Not taking anything away from Assuerio, he’s a tough dude, obviously. I hit him a couple of times and couldn’t finish him. I was really sick for the fight. I got really sick Saturday and had problems holding my innards. When I was warming up, I had a few problems, and I actually had a few problems in the ring when I was fighting.
I don’t know what it was. It got really cold when we were outside working out and stuff, going back and forth from the room. I caught something, and I just couldn’t hold in my number twos… If you look at the fight you’ll see that when my shorts came down, you’ll see the wet mark in my underwear.
That’s former UFC heavyweight champion Tim Sylvia, discussing the infamous night in which he shat himself during his main event bout with Assuerio Silva at Fight Night 3 on January 16, 2006 — eight years ago today. It was an incident that has become the subject of a joke or two over the years here at CagePotato, and one that has also become all the more relevant in light of last night’s Fight Night 35, wherein Yoel Romero allegedly suffered a similar intestinal malfunction during his fight with Derek Brunson (although Romero will tell you that the much-speculated stain on his shorts was the result of water and sweat). 30rockeyeroll.gif
Of course, Fatty Boom-Boom wasn’t the first fighter to suffer a case of the squirts (no, not that kind) in an MMA fight. Hell, he wasn’t even the first to admit to committing the act in the UFC. That honor goes to…
Not taking anything away from Assuerio, he’s a tough dude, obviously. I hit him a couple of times and couldn’t finish him. I was really sick for the fight. I got really sick Saturday and had problems holding my innards. When I was warming up, I had a few problems, and I actually had a few problems in the ring when I was fighting.
I don’t know what it was. It got really cold when we were outside working out and stuff, going back and forth from the room. I caught something, and I just couldn’t hold in my number twos… If you look at the fight you’ll see that when my shorts came down, you’ll see the wet mark in my underwear.
That’s former UFC heavyweight champion Tim Sylvia, discussing the infamous night in which he shat himself during his main event bout with Assuerio Silva at Fight Night 3 on January 16, 2006 — eight years ago today. It was an incident that has become the subject of a joke or two over the years here at CagePotato, and one that has also become all the more relevant in light of last night’s Fight Night 35, wherein Yoel Romero allegedly suffered a similar intestinal malfunction during his fight with Derek Brunson (although Romero will tell you that the much-speculated stain on his shorts was the result of water and sweat). 30rockeyeroll.gif
Of course, Fatty Boom-Boom wasn’t the first fighter to suffer a case of the squirts (no, not that kind) in an MMA fight. Hell, he wasn’t even the first to admit to committing the act in the UFC. That honor goes to Kevin Randleman, who admitted to having violent bouts of diarrhea prior to his UFC 35 bout with Renato “Babalu” Sobral. In his first and only professional fight, Kyle Wethey was kneed so hard by opponent David Mitchell that he similarly lost control of his bowels, resulting in what I can only assume is the most hilarious and disgusting DQ loss of all time. Did I mention that Wethey hasn’t fought since? Because he hasn’t fought since.
But what set Sylvia’s poop apart from the rest of the poops committed in the octagon was one simple fact: Sylvia’s poop was caught on national television, making it the first (confirmed) cable TV poop in MMA history, as Fightlinker pointed out. This was the poop heard (seen) around the world, and was arguably the most memorable moment of Sylvia’s reign. His title defenses against Jeff Monson and Andrei Arlovski? Completely forgettable exercises in tedium. That time he shit himself in front of millions of people? LEGENDARY.
So it is to you, Timmeh, “The Manie-Iac,” Fatty Boom-Boom, Race Relations Consultant of caucasians worldwide, that we raise our glasses of prune juice to and give toast. For without your brave venture into the unknown, we would never have been given a glimpse into the dark, rancid underbelly of the sport. Hip hip, hooray!
