Tag: Rickson Gracie

CagePotato Roundtable #27: Who Suffered the Furthest Fall from Grace in MMA History?


(Taktarov vs. Kerr, as promoted by Bob Meyrowitz. If this doesn’t embody everything about today’s discussion, then what *does*? Photo courtesy of Sherdog.)

It was thirty-three years ago today that the absolutely tragic bout between Muhammad Ali and Larry Holmes went down — where a younger, far more athletic Larry Holmes beat the aging legend so badly that he actually cried for Ali when it was over. Though Ali is still celebrated as one of the greatest fighters of all time, his legacy has never been the same as it could have been if he simply stayed retired. It’s in memory of this fight that we’ll be talking about falls from grace during today’s roundtable: fighters who stuck around far too long, lost some embarrassing bouts as a result and tarnished their once-great legacies. Read on for our picks, and please continue to send your ideas for future CagePotato Roundtable topics to [email protected].

George Shunick

Tim Sylvia: A name once synonymous with greatness, excitement, and extraordinary physique. Once atop the Mount Olympus of the sport, he reigned supreme over lesser beings for roughly four years, vanquishing the best of the best in his weight class. OK, so maybe I’m exaggerating here. So maybe Tim Sylvia was never exactly a world beater; he was awkward, plodding, fat, had no real ground game to speak of and was the UFC heavyweight champion when all the best fighters in the division were busy competing across the Pacific ocean.

But for all that, he was the heavyweight champion. He even had sex with his greatest rival’s ex-girlfriend. (Leading to this glorious interview with said rival, Andrei Arlovski.) He was relatively wealthy, at least compared to other fighters. Point being, he had achieved all someone who came into this world as Tim Sylvia could possibly hope to achieve. Even once he had lost the title, he still retained the respect that was deservedly owed to him.

Then this happened.


(Taktarov vs. Kerr, as promoted by Bob Meyrowitz. If this doesn’t embody everything about today’s discussion, then what *does*? Photo courtesy of Sherdog.)

It was thirty-three years ago today that the absolutely tragic bout between Muhammad Ali and Larry Holmes went down — where a younger, far more athletic Larry Holmes beat the aging legend so badly that he actually cried for Ali when it was over. Though Ali is still celebrated as one of the greatest fighters of all time, his legacy has never been the same as it could have been if he simply stayed retired. It’s in memory of this fight that we’ll be talking about falls from grace during today’s roundtable: fighters who stuck around far too long, lost some embarrassing bouts as a result and tarnished their once-great legacies. Read on for our picks, and please continue to send your ideas for future CagePotato Roundtable topics to [email protected].

George Shunick

Tim Sylvia: A name once synonymous with greatness, excitement, and extraordinary physique. Once atop the Mount Olympus of the sport, he reigned supreme over lesser beings for roughly four years, vanquishing the best of the best in his weight class. OK, so maybe I’m exaggerating here. So maybe Tim Sylvia was never exactly a world beater; he was awkward, plodding, fat, had no real ground game to speak of and was the UFC heavyweight champion when all the best fighters in the division were busy competing across the Pacific ocean.

But for all that, he was the heavyweight champion. He even had sex with his greatest rival’s ex-girlfriend. (Leading to this glorious interview with said rival, Andrei Arlovski.) He was relatively wealthy, at least compared to other fighters. Point being, he had achieved all someone who came into this world as Tim Sylvia could possibly hope to achieve. Even once he had lost the title, he still retained the respect that was deservedly owed to him.

Then this happened.

After those humiliating 36 seconds, Sylvia was never the same. He came into his next fight, against former boxing champion Ray Mercer, weighing over 310 pounds. After an apparent gentlemen’s agreement was reached to only throw punches, Sylvia proceeded to open the fight with a leg kick. Mercer, who has previously suffered a defeat to Kimbo Slice and had no weapons beyond his hands, proceeded to knock Sylvia out cold. Sylvia has spent the rest of his career fighting nobodies at super heavyweight, with the one exception being another rematch against Arlovksi, which ended in a no-contest after Arlovski illegally soccer kicked him. (The rules for this fight were, let’s just say, murky.)

The Maine-iac has attempted to return the UFC numerous times, even going so far as to circulate a video demonstrating his considerable abilities. He’s also been photographed riding around in a Rascal, yet somehow, the UFC has continued to pass on his services. Outside of the cage, his comprehension of race relations is somewhat lacking, which is disturbing considering he’s a (presumably terrible) police officer.

