impending, deafening silence.
It’s a societal issue, really. Back in the day, computer nerds had ambition, had honor. They’d see an opportunity like Gray Maynard knocking himself out cold while slamming fellow castmate Rob Emerson at the TUF 5 Finale and just go to town: A gif parade here, a Benny Hill-themed remix there; it was glorious. But now, thanks to copyright claims, lawsuits, and general laziness, this crappy, home shot video of Gray Maynard breaking noted scumbag Rob Emerson’s ribs and simultaneously knocking himself out in his UFC debut is all that remains.
Everything’s a meme now. You’re a meme. I’m a meme. This human experiment is pointless.
Boris Miroshnichenko vs. Herman Yakubov – ProFC 50
In Russia, there is only suffering. Herman Yakubov knew this, which is why he made sure to KO himself twice for every time his opponent KO’d him at ProFC 50. From last week’s article:
While Yakubov, a Russian, was KO’d in the first round by his Belarusian counterpart, he also made sure to knock himself out *again* with his own knee on the way down, lawn chair style, and a third time when his head hit the canvas — as if to say, “Although you have damaged me, comrade, know that your damage holds not a candle to those wrought by my own devices. For what is life but the prolonging of inevitable death? And what is death, if not a face at peace…”
Randleman’s fall was so dramatic that not only did he come away from it with an actual cracked skull (*shoots visual daggers at Tito Ortiz*) but an injured shoulder to boot. And just like that, “First Defense” became “No Defense” — Randleman was pulled from his scheduled fight with Pedro Rizzo and the people of Lake Charles, Louisiana would set their city ablaze in rageful protest by nightfall.
Although many innocent lives were lost on that tragic evening of March the 10th, 1999, “The Monster” would receive his fight with Pedro Rizzo at UFC 26 in June of 2000. Randleman successfully defended his belt by way of unanimous decision and rode off into the sunset a champion…until he was defeated by Randy Couture in his next bout. Meep morp.
The CagePotato CMS is trying to autocorrect “Randleman” with “Manhandle.” That detail bears mentioning.
Tim Means – UFC on FOX 5
This one is kind of like the Kevin Randleman incident, but bonus points go to the omnipresent force that is Death for trying to take out Means in a sauna. You almost got him, Death. And according to Final Destination rules, you pretty much own him at this point.
You could argue that Forrest Griffin volunteered to be brutally knocked out as soon as he agreed to fight Anderson Silva. We’re sure he would agree with you.
It was October 17th, 1997 — sixteen years ago today — and the night was just getting started. Behemoth wrestler Mark Kerr entered the Octagon at UFC 15: Collision Course in search of another heavyweight tournament sweep, and his first opponent that evening was a doughy former Army Ranger named Greg Stott, who entered the bout with an NHB record of 0-0, touting a made-up fighting style called “RIP” (which stood for Ranger International Performance, in case you’re curious). Even before the bell rang, you could probably tell that this was going to be one of the ugliest mismatches in MMA history. Fans who were watching the pay-per-view at home settled in to witness the closest thing Americans had to a public execution in the late 20th century.
And then it happened. As Bruce Buffer read the fighter introductions, the UFC production team spotted a diamond in the rough, cutting to a fan in the crowd who wore the letters “UFC” painted green on his forehead, the phrase “JUST BLEED” in bold white on his chest, and what might have been his interpretation of the Nike “swoosh” logo underneath it. He was shirtless, and holding a paper cup full of an unidentified beverage. He began to flex, harder than anyone has ever flexed before. He gnashed his teeth, frothed at the mouth, howled like a rabid wolf. Behind him, Lorenzo Fertitta‘s redneck cousin Cletus Fertitta appeared to puff a doobie.