Ultimate Fighter Finale cards weren’t always so garbage-ass. On December 5th, 2009 — four years ago today — the TUF 10 Finale went down in Las Vegas, with a lineup featuring Jon Jones (before he became light-heavyweight champion), Frankie Edgar (before he became lightweight champion), Kimbo Slice (who was one of the most popular figures in the sport at the time), as well as Roy Nelson, Brendan Schaub, and Matt Mitrione. Today, a UFC card with those names would be sold as a pay-per-view, and it would probably do pretty damn well*. In 2009, this was just another free show on Spike TV, a cable channel that everybody knew how to find. Damn…we just didn’t know how good we had it back then.
Maybe you remember Nelson’s nasty one-shot KO of Schaub at the event, and maybe you remember the 15-minute wheezefest that was Kimbo vs. Houston Alexander. But the reason that the TUF 10 Finale remains infamous four years later is because of a bullshit little rule known as “no 12-to-6 elbows,” which may very well be the most arbitrary and baseless rule in MMA history. Essentially, MMA fighters are allowed to crack each other’s skulls wide open with their ‘bows, either standing or on the ground, but if your elbow is moving vertically downward, you might as well be a villain in a Jean-Claude Van Damme movie. My goodness, somebody could actually get injured with those things.
Jon Jones, who was 22 years old at the time, had earned a prime spot on the TUF 10 Finale main card thanks to his 3-0 run in the UFC light-heavyweight division, which included a hilariouslymadcap decision win against Stephan Bonnar, and a second-round submission of fan-unfavorite Jake O’Brien. This was the pre-backlash Jon Jones, a guy who was universally beloved for his dynamic wrestling ability and his improvisational striking, which he picked up (as the legend goes) from watching YouTube videos. Matt Hamill was supposed to be just another stepping-stone in Jones’s quick rise to the top — a recognizable TUF-guy for him to squash. And that’s exactly what happened, even though Hamill wound up winning the fight on a technicality.
Ultimate Fighter Finale cards weren’t always so garbage-ass. On December 5th, 2009 — four years ago today — the TUF 10 Finale went down in Las Vegas, with a lineup featuring Jon Jones (before he became light-heavyweight champion), Frankie Edgar (before he became lightweight champion), Kimbo Slice (who was one of the most popular figures in the sport at the time), as well as Roy Nelson, Brendan Schaub, and Matt Mitrione. Today, a UFC card with those names would be sold as a pay-per-view, and it would probably do pretty damn well*. In 2009, this was just another free show on Spike TV, a cable channel that everybody knew how to find. Damn…we just didn’t know how good we had it back then.
Maybe you remember Nelson’s nasty one-shot KO of Schaub at the event, and maybe you remember the 15-minute wheezefest that was Kimbo vs. Houston Alexander. But the reason that the TUF 10 Finale remains infamous four years later is because of a bullshit little rule known as “no 12-to-6 elbows,” which may very well be the most arbitrary and baseless rule in MMA history. Essentially, MMA fighters are allowed to crack each other’s skulls wide open with their ‘bows, either standing or on the ground, but if your elbow is moving vertically downward, you might as well be a villain in a Jean-Claude Van Damme movie. My goodness, somebody could actually get injured with those things.
Jon Jones, who was 22 years old at the time, had earned a prime spot on the TUF 10 Finale main card thanks to his 3-0 run in the UFC light-heavyweight division, which included a hilariouslymadcap decision win against Stephan Bonnar, and a second-round submission of fan-unfavorite Jake O’Brien. This was the pre-backlash Jon Jones, a guy who was universally beloved for his dynamic wrestling ability and his improvisational striking, which he picked up (as the legend goes) from watching YouTube videos. Matt Hamill was supposed to be just another stepping-stone in Jones’s quick rise to the top — a recognizable TUF-guy for him to squash. And that’s exactly what happened, even though Hamill wound up winning the fight on a technicality.
For four minutes, Jones out-struck, out-worked, and out-shined Hamill, at one point rag-dolling him to the mat in the slickest foot-sweep takedown outside of a Lyoto Machida fight. From there, Bones engaged the Finishing Sequence, launching punches and elbows at his near-helpless opponent. The fight was effectively over by then, but Hamill continued to defend himself, desperately covering his face with his arms. Slightly frustrated, Jones tried a different angle, blasting his elbows straight down into Hamill’s face. It was then that Steve Mazzagatti jumped in — but it wasn’t to award Jones the TKO victory.