If you remain unconvinced Sylvia represents MMA’s furthest fall from grace, consider this. If you type in “Tim Sylvia” in Google, the first auto-suggestion is “Tim Sylvia shits himself.” That sentence will one day be inscribed upon his tombstone as a testament to all who tread there that as low as they find themselves, it’s probably not as low as Tim Sylvia has fallen.

Jared Jones

I get that the idea behind these roundtables is to present a question that each of us attempt to “answer” as objectively as possible, with talks of “floor turds” and “garbage asses” abound, but to claim that anyone in MMA has fallen further than Ken Shamrock is to turn a blind eye to the facts, plain and simple.

Ken Shamrock is the soggiest, slipperiest floor turd of them all, a floor turd dropped from the foulest, most wretched garbage ass known to man. And worse, he’s a perpetual two-flusher — a turd that simply continues to cling to an otherwise pristine bowl in bits and pieces, no matter how hard you scrub or attempt to knock him off with a particularly strong stream of urine. The Bristol Stool Scale would label Shamrock a Type 6 turd — a mushy, fluffy, not-even-a-real-turd turd; a classification made all the more depressing when you take into consideration that Shamrock was once a fibrous, healthy, Type 3 turd that we all aspire to someday be.

But the point of these roundtables is not only to convince our fellow writers that they are wrong — which they undeniably are, in this case — but to convince you readers that we are right. So I ask unto you, Potato Nation: Have any of the other candidates on this list been guilty of the following?

– Beat up a woman they thought was a man. At a mall.
– Begged their fans to call them for the low, low price of $11.99 a minute.
– Required steroids to beat up a 400 pound man who died from a (likely obesity-related) heart attack at age 32 shortly thereafter.
– Swindled countless low-level MMA promotions out of thousands of dollars.
– Gone 2-7 since 2005.
– Held an autograph signing session at a Boston-themed pizza place. In Toronto.
– Partaken in one of the worst MMA title fights of all time (OK, that one wasn’t totally his fault).
– Partaken in Juggalo Championship Wrestling.
– Filed a bogus lawsuit against the UFC and lost.
– Willingly sought after a bout with James Toney (which was shockingly cancelled due to money issues).
– Lost a battle of wits to Tito Ortiz. Twice.

That last one might be the most damning of them all. But to his credit, ol’ Shammy is a hell of a pool player.

Matt Saccaro

The Gracie family has to be mentioned in any discussion about falling from grace. They went from being synonymous with victory and with MMA itself to being synonymous with being one-dimensional dinosaurs that can’t beat journeymen.

To understand how bad their fall from grace is, let’s start from when the Gracies took the world by storm: UFC 1.

Not many people knew about Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu heading into UFC 1. That was partially by design, since the Gracie family — the savvy marketers that they are — called their art “Gracie Jiu-Jitsu.” So the average American who hasn’t heard of grappling arts sits down to watch UFC 1 and then sees a scrawny Brazilian dude in pajamas steamroll over people twice his size, including a roided-up Ken Shamrock.

To prove that winning the tournament was no fluke, Royce Gracie provided an encore at UFC 2. He withdrew from the UFC 3 tournament after a victorious match with chemically-enhanced Jesus freak Kimo Leopoldo exhausted him, but Gracie returned at UFC 4 and again won the tournament.

“Gracie Jiu-Jitsu” was on fire, the Gracie family was on fire. They became part of MMA’s burgeoning mythology. To the layman, the Gracies were an undefeated family of adept warriors who could crush anyone (despite the undefeated claim being patently false) and who practically invented grappling (also false; ground-fighting was older than dirt). This was the high point for the Gracie family, and it didn’t last long.

What happened?

Kazushi Sakuraba.

Sakuraba, a talented Japanese wrestler/submission fighter, systematically dismantled the Gracie family, and in doing so proved that the Gracie air of invincibility was just smoke and mirrors. Sakuraba first defeated Royler Gracie at PRIDE 8 in 1999. But his two most notable wins over Gracies were his 90-minute fight with Royce Gracie at the Pride 2000 Grand Prix that ended in Royce’s corner stopping the fight, and when he broke Renzo Gracie’s arm three months later.

The Gracies were mortal now, but there was no shame in that; the Gracie name still commanded respect.