Among the many fantastic UFC crowd-shots we’ve seen over the years, “Just Bleed Guy” remains the #1 P4P G.O.A.T. And sixteen years later, the sight of JBG hasn’t lost its ability to both amuse and mortify. Just Bleed Guy wasn’t just a clown you could laugh at and forget. He’s still referenced to this day as an embodiment of lunkheaded MMA fandom — a stand-in for the type of UFC viewer who doesn’t care about strategies, scorecards, winners or losers. He wants blood, and blood alone.
Just Bleed Guy’s real name is James Ladner, and he would later do some prison time for an appropriately lunkheaded crime — acting as a fence for stolen farm equipment. Meanwhile, the venue where UFC 15 took place doesn’t even exist anymore; Hurricane Katrina destroyed the Casino Magic Bay St. Louis back in 2005. To me, that detail makes the event even more mythical. UFC 15 is one of the most important UFC events that nobody ever talks about. Here’s why…
It was October 17th, 1997 — sixteen years ago today — and the night was just getting started. Behemoth wrestler Mark Kerr entered the Octagon at UFC 15: Collision Course in search of another heavyweight tournament sweep, and his first opponent that evening was a doughy former Army Ranger named Greg Stott, who entered the bout with an NHB record of 0-0, touting a made-up fighting style called “RIP” (which stood for Ranger International Performance, in case you’re curious). Even before the bell rang, you could probably tell that this was going to be one of the ugliest mismatches in MMA history. Fans who were watching the pay-per-view at home settled in to witness the closest thing Americans had to a public execution in the late 20th century.
And then it happened. As Bruce Buffer read the fighter introductions, the UFC production team spotted a diamond in the rough, cutting to a fan in the crowd who wore the letters “UFC” painted green on his forehead, the phrase “JUST BLEED” in bold white on his chest, and what might have been his interpretation of the Nike “swoosh” logo underneath it. He was shirtless, and holding a paper cup full of an unidentified beverage. He began to flex, harder than anyone has ever flexed before. He gnashed his teeth, frothed at the mouth, howled like a rabid wolf. Behind him, Lorenzo Fertitta‘s redneck cousin Cletus Fertitta appeared to puff a doobie.
Among the many fantastic UFC crowd-shots we’ve seen over the years, “Just Bleed Guy” remains the #1 P4P G.O.A.T. And sixteen years later, the sight of JBG hasn’t lost its ability to both amuse and mortify. Just Bleed Guy wasn’t just a clown you could laugh at and forget. He’s still referenced to this day as an embodiment of lunkheaded MMA fandom — a stand-in for the type of UFC viewer who doesn’t care about strategies, scorecards, winners or losers. He wants blood, and blood alone.
Just Bleed Guy’s real name is James Ladner, and he would later do some prison time for an appropriately lunkheaded crime — acting as a fence for stolen farm equipment. Meanwhile, the venue where UFC 15 took place doesn’t even exist anymore; Hurricane Katrina destroyed the Casino Magic Bay St. Louis back in 2005. To me, that detail makes the event even more mythical. UFC 15 is one of the most important UFC events that nobody ever talks about. Here’s why…
– Most notably, UFC 15 was the event where the promotion finally tried to make its rules a little more palatable for mainstream audiences, formally banning groin strikes, shots to the back of the head, kicks to downed opponents, small joint manipulation, and hair pulling.
– UFC 15′s all-heavyweight cast featured a range of talent that bordered on the absurd. On the high end of the spectrum, you had elite wrestlers like Kerr and Randy Couture, along with fearsome strikers like Vitor Belfort and Maurice Smith. And then you had guys like Ranger Stott and Harry Moskowitz who were completely out of their depth. (Tank Abbott would rank somewhere in the middle, I guess.)
– It was the last appearance of play-by-play announcer Bruce Beck (who would be permanently replaced by Mike Goldberg at the next show), and the first UFC event to feature two separate referees (John McCarthy and Joe Hamilton), a decision that was made to lighten Big John’s workload.