Noticing that Jones had begun throwing the dreaded 12-to-6 elbows, Mazzagatti paused the action and pulled Jones off of Hamill, who made no attempt to get off his back. (As we later learned, Hamill suffered a broken shoulder when he was tossed to the mat.) Mazzagatti asked Hamill if he could continue. Hamill, who has been deaf since birth and was momentarily blinded by his own blood, was unresponsive. Instead of bringing in a doctor and sign-language interpreter to clear Hamill’s vision and communicate with him, Mazzagatti immediately stopped the fight, and handed Jones a loss by disqualification.
Jones’s attempt to appeal the loss was shot down, as these things usually are. Luckily, the shoddy enforcement of a shoddy rule didn’t slow down his momentum. The UFC moved forward with Jones’s career like the “loss” never happened, building him up in main-event fights on their UFC on Versus series — where he smashed Brandon Vera and Vladimir Matyushenko, both in the first round, both with legal elbows. Jones has been a pay-per-view poster boy ever since.
If not for Jon Jones’s disqualification loss at the TUF 10 Finale, he’d be 20-0 overall and 14-0 in the UFC — an unbeaten run that would give him the second-longest win streak in UFC history, behind only Anderson Silva (16). Instead, he’s riding a 10-fight win streak and is still stuck in 3rd place behind Georges St. Pierre (12). But keep in mind that Jones is still only 26 years old and has only been fighting professionally since April 2008. Seven more wins? As long as he doesn’t jinx himself, that’s totally doable.
* Jones’s last PPV outing didn’t exactly blow the doors off, but Kimbo Slice could probably outdraw half of the UFC’s champions to this day.
“On This Day in MMA History” pays tribute to some of the more bizarre and infamous news stories of MMA’s past. The fiasco described below took place on November 28th, 2009, exactly four years ago today; the following post was published two days later. Happy Thanksgiving, everybody!
*********
So did you guys do anything crazy this weekend? Like, maybe beat the shit out of half the guest-list at a porn star’s birthday party? No? Well, you’ll never believe this, but that’s exactly what MMA tabloid hero War Machine did on Saturday night. Multiple reports are coming in, so we’ll try to piece this together from what we have…
— Things quickly turn south when War allegedly punches his girlfriend, Alanah Rae, then drags her outside. This part of the story is hazy because although Terez Owens reports that Rae personally confirmed with him that War Machine decked her, she later went on Twitter to deny it. Still, there seems to be no difference in opinion over what happened next…
“On This Day in MMA History” pays tribute to some of the more bizarre and infamous news stories of MMA’s past. The fiasco described below took place on November 28th, 2009, exactly four years ago today; the following post was published two days later. Happy Thanksgiving, everybody!
*********
So did you guys do anything crazy this weekend? Like, maybe beat the shit out of half the guest-list at a porn star’s birthday party? No? Well, you’ll never believe this, but that’s exactly what MMA tabloid hero War Machine did on Saturday night. Multiple reports are coming in, so we’ll try to piece this together from what we have…
— Things quickly turn south when War allegedly punches his girlfriend, Alanah Rae, then drags her outside. This part of the story is hazy because although Terez Owens reports that Rae personally confirmed with him that War Machine decked her, she later went on Twitter to deny it. Still, there seems to be no difference in opinion over what happened next…
“War Machine’s own agent, Derek Hay, looked to be the primary target with a couple of shots to the head. Mika Tan’s Ex was KO’d as well & sent to hospital. I never saw anything like it. War Machine was in kill mode. His fists were lethal weapons. Anyone who tried to get between him and Derek got taken down – hard…One guy was clocked and had three teeth knocked out. Another guy — an Asian — had his nose broken.
It seemed that every time someone tried to advise War Machine to mellow out or tried to talk sense to him, they got hit for their efforts. Maybe six guys in all got punched…The incident wound up with War Machine and Derek playing hide and seek with one another around a dumpster. Then at some point, both War Machine and Derek took off when someone threatened to call the cops.”