But, six years later, the Gracie name was taken down several more pegs when Royce was lured into the Octagon to fight Matt Hughes. Hughes humiliated Royce almost as bad as Royce humiliated the hapless strikers he faced back in the early 90’s. Then, a year later, Royce further tarnished the Gracie family’s name by testing positive for anabolic steroids in a victorious rematch with Sakuraba — tainting his win over the Japanese fighter.

This was, more or less, the end of the old guard of the Gracie family (save for Renzo Gracie’s ill-advised return to MMA against Matt Hughes in 2010. Ugh).

The next generation of Gracies wasn’t fit to wear their fathers’ gi pants. They proved to be no better than regional-level fighters. Rolles Gracie Jr. couldn’t beat Joey Beltran — even Rolles’ own relative Renzo admitted that was pretty bad. There was a brief glimmer of hope for the Gracie family in the 21st century with BJJ phenom Roger Gracie but he, too, couldn’t put it together in MMA. After an impressive 4-0 run, he lost to King Mo. He won two gimme fights against Keith Jardine and Anthony Smith but then lost an ugly fight to Tim Kennedy in his UFC debut, and was unceremoniously booted from the promotion. Of course, Rolles and Roger are just the tip of the iceberg. I’m neglecting to mention countless other Gracies who tried their hand at MMA and couldn’t live up to their last name.

This isn’t to knock the Gracies though. Their “Gracie Breakdown” YouTube series is amazing, and they’re still a family of talented grapplers. It’s just that when you look at the 90s and then look at the present day, you can’t help but see the sad state of affairs for the Gracie family. Twenty years ago, they ruled the MMA world. Now, a Gracie fighter is only in the news when he fights like he fell out of a pub at 3 am.

Seth Falvo

There was a time not too long ago when Jens Pulver wasn’t just the face of the lightweight division, he pretty much was the lightweight division. The son of an alcoholic horse jockey, Pulver survived horrific instances of abuse and battled depression — an origin story that made it so easy to cheer for him, and so rewarding to watch him win fight after fight. Pulver went on to become the most dominant lightweight of the early days of the UFC, a true pioneer of the sport in every sense of the word.

Then the predictable happened: Pulver got older, his competition evolved, and MMA moved on, leaving him behind. Time for him to retire, right? If only it were that easy.

See, it’d be one thing if Pulver was rewarded for his services as handsomely as the present-day UFC champions are, but keep in mind that Pulver was in his prime back when the organization was still confined to insignificant venues in obscure towns throughout rural America (Lake Charles has an arena? That’s news to me…). How do you tell a guy who has done so much for our sport — a man with a family to feed and bills to pay — to get out once there’s actually some money to be made as an MMA fighter? You don’t. You simply cringe when you learn that Pulver dropped a lopsided contest to yet another guy you’ve never heard of, and just hope that he at least made bank for the beating.

See Also: Replace “lightweight” with “Japanese,” and you can pretty much say the same thing about Kazushi Sakuraba (if you add a gnarly professional wrestling injury, of course).

Nathan Smith

Word(s) association: GO!

O.J. Simpson – MURDERER
John Rocker – BIGOT
LeBron James – THE DECISION
Michael Vick – DOG FIGHTING

In the world of sports, the proverbial fall from grace happens frequently. An athlete is celebrated and perceived in a thoroughly positive manner, yet through their actions the facade is forever changed. Ryan Braun and Lance Armstrong were chemically enhanced cheaters while Pete Rose chose to bet on a game that he could directly affect. Then there are dudes like Tiger Woods whose balls have seen more holes off the golf course than on it while Lenny Dykstra is just a freaking maniac. All of them were beloved at one time or another but through actions outside the lines of their sport, they are damn near pariahs. This is the typical fall from grace but it is rare that a competitor’s legacy is forever changed due to actions within their athletic field.

It happened to Joe Namath in a Los Angeles Rams uniform just like Joe Montana for the Kansas City Chiefs. Willie Mays stumbled around the outfield for the NY Mets and even Michael Jordan couldn’t catch lightning in a bottle when he suited up for the Washington Wizards. Some athletes hang around too long and all the good will they had built up over the course of their amazing careers is almost like a footnote to how they are initially remembered. Such is the case with the very first mainstream media MMA superstar, Chuck Liddell. The Iceman was at the forefront once the ESPNs and Jim Romes of the world finally decided that our sport was legitimate.