– For the record, Randy Couture scored an upset TKO against Vitor Belfort in the evening’s heavyweight “Superfight,” while Maurice Smith defended his heavyweight title with a submission-via-punches of late replacement Tank Abbott in the main event; Dan Severn was originally scheduled to be Smith’s opponent, but the Beast had to pull out due to a hand injury. Kerr won UFC 15′s four-man heavyweight tournament in a combined 1:10 of fight time, including his 17-second smashing of Stott, followed by a 53-second rear-naked choke of tournament alternate Dwayne Cason.
– Kerr vs. Stott was an influential UFC moment in itself, as it was the last time that a totally inexperienced fighter figured he could show up in the Octagon with a self-made combat style and be successful against actual no-holds-barred vets. Though Greg Stott’s infamous tagline was “RIP rules, all others rest in peace,” it was RIP that would die a quick death that night, and Stott would become a cautionary tale for martial arts hobbyists around the world. Greg Stott is currently raising money for a documentary about his life, which will focus on his ongoing quest to break powerlifting records at the age of 50, and his battle with manic depression. At the end of this post is a video of Greg Stott playing “Knights in White Satin” on the piano. Enjoy.
Since we already made a list of what we consider to be the best fight movies of all time, today we’re here to talk about our personal favorites. Just one small rule: In an attempt to keep this column from quickly degrading into a list of Rocky movies, we agreed that none of them would be eligible for inclusion. What we ended up with is a list containing a few legitimate classics, a few cult favorites, and the formula for a damn good movie night with your fellow fight fans this weekend. At least for those of you who won’t be streaming War MMA’s inaugural event on Saturday night, obviously. Read on for our picks, and please continue to send your ideas for future Roundtable topics to [email protected].
Ben Goldstein – who is making his triumphant return to the CagePotato Roundtable.
(Rather than pick just one memorable scene, we’ve included the whole documentary.)
John Hyams’s 2002 documentary The Smashing Machine is mainly remembered as a cautionary tale — a hard look at a hard sport, full of broken bodies, drug abuse, and predatory behavior of the physical and emotional varieties. And make no mistake, it should be remembered for all of that. It’s absolutely gut-wrenching to watch the downfall of an incredible talent like Mark Kerr, an alpha male who was utterly chewed up by professional fighting.
Since we already made a list of what we consider to be the best fight movies of all time, today we’re here to talk about our personal favorites. Just one small rule: In an attempt to keep this column from quickly degrading into a list of Rocky movies, we agreed that none of them would be eligible for inclusion. What we ended up with is a list containing a few legitimate classics, a few cult favorites, and the formula for a damn good movie night with your fellow fight fans this weekend. At least for those of you who won’t be streaming War MMA’s inaugural event on Saturday night, obviously. Read on for our picks, and please continue to send your ideas for future Roundtable topics to [email protected].
Ben Goldstein – who is making his triumphant return to the CagePotato Roundtable.
(Rather than pick just one memorable scene, we’ve included the whole documentary.)
John Hyams’s 2002 documentary The Smashing Machine is mainly remembered as a cautionary tale — a hard look at a hard sport, full of broken bodies, drug abuse, and predatory behavior of the physical and emotional varieties. And make no mistake, it should be remembered for all of that. It’s absolutely gut-wrenching to watch the downfall of an incredible talent like Mark Kerr, an alpha male who was utterly chewed up by professional fighting.
But it also captures an incredible moment in time that will never, ever take place again. I’m speaking of course of the PRIDE 2000 Open-Weight Grand Prix — the greatest, most absurdly over-the-top MMA tournament in the history of the sport — which is captured in the second half of the movie. Among the competitors were old-school UFC legends who were already considered to be past their sell-by date (Royce Gracie, Kerr’s longtime friend Mark Coleman), international stars (Kazushi Sakuraba, Igor Vovchanchyn), and Kerr, whose career could have reached new heights in the tournament. Instead, it marked the beginning of the end.