— Derek Hay is recovering in the hospital. It appears that War Machine has already turned himself in, but he could face a long prison sentence for the assaults — especially when you consider that the dude has priors — and it’s very likely that the 50-60 porn industry figures at the party will never want to work with him again. More to come…
I definitely have a huge advantage when it comes down to exchanging punches. That’s my strong point, and that’s definitely going to be his weak point.
I can’t not picture me knocking him out. So he better do some chin-ups or whatever he needs to do to make him strong, because I’m coming for him. He’s not going to be able to handle my power standing and banging. He stands in the pocket with me, he’s gonna get knocked out.
Those words might as well have served as the last will and testament of noted patriarchBrett Rogers, who upon saying them, all but signed up to be violently and karmatically (for a number of reasons) knocked out by Fedor Emelianenko at Strikeforce: Fedor vs. Rogers on November 7th, 2009 — four years ago today.
Us Zuffa shills tend to forget this, but before Anderson Silva, Jon Jones, or Georges St. Pierre started dominating our “Greatest Mixed Martial Artist of All Time” (aka “The G.O.A.T”) debates, there was an emotionless Russian killer who was universally viewed in this light. His name was Fedor Emelianenko, and after quietly building a reputation as PRIDE‘s most dominant fighter over in Japan, “The Last Emperor” made his long-awaited stateside debut against Tim Sylvia at Affliction: Banned in July of 2008.
The fight would confirm what we already knew about Fedor, as would his next fight with Andrei Arlovski at Affliction: Day of Reckoning, but it wasn’t until his monumental signing with Strikeforce (a Strikeforce was kind of like a Bellator, but we don’t have time to discuss semantics) that US fans were truly introduced to the mythical Russian. And for his first “true” test, Emelianenko was given Brett “Da Grim” Rogers, a then-undefeated slugger who had one-upped Fedor by KO’ing Arlovski in just 22 seconds in his previous fight.
I definitely have a huge advantage when it comes down to exchanging punches. That’s my strong point, and that’s definitely going to be his weak point.
I can’t not picture me knocking him out. So he better do some chin-ups or whatever he needs to do to make him strong, because I’m coming for him. He’s not going to be able to handle my power standing and banging. He stands in the pocket with me, he’s gonna get knocked out.
Those words might as well have served as the last will and testament of noted patriarchBrett Rogers, who upon saying them, all but signed up to be violently and karmatically (for a number of reasons) knocked out by Fedor Emelianenko at Strikeforce: Fedor vs. Rogers on November 7th, 2009 – four years ago today.
Us Zuffa shills tend to forget this, but before Anderson Silva, Jon Jones, or Georges St. Pierre started dominating our “Greatest Mixed Martial Artist of All Time” (aka “The G.O.A.T”) debates, there was an emotionless Russian killer who was universally viewed in this light. His name was Fedor Emelianenko, and after quietly building a reputation as PRIDE‘s most dominant fighter over in Japan, “The Last Emperor” made his long-awaited stateside debut against Tim Sylvia at Affliction: Banned in July of 2008.
The fight would confirm what we already knew about Fedor, as would his next fight with Andrei Arlovski at Affliction: Day of Reckoning, but it wasn’t until his monumental signing with Strikeforce (a Strikeforce was kind of like a Bellator, but we don’t have time to discuss semantics) that US fans were truly introduced to the mythical Russian. And for his first “true” test, Emelianenko was given Brett “Da Grim” Rogers, a then-undefeated slugger who had one-upped Fedor by KO’ing Arlovski in just 22 seconds in his previous fight.
Fedor fans near and far flooded Illinois for the chance to see their hero compete. Fedor detractors (*cough* Dana White *cough*), on the other hand, were chomping at the bit to see him fail like they knew he would all along. And for the first five minutes of the contest, it looked as if the latter group might actually get their wish. Rogers punished Emelianenko with ground-n-pound, leaving “The Last Emperor” in worse shape than fans had ever seen prior.