Sure, we all knew who Chuck Liddell was, but using him as the pseudo poster boy of MMA was a great fit to the uninformed masses. He was college-educated and soft-spoken but he also had a Mohawk accompanied by head tattoos. He was cerebral, yet scary, and his highlight-reel knockouts solidified the persona. He was the UFC LHW Champion of the World and the perceived baddest man on the planet for several years. He beat a who’s who of the best fighters during his era like Randy Couture, Tito Ortiz, Vitor Belfort, Kevin Randleman and Alistair Overeem.

Then with one glancing blow on the point of the chin from Quinton Jackson and *POOF* it all changed.

Everybody in MMA loses. It happens. If a fighter hangs around long enough, eventually his lights are going to get turned out, and that’s exactly what happened to The Iceman back at UFC 71. It was supposed to be a momentary setback and he was hand-fed the glass jaw of Keith Jardine in his next outing. Problem is, Jardine and his meth-addict style actually avoided the overhand right of Liddell, handing the former champ his second consecutive defeat. In his next fight, Chuck Liddell vs. Wanderlei Silva FINALLY happened and it did not disappoint. It was a back and forth war that saw the Iceman come out on top. Sadly, it would be the last victory of Liddell’s HOF career.

Let’s not mince words here: the Iceman’s last three fights are brutal to watch. Not just because we witnessed a former champ losing, but losing in such a manner that we feared for his safety. It started with Rashad Evans damn near sending Chuck’s head into the 13th row with a vicious overhand right. Then Maricio Rua left Liddell on his back staring wide-eyed at the arena lights, and in his final Octagon appearance, Rich Franklin put The Iceman’s career on ice (*rimshot*). It was an uncomfortable end to an otherwise fantastic career. A 1-5 record with 4 horrific KO losses forever damaged Chuck Liddell’s overall legacy and the biggest MMA fall from grace was complete.

Ben Goldstein


(Photo via Sherdog)

From Richard and Maurice McDonald to Ron Wayne, history is littered with poor shmucks who cashed out too early; guys who missed the big picture and went for the short money. Art Davie is one of those guys. A former ad-man and born hustler, Davie was arguably the most important driving force behind the creation of the UFC, pitching his idea of an eight-man mixed-styles fighting tournament to Rorion Gracie and John Milius, and co-founding WOW Promotions, which produced the UFC’s early events along with fledgling pay-per-view outfit Semaphore Entertainment Group.

The UFC became an immediate PPV phenomenon after launching in November 1993 — but after just five events, Davie sold his interest in the company to SEG, and officially left the UFC at the end of 1997, allegedly due to conflicts with Semaphore’s Bob Meyrowitz about the direction that the promotion was taking. Davie would later urge Meyrowitz to stop promoting UFC fights altogether, following the death of Douglas Dedge. But he still takes bittersweet pride in his creation to this day; watching the UFC blossom without him is like being a “divorced father with someone else raising my kid,” Davie once said.

In some alternate universe, Art Davie is still collecting a giant paycheck as a top executive with Zuffa — at least in the sort of meaningless no-show role that Matt Hughes and Chuck Liddell currently enjoy. Instead, he’s been wasting his golden years trying to convince people that extreme arm-wrestling (!) is the wave of the future. Davie went from promoting Royce Gracie, Ken Shamrock, and Dan Severn, to promoting Tater Williams and James Irvin, who himself has fallen from fastest knockout in UFC history to getting his ass kicked by an arm wrestler.

Davie had it all, but didn’t know it, and got out when he thought the getting was good, years before it actually was good. Now, he’s just another old guy in a fedora sitting at the bar, telling anybody who will listen that he “invented that UFC stuff.”

“Sure, pal,” the bartender will say, pouring Art another double of mid-shelf scotch. “Sure you did.”

Has there been an especially painful fall from grace that we’ve omitted? Let us know in the comments section.

[EXCLUSIVE] Metamoris II Headliner Kron Gracie Carries on Family Legacy


(Kron & Rickson Gracie | Photo via Moskova)

By Elias Cepeda

How do you ask a grown man to talk about a time you saw him cry? It can’t be easy, and maybe it’s not even polite. Surely an interviewer can think of other questions to ask someone — especially a fighter.

Unfortunately, in the day or so before speaking with Kron Gracie, that was the main thing I could think to ask, and to ask first. To be clear, I saw Kron cry when he was still a child, and then only from a distance.

Maybe I was mistaken and he wasn’t even truly crying.

Yeah, maybe that’s how you ask a man to talk about it — tepidly and with plenty of qualification. Probably not, but that’s how I broached the subject with the man.