Tournaments are inherently dramatic; it’s the reason why Enter the Dragon and Bloodsport are so often name-checked as the greatest martial arts films of all time. But fiction can’t hold a candle to real life, and The Smashing Machine was a perfect meeting of subject and style, full of cinematic moments that felt like they must have been scripted, but weren’t.
How about Renzo Gracie cackling manically as he introduces us to Ricardo Morais, reveling in Morais’s vow to show no mercy against Mark Coleman at PRIDE 8, as Morais swipes his arms along the water like some kind of nightmarish river monster?
How about Mark Kerr’s friends staging an intervention around his hospital bed after Kerr suffers an overdose, breaking the hulking wrestler down to tears?
How about Kerr succumbing to exhaustion in his epic battle with Kazuyuki Fujita — who rightfully earned his “World’s Greatest Chin” reputation that night — but successfully leaving Fujita too damaged to face Coleman in the semi-finals? In the end, Coleman advances to the finals and avenges Kerr’s previous beating at the hands of Vovchanchyn with a series of brutal knee strikes to the head, the same technique that Vovchanchyn used to stop Kerr the previous year. Sacrifice and redemption. You couldn’t write it any better.
May 1st, 2000, was a farewell to MMA’s prehistoric age. It featured the last great eight-man tournament in the sport’s history, and the first loss suffered by Royce Gracie. And while Coleman enjoyed the last heroic moment of his career, Kerr faded away. His most embarrassing losseswere yet to come, and mercifully, the documentary ends before we get to see them.
(“Honey” Roy Palmer vs. “Hammerhead” Hagan: criminally overlooked when discussing the greatest movie fights)
“Fight movies” are a dime a dozen, and to say that most of them are nothing less than cinematic dumpster fires would be a compliment. But every so often there is a beacon of hope that makes us believe in the genre again. That guiding light is what keeps us coming back in anticipation of discovering another Best of the Best – or at least something entertaining like The Hammer – but mostly we end up disappointed with the film and then ultimately pissed off with ourselves for spending the cash, optimism or both in hopes that lightning could strike again.
All fight films should be approached like anything Sensei Seagal has ever made (except Executive Decision – because The Lawman dies early on in that one AND because Judo Gene wasn’t there, so Seagal wrecked John Leguizamo’s ass during filming. I can’t quantify which is more hilarious), but the overwhelming majority of them seem to forget that they’re fight films, and spend too much time on characters and subplots that absolutely no one involved cares even slightly about. The end result is that watching most of them is like taking a shit when you are REALLY sweaty. Whether it is from your occupation or the gym or an athletic competition; leaving a dump while you are fairly lathered up with perspiration rarely ends in a satisfactory fashion. Whether it’s the never ending wipes, the lack of toilet paper or swamp ass, there is almost always a complication. Either way, both dropping a sweat deuce and watching a fight movie almost always leave you in a bad mood with a longing for a hot shower to wash off the filth.
Yet in the case of the 1992 boxing/con artist flick Diggstown, all parties entered the theaters (or more likely, their sofas before watching it on HBO or CineMax) feeling like they just did four miles of road work and dropped a deuce in a Porta Pottie, but then left feeling fresh as a daisy.
Even a quick glance over the cast will leave you scratching your head as to how this movie receives so little fanfare from non-fight fans. Prior to him being a plausible joke on Family Guy, multiple-time Academy Award nominee James Woods was doing real cinematic work (WATCH THESE, TATERS – Ghosts of Mississippi, True Believer and Salvador), and was cast as this film’s protagonist. Louis Gossett Jr. actually won an Oscar but got second billing to Woods and another Oscar nominee, Bruce Dern, was the antagonist; that means BAD GUY for you monosyllabic monkeys. The three main characters were ALL phenomenal actors, but if you throw in a young Roller Girl with Tex Cobb and the fat guy from Flatliners (who is god damn magnificent in his role), this is a virtuoso cast. Also, there is a small role for a very young Jim Caviezel in it. Ya remember him, right? He was JESUS CHRIST in Mel Gibson’s epic The Passion of the Christ – though in Diggstown he’s a boxer whose last words are “Fuck you Nigger” before he rightfully gets KTFO.