But there is a reason why one round MMA fights were outlawed in the Geneva Convention, Potato Nation.
Like a scene out of a Friday the 13th movie (specifically,Jason Takes Manhattan), Emelianenko literally decapitated a gassed Rogers with an overhand right just under two minutes into the second, silencing his haters and solidifying his legacy as the baddest man to ever walk the Earth ever.
If our memory serves us correct, Fedor was legally forced to retire from mixed martial and register his hands as weapons of mass destruction after the Rogers fight. Emelianenko would abide with the grace and humility he had become infamous for over his long career, leaving behind a 32-1 record and a lifetime’s worth of highlight reel finishes. Yep, that’s how we are choosing to remember it. LALALALALA WE CAN’T HEAR YOU, FABRICIO.
Check out a full replay of Fedor vs. Rogers below, then ask yourself if we’ll ever see a fighter as perfect and unbeatable as Emelianenko again. Spoiler alert: The answer is no.
On October 21st, 2007 — six years ago today — a snot-nosed MMA blog called CagePotato.com took its first breath, and for the most part, nobody gave a damn. The entire writing staff for the site’s launch consisted of one person, a young magazine-industry refugee named Ben Goldstein (that’s me). My professional credentials consisted of the following: I was a casual fan of the UFC, I had been laid off from a lad-mag called Stuff a couple months earlier, and I needed a job. Any job, really. So, when a friend of a friend named Jonathan Small* called me one day and said he was looking for some warm bodies to launch a few dude-oriented websites for Break Media (now Defy Media), I jumped at the chance. After all, the rent was due.
Though many long-time fans of CagePotato know the site’s history in its broad strokes, few know the details behind its launch. I was hesitant to talk about my personal background in the early days of the site’s existence, because I didn’t want to be exposed as a MMA noob, which I totally was**. Before CagePotato launched in 2007, I hadn’t written a single thing about MMA, and I had never managed a website. I had interviewed actresses and reviewed books, done features about hurricanes and porn stars, but the world of MMA blogging was completely foreign to me. Still, I enjoyed the sport, recognized that it was growing in popularity, and figured I had learned enough about short-form entertainment writing from five years of magazine gigs to make a snarky blog about MMA a modest success. Incredibly, I was right.
The first post I ever published was this Aftermath-type recap of UFC 77, the event where Anderson Silva TKO’d Rich Franklin for the second time, and Tim Sylvia picked up his final win in the UFC. At that point, most of what I knew about MMA came from Wikipedia, but the basic ball-busting tone of CagePotato was present from the beginning. An excerpt:
On October 21st, 2007 — six years ago today — a snot-nosed MMA blog called CagePotato.com took its first breath, and for the most part, nobody gave a damn. The entire writing staff for the site’s launch consisted of one person, a young magazine-industry refugee named Ben Goldstein (that’s me). My professional credentials consisted of the following: I was a casual fan of the UFC, I had been laid off from a lad-mag called Stuff a couple months earlier, and I needed a job. Any job, really. So, when a friend of a friend named Jonathan Small* called me one day and said he was looking for some warm bodies to launch a few dude-oriented websites for Break Media (now Defy Media), I jumped at the chance. After all, the rent was due.
Though many long-time fans of CagePotato know the site’s history in its broad strokes, few know the details behind its launch. I was hesitant to talk about my personal background in the early days of the site’s existence, because I didn’t want to be exposed as a MMA noob, which I totally was**. Before CagePotato launched in 2007, I hadn’t written a single thing about MMA, and I had never managed a website. I had interviewed actresses and reviewed books, done features about hurricanes and porn stars, but the world of MMA blogging was completely foreign to me. Still, I enjoyed the sport, recognized that it was growing in popularity, and figured I had learned enough about short-form entertainment writing from five years of magazine gigs to make a snarky blog about MMA a modest success. Incredibly, I was right.