It was the summer of 2000. Rickson Gracie, the champion of his family, was hosting an international Jiu Jitsu invitational. There were tournaments for every experience and ability level, as well as famous champions competing in super matches as well as milling around the arena as a part of the crowd.

And then there was little Kron Gracie. He had to have been just eleven or twelve.

Kron presumably could have chosen to enjoy the whole event as a child — that is, running around with family and friends, playing. Instead, he was in a gi and on the mats.

Kron’s older sisters were pretty and did fun demonstrations with their father. Kron’s older brother, Rockson, walked around the tournament with his head shaved, tattooed and an air of seriousness, the obvious heir apparent to Rickson Gracie’s fighting legacy.

Whatever pressures his siblings surely felt, Kron was the one on the mats that day, competing.

Kron competed that day and, when I saw him, he had just lost.

It couldn’t have been easy, and Rickson’s youngest child was visibly upset. Losing is never fun but when everyone is watching you because your dad is the best fighter in fighting’s first family, it has to be miserable. Rickson, walked over to Kron, put his arms around him and consoled his young son.


(Kron & Rickson Gracie | Photo via Moskova)

By Elias Cepeda

How do you ask a grown man to talk about a time you saw him cry? It can’t be easy, and maybe it’s not even polite. Surely an interviewer can think of other questions to ask someone — especially a fighter.

Unfortunately, in the day or so before speaking with Kron Gracie, that was the main thing I could think to ask, and to ask first. To be clear, I saw Kron cry when he was still a child, and then only from a distance.

Maybe I was mistaken and he wasn’t even truly crying.

Yeah, maybe that’s how you ask a man to talk about it — tepidly and with plenty of qualification. Probably not, but that’s how I broached the subject with the man.

It was the summer of 2000. Rickson Gracie, the champion of his family, was hosting an international Jiu Jitsu invitational. There were tournaments for every experience and ability level, as well as famous champions competing in super matches as well as milling around the arena as a part of the crowd.

And then there was little Kron Gracie. He had to have been just eleven or twelve.

Kron presumably could have chosen to enjoy the whole event as a child — that is, running around with family and friends, playing. Instead, he was in a gi and on the mats.

Kron’s older sisters were pretty and did fun demonstrations with their father. Kron’s older brother, Rockson, walked around the tournament with his head shaved, tattooed and an air of seriousness, the obvious heir apparent to Rickson Gracie’s fighting legacy.

Whatever pressures his siblings surely felt, Kron was the one on the mats that day, competing.

Kron competed that day and, when I saw him, he had just lost.

It couldn’t have been easy, and Rickson’s youngest child was visibly upset. Losing is never fun but when everyone is watching you because your dad is the best fighter in fighting’s first family, it has to be miserable. Rickson, walked over to Kron, put his arms around him and consoled his young son.

These days, Kron Gracie is a black belt international competitor — recognized as one of the best middleweights in the submission grappling world. I ask if he remembers that one match, an eternity ago and surely insignificant by now in the grand scheme of his career.

He does.

“I remember every moment of that match,” Kron tells CagePotato.

“I remember training for it, I remember everything he tried, everything I tried, and I remember losing.”

Kron had competed for years but says that his dad’s tournament was the first time he had trained with real focus. The let-down was rough.

“I felt pressure to do well. All eyes were on me,” Kron details.

If the young Gracie remembers vividly the hollow feeling of defeat, the memory of his father comforting him is equally as strong. “I remember every word he told me,” he says. “He just told me that it was alright and that I’d be ok.”

How Kron got from there to today, where he makes a living teaching and competing in Brazilian Jiu Jitsu and is respected as having one of the best pure styles in all of submission grappling is no doubt complex and layered. Having his father’s unconditional support and guidance must have been a big part.

It also seems possible that Kron learned to convert pressure and pain into hard work and excellence. Though he remembers every detail of that loss at his father’s tournament in 2000, one can only imagine how small that pain was in comparison to what he and his family went through later that same year.

Rickson’s oldest child Rockson died in December of 2000. Rickson never fought professionally again and has cited that moment as the lowest of his life.

“Deep down, you see a reason to shoot yourself in the head, to stop doing the right thing, to stop being a happy person. You may want to fools yourself, thinking ‘it’s bad, but I can take it,’ and that’s the kind of lack of honesty that will never cure the wound. I hit rock bottom and decided, deep down, whether I would come back to the surface or not,” Rickson told GracieMag in a 2010 interview.