I am not going to give a plot line or a step-by-step retelling of what you will most certainly get off Wikipedia, but I urge the younger CP audience members to expand your horizons. Guys like ReX13 and me spread the word by passing along the VHS love of UFC during the early days of MMA and most of you are reaping the benefits. So take a little bit of “Get the FUCK Off My Lawn” advice from the old guys. Though it is not Enter the Dragon or Raging Bull – which are obvious choices that all you keyboard warriors will fault us for not choosing – Diggstown is pretty damn good. So, get on your new-fangled smartphones or tablets or whatever do-hickey you whipper-snappers are using nowadays and look up Diggstown on NetFlix. You’re welcome in advance.
(Yes, that’s the great Jersey Joe Walcott portraying “George” in this scene.)
Long before most of us were born and any of us even knew what MMA was, The Harder They Fall was captivating audiences with its gritty portrayal of prizefighting. Obviously, parts of this 1956 classic are now laughably outdated; black-and-white televisions are incomparable to modern HD 3D TVs, mainstream ethnocentrism has been replaced by political correctness and the typewriter has been made obsolete by the computer. Yet to this day, despite the abundance of movies that have been made about fighting, there still hasn’t been a more honest portrayal of the fight business.
Perhaps the main reason why this movie’s successors- especially the ones about MMA – have mostly failed to be more than watered-down, bastardized Rocky clones is that they’ve gone out of their way to deny that professional fighting is a business. Fighting is not some vaguely philosophical practice of honor and discipline. It is not about “building character,” nor is it a battle between right and wrong. Fighting is a business – one that can be as ugly as any other.
Don’t worry, you don’t have to wait too long for things to get ugly for Toro Moreno, a none-too-subtle wink at Italian heavyweight Primo Carnera (To drive this home, the film casts Max Baer – who beat the tar out of Carnera during their title fight – as the heavyweight champ who destroys Moreno. Subtle!). It’s equally astonishing and tragic how much of this movie fight fans can still identify with almost sixty years later. Let’s see…blatantly fixing bouts? Check. A completely undeserving challenger bumped into a world title fight? Naturally (so the promoter can profit off of it!). A fighter being paid a disgustingly small portion of the money that he made for the promoter? You betcha. A reporter more concerned with earning a paycheck and staying on the promoter’s good side than publishing honest accounts? *puffs out chest* You better believe it. After all, exposing the business would mean losing a paycheck, and no self-respecting entrepreneur would willingly do that.
Ironically enough, critics once complained that the corruption on display throughout this film was “far-fetched” and “not convincing.” If you haven’t noticed, 1956 was a very naive time in our history.
It’s the ugliness of the movie that has made it hold up so well over time, and allows me to genuinely appreciate it. It’s not another bullshit “Guy dreams of being the best ever and he trains all day all guts no glory so he can be recognized as the greatest fighter and get to bang hot chicks and earn the respect of his fellow meatheads through punching other dudes VIRTUE and SACRIFICE and AFFLICTION SHIRTS AND TRIBAL TATZ AND NEVER BACK DOWN BRO!” flick, like most modern MMA movies. It doesn’t fall into the “underdog is automatically the good guy, cheer for him instead of his more talented, far more interesting opponent” rut that even great fight movies like Warrior fall into. No, this is an honest look at a deceitful business. Name one consumer who can’t appreciate that.
(If you *didn’t* attempt an ill-fated split/groin punch combo after watching this movie, you’re smarter than most of our staff.)