The first post I ever published was this Aftermath-type recap of UFC 77, the event where Anderson Silva TKO’d Rich Franklin for the second time, and Tim Sylvia picked up his final win in the UFC. At that point, most of what I knew about MMA came from Wikipedia, but the basic ball-busting tone of CagePotato was present from the beginning. An excerpt:
“…Sylvia did nothing to change his image as a boring fighter who relies on his size to win matches. But you gotta feel for the dude; it can’t be fun to get booed at weigh-ins, and to have Brandon Vera explain to the crowd after the fight, “he’s a nice guy once you get to know him.” Vera, it should be said, didn’t look too impressive against the Maine-iac, was responsible for most of the clinching that made the fight so dull, and should probably give up the ice cream and drop down to light heavyweight.
The middleweight championship bout between Franklin and Silva was a lot more action-packed, but ended much the same way as their first meeting, with Franklin eating knees until he hit the mat and the fight was stopped (this time at 1:07 into the second round). Franklin looked outmatched from the start, and was nearly knocked out by a punch at the end of the first round but was saved by the bell before Silva could take full advantage; as soon as Franklin started stumbling to the wrong corner, it was obvious that this one would be over soon. In fact, Franklin was so dazed after the fight that a member of his team had to remind him to wish his wife Beth a happy birthday during the post-mortem with Joe Rogan. She turned 30, by the way, and I’m sure it was the best birthday ever.”
That evening, I left my office (i.e., the desk I had in the tiny Lower East Side apartment I shared with my then-girlfriend, who’s now my wife) and attended a press conference at the Ecko headquarters in which Fedor Emelianenko announced his signing with M-1 Global. I don’t think I spoke to a single person except for the guy who was serving drinks at the makeshift bar, but I felt like I was on my way to taking the MMA media world by storm. I mean, shit, here I was among people who actually covered the sport (including Ben Fowlkes and Jim Genia), and I was blending in. Nobody shouted “NOOB!” and threw me out a window. MMA was in its infancy, crazy shit was happening every single day, and this was going to be my life.
Things change, as they always do. Eventually, I realized that publishing whatever I felt like publishing and being an “MMA insider” were mutually exclusive propositions. CagePotato was banned as a UFC media presence, and the crazy shit that used to happen every day now happens far less frequently. But I still show up to work every day because I love this job, and because we still put out content that I’m proud of. After six years, the site has built its own mythology, its own vocabulary, its own history with various sub-eras, some more successful than others. The only constants have been me and you.
So happy sixth anniversary to us, and thanks to all of you who continue to read what we write. If you have any fond memories of CagePotato you’d like to share today, please do so in the comments section.
* The name “CagePotato” can be credited to Jonathan Small, who was Break Media’s editorial director at the time. I was pushing for “MMA-Hole,” but Jon insisted on the “couch potato” pun. I didn’t really like it at first, but it’s sort of grown on me, I guess.
** During my first week on the job, I emailed a UFC PR employee asking who the best contact would be for PRIDE-related interview requests. PRIDE, of course, had been dead since its purchase by Zuffa seven months earlier. A real fan would have known that bit of information; I guess I had missed that line on PRIDE’s Wikipedia page. Oh, and here’s another good story…
Early into CP’s existence, a UFC PR flack emailed me offering a few minutes on the phone with Dana White, who was doing the media rounds to promote the gigantic ‘Octagon’ coffee-table book. I said I’d love to talk to Mr. White, and asked the publicist when he’d be available, and should I call him or would he rather call me, etc., all the usual logistical questions I had learned from my magazine days. The PR flack never responded. A few hours later, I’m walking down the street to get a sandwich from my corner deli, and my phone started ringing, with a Las Vegas number popping up in the screen. I didn’t answer, partly because I didn’t have my tape-recorder on me to do an interview on the spot, and partly because I thought it was kind of unprofessional for an interview subject to just call you when a time hasn’t been confirmed. I mean, do they expect you to just wait by the phone? That’s not how it works, dude. My time is valuable too, you know. So I got home, and listened to a voicemail from Dana White himself, who mumbled something about the Octagon book and an interview. I called the number back and got voicemail. “Ah well,” I thought. “I’m sure he’ll call me back eventually.” And he did — three years later, when he was threatening to fuck me up.
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.