Rickson clearly did go forward and, to this day, trains and teaches. Kron doesn’t talk to us about his brother’s death specifically but does say that shortly after the summer 2000 tournament, he began to see life and Jiu Jitsu a bit differently.

“I was raised around winning and championships so it was kind of always expected,” Kron says.

“Not long after that tournament, I began to take it more seriously and see myself having a future in Jiu Jitsu, in making it my career. Things happen in life and you decide it is time to step up and become a man.”

That is heady stuff for a kid to take on but Kron did — training and competing constantly. He dominated the ranks all the way through the brown belt class, before his father awarded him his black belt in 2008.

Thus far, he has yet to win a major world championship at black belt but has managed to stand out nonetheless. At the first Metamoris competition, last fall, Kron submitted the reigning middleweight Jiu Jitsu world champion, Otavio Sousa.

Ordinarily, matches are ten minutes long and points are scored to decide a winner if no one can finish with a submission. At Metamoris matches, there are no points and if you want to assure a win, you need to get a submission during the twenty minute matches.

Kron’s style fits the Metamoris format well because of the finality it requires for victory. Kron hardly ever uses a move that a first year Brazilian Jiu Jitsu student wouldn’t begin to learn.

He’s all substance and aggression, with no flash. The idea, his father’s idea that Kron has adopted, is to do the simple things right — with proper leverage and weight distribution applied to your opponent.

“If we spend doing techniques in Jiu Jitsu competition that wouldn’t work in a real fight, what is the point?” Kron asks.

That approach to Jiu Jitsu — to learn it as a fighting art, not just a pretty looking exercise without purpose or consequence, is all Rickson Gracie. Over the course of his career, Kron’s father fought in gis on the mats, speedos on the beach, shorts in packed arenas and in whatever he happened to be wearing when business needed to be settled on the street.


(Kron has been training MMA with Nate (left) and Nick (right) Diaz | Photo via GracieMag)

Kron seems in the midst of trying to prove he can become the best in the non-striking submission grappling world. Yet, the philosophy he’s adopted from his father and grandfather Helio Gracie that Jiu Jitsu is for fighting and fighting effectively, begs the question of whether he’d consider carrying on their fighting legacy himself.

I ask Kron if he thinks he will ever fight in MMA and his answer is to the point. “Yes,” he says, without doubt. “I will absolutely fight.”

At the Metamoris II Pro Jiu Jitsu Invitational on June 9th, Kron will take on one of the best Jiu Jitsu representatives in MMA, Shinya Aoki. Kron’s desire to fight MMA and his pairing with Aoki is no coincidence.

“Totally,” he says when asked if he expects grappling against Aoki to give him a taste of how he might fare against top MMA grapplers.

“That’s why I wanted this match up with Aoki. I have so much respect for his Jiu Jitsu game in MMA. He has submitted so many people at the top levels of MMA. I want to see what he feels like. I want to see how my Jiu Jitsu matches up against his. I believe in my Jiu Jitsu and that it will work in MMA, but I am not looking past Aoki at all. I think this match will give me an idea of what some of these guys feel like.”

Kron already has a decent idea of what it feels like to lock horns with some top MMA fighters. As he talks with CagePotato, Nate Diaz sits nearby. Diaz is helping Kron train for Metamoris II.

Kron says he’s been working with both Nate and brother Nick Diaz frequently, and not just on submission grappling. Kron was in Nick Diaz’ corner when he faced Georges St. Pierre earlier this year, in fact.

“Nate is here helping me prepare for Aoki,” Kron says. “I’ve gotten to work with him and Nick a lot now and it’s great.”

Kron says that he gets in MMA work with the Diaz brothers as well as grappling. “Oh yeah, for sure,” he says, sounding as if getting to spar MMA with elite fighters is much of the point of his training with the Diaz brothers.

“We do a lot of work and all types.”

Kron’s intensity leading up to matches is certainly that of someone who takes winning and losing seriously. However, the reckless abandon with which he competes suggests someone who doesn’t fear loss.

Many high level grapplers have unbearably boring matches when pitted against one another. Wary of making even the tiniest mistake which their opponent can seize on, many black belt matches are cautious, careful and horrible to watch.

Turn on a Kron Gracie match, any one, and you’ll see the furthest thing from that type of match. He drives, scrambles, pivots and spins, all in constant search of a submission win. Kron grapples with the sense of urgency of a man fighting for his life — which, he might say, is kind of the point.