Few movies have influenced a generation as much as Newt Arnold’s Bloodsport. Before NHB fighting arrived on American soil, Jean-Claude Van Damme lit up the silver screen, exposing thousands of impressionable adolescent males to the world of underground fighting through his role as Frank Dux and his quest to win the prestigious mixed martial arts tournament known simply as “Kumite.” This was the beginning of an epoch in which everyone and their brother got enrolled in Karate class at the local strip-mall dojo. Unfortunately, for many kids like me, my parents were too poor to afford formal training from a Sensei [Ed. note: That might not have been such a bad thing…]. As a last resort, I replayed my grandfather’s VHS of the movie until I could reenact the fight scenes with my eyes closed and often practiced the moves learned on my less than enthused sisters. Hey, it worked for GSP, right?
Besides its cultural impact on America’s youth, Bloodsport showcased almost everything there is to love about martial arts competition – amazing knockouts, brotherly love for training partners, authentic bad blood between fighters from opposing camps/styles, and a fighter launching himself off the referees back to execute a flying kick, just to name a few. The fight scenes from the Kumite are some of the most memorable for any guy between the ages of 25 and 45. You know what I’m talking about. Remember Dux doing the splits and then punching the rotund Japanese man in his sushi roll? What about the guy who strutted around like a monkey and somersaulted himself to victory? Still need convincing that Bloodsport is the greatest fighting movie of all time? Fine, just let me borrow your hammer, because I’ve got the final coffin nail for this debate. Above all else, Bloodsport is about honor. In the opening scenes, we’re shown a young miscreant named Frank Dux who breaks into a guy’s house in an attempt to swipe his Katana. Little did he know the old man was Ninjutsu master Senzo Tanaka. Dux apologized and fessed up, prompting Tanaka to take him under his wing and train him. After a premature death of Tanaka’s son, Shingo, Dux takes his place in the Kumite to honor Tanaka. Fast forward twenty minutes of the most awesome fighting montage with great 80′s music and you reach the summit – Frank Dux has become the first Westerner to win the Kumite and brings great honor to a man who went out of his way to mentor him. Much hespect, bro.
Okay, let’s get this out of the way right off the bat. Yes, Missing in Action II was a shameless and unapologetic rip-off of Rambo. But biting is pro forma in Hollywood, especially when it comes to martial arts movies. Who among us, while watching Never Back Down, didn’t realize they were witnessing an updated version of The Karate Kid? The only differences were modernity and the indubitable fact that Daniel-san actually deserved many of the beatings he received whereas Jake did not.
Unnecessarily harsh? Consider the facts: not only did Daniel boldly move in on Johnny’s bitch, but he hosed down the Cobra Cai whilst they were puffing a J in the bathroom stall, and he wore that ridiculous red jacket to pick up Ally at the country club. You just don’t do that kind of shit if you’re looking to keep your ass unkicked, especially when you’re the new kid in town.
Anyway, rip-off acknowledgment aside, let that not diminish the greatness of Missing in Action II. This cinematic masterpiece begins with a helicopter going down in enemy territory during the Vietnam War – which must have been an indescribably sickening feeling. Colonel James Braddock, faced with the horrifying decision to either die in a fiery crash or become a POW, instructs his men to jump, where they are captured and imprisoned in an underground pit by the evil Colonel Yin.
Braddock had a lot to deal with aside from being stuck in a POW camp that no one besides Francois and some crazy Australian photographer even knew existed. As the leader he had to volunteer for the old rat-in-a-bag-attached-to-your-head-while-hanging-upside-down-with-your-hands-tied-behind-your-back torture routine, watch as one of his men – bitch-ass Nester switched sides to become Yin’s cabin boy, suffer the indignity of being told his wife was getting tagged by another man, and if all that wasn’t enough he had to deal with Mazilli’s incessant whining the entire time.
Braddock finally decided he’d had enough after Yin administered a hot-shot of opium to his buddy, Sergeant Franklin and commenced to set him ablaze while he was still alive. Lighting a dude on fire is just a real shitty thing to do and goes against every rule of decency known to man. After that, Braddock went on his killing spree, easily taking out enemy soldiers, even flame-throwing a couple guys in an act of heinously poetic revenge.
Add to all this the fact that Braddock actually went back a decade later (in part one) to kill some more motherfuckers and rescue the remaining POWs and we can only conclude that the man was not only fiercely dedicated to his cause, but just took great pleasure in slaying him some Cong.
Chuck’s superhuman martial arts skills are put on display as he chokes the blood out of Nester’s traitorous throat with his leg chains, disposes of Yin’s soldiers with the one punch awesomeness of any quality action flick, and finally at the end when he beats the ever-loving shit out of Yin with minimal effort – even letting go of a lethal choke to deliver a little more pain.
Sure, no one was going to be winning any Oscars for their performances, but the Academy has long ignored the value of martial arts in film, even when it’s as socially significant as Missing in Action II. Yet a stupid piece of shit like The English Patient gets nine statues. But such is the way of those Hollywood douche-bags.
And, it’s Chuck man. What other martial artist is a walking meme? Websites, coffee mugs, t-shirts with such brilliant taglines as “Wrong MC Hammer, Chuck Norris CAN touch this” have been created in his honor. Hell, even Bruce Lee can’t say that.
(Two full movies in one article. Looks like you won’t be accomplishing anything at work today.)
I know, I know. Why would anyone in their right mind pick a Jackie Chan movie that wasn’t The Legend of Drunken Master? And Rumble in the Bronx? That’s, like, the Black Album of Jackie Chan movies YOU UNEDUCATED ILLITERATE HACK GOD DANGA I HATE YOU WITH THE FIRE OF A THOUSAND SUNS.
If my choice didn’t already alienate the lot of you, this next fact probably will: I am a child of the 90’s. Although I was born just outside of the decade that bestowed us with such cultural gems as Suburban Commando, Thunder in Paradise, and Santa With Muscles (and those are just the made-for-TV, Hulk Hogan vehicles), I was as influenced by the content of the decade as much as anyone. I wore light up sneakers. I collected Pogs. I listened to Infectious Grooves (but definitely not Oasis. Fuck Oasis.). And while frequenting the video store in my town that doubled as some sort of redneck petting zoo, I shit you not, I stumbled upon Rumble in the Bronx, the goddamn greatest fight film of all time.
It was there that my journey into the genre of “fight films” began. I started with the other obvious Chan choices; Drunken Master, Operation Condor, First Strike, Who Am I?, then began broadening my horizons with the Bruce Lee films, the Chuck Norris films, hell, even a Seagal film or two (and you can take that to the bank!). In short, Jackie Chan and Rumble in the Bronx was the catalyst that would eventually lead me to the early UFC tapes, to CagePotato, and to the man with the greatest bar fighting tips of all time.
Personal reasons aside, why is Rumble in the Bronx the greatest blah blah blah of blah blah, you blah? Well for starters, it is one of only two films to date that successfully pulled off a “one man vs. an army” sequence (the other of course being The Protector). Secondly, aside from truly introducing Jackie Chan’s death-defying, environment-based and often brilliantly slapstick style of martial arts to a wider audience, Rumble in the Bronx also introduced me to the following:
1.) Multiethnic, Cartoonishly-Characterized Street Tuffs
2.) Street Racing ON THE CARS THEMSELVES.
3.) The Use of a Ski as a Deadly Weapon
4.)The Greatest Stuntman (and the greatest stunt) of All Time
5.) And last but certainly not least: Francoise Yip & Tiger Cage Strip Clubs
In conclusion, Rumble in the Bronx is the greatest fight movie ever, not only because of the nostalgic effect it has on me every time I watch it, but because of the unmatched fight choreography, Jackie Chan’s still unmatched ability to sacrifice his body in the name of art, the five star acting/dubbing, and the giant hovercraft.
Honorable Mentions: Surf Ninjas, Over the Top, Riki-Oh: The Story of Ricky, Hard Times
So what fight movie was your personal favorite? Let us know in the comments section.