Kron speaks as someone who not only carries the pressure of being the son of the greatest Jiu Jitsu fighter of all time, but also as one who possesses the confidence from a lifetime of personal instruction from that same master.

Beat me, if you can. And if you do, watch your back because I’ll get better and come back for you.

“It isn’t that I don’t care about losing,” Kron explains. “But all you can do is train the right way leading up to a fight, and then let go and go hard in the fight. The point of a fight is to see who the better guy is. I hate losing. But if I go out there, give it everything I have and lose, then the guy is better than me. If I don’t let it all out on the mat, I won’t ever know who truly was the better man that day.”

You’re born with pressure to be great when you’re born a Gracie. At the same time, putting that yolk around your neck and facing conflict and tests head-on is modeled for you.

Maybe that’s part of why Kron Gracie decided at an early age to run right into the fire, perhaps not unaffected or unafraid, but at least unflinching. And, if over time, Kron becomes one of the great ones, that decision will probably be why and how he got there.

Rickson Gracie’s New MMA Organization Has Some Interesting Rule Changes

Brazilian Jiu Jitsu and Vale Tudo legend Rickson Gracie is partnering with a new MMA organization in Brazil, y’all, and he’s putting his own unique stamp on the format and rules. Some are new ideas, many are ones tried before and at least one is just kinda weird.

Our friends over at GracieMag have the full story on the new Mestre do Combate, debuting November 22nd. Below we have some of the highlights.

Teams – Rickson’s organization will use a team format of some sort, akin to what the now defunct IFL used.

Rounds – There will just be two, like in the old Pride non title bouts. The first round will be ten minutes and the second will be five.

Cannot be saved by the bell – So this is interesting. “Fighters will not have the luxury of being saved by the bell: if a submission hold is in place when the bell sounds, they will have to defend or tap out first for the fight to end,” GracieMag reports. What do you think of this rule, nation? I think its a compelling idea, even if it could lead to some messy and uneven arbitrary implementation.

Brazilian Jiu Jitsu and Vale Tudo legend Rickson Gracie is partnering with a new MMA organization in Brazil, y’all, and he’s putting his own unique stamp on the format and rules. Some are new ideas, many are ones tried before and at least one is just kinda weird.

Our friends over at GracieMag have the full story on the new Mestre do Combate, debuting November 22nd. Below we have some of the highlights.

Teams – Rickson’s organization will use a team format of some sort, akin to what the now defunct IFL used.

Rounds – There will just be two, like in the old Pride non title bouts. The first round will be ten minutes and the second will be five.

Cannot be saved by the bell – So this is interesting. “Fighters will not have the luxury of being saved by the bell: if a submission hold is in place when the bell sounds, they will have to defend or tap out first for the fight to end,” GracieMag reports. What do you think of this rule, nation? I think its a compelling idea, even if it could lead to some messy and uneven arbitrary implementation.

“Judges’” decision – Speaking of potentially messy and arbitrary, “in the event of a fight ending without a submission or knockout, the decision-making system is a curious one: the referee ‘Big’ John McCarthy has one vote, Master Rickson has another, and the audience watching at the venue or over television has a tie-breaking vote.”

Ok, so let us linger on this one for a moment. Being partial to everything Rickson, I don’t have a fundamental problem with him serving in a judging capacity for MMA fights. The guy knows what he’s looking at and he’s certainly more qualified than most current MMA judges. However, his exact role with the organization has not really been publicly specified and there could be issues there. Is he a promoter? Is he a part owner? Is he both? In either case, I’m not sure how I feel about a promoter or organization executive deciding who has won fights, because they could easily be compelled, even if subconsciously, to vote for the more marketable fighter since that fighter might make them more money.

Also, what are the criteria that Rickson, McCarthy and the fans are supposed to use to judge? Oh yeah, having the ref score a fight is a horrible and dangerous idea.

From conversations I’ve had with top refs in the past, I’m rather surprised that McCarthy would even agree to doing this. From what I understand, refs have their hands full just making sure fighters are safe and keeping to the time and rules. If McCarthy is to cast a judging vote to a fight he has just refereed it certainly seems like he’d then have to either

A.) Divert some of his attention from rule enforcement and safety to thinking about who is winning,  or

B.) Keep his full attention focused on safety in the ring, in which case he’d probably not have a great idea of who won the fight immediately after.

How, exactly, will fans vote? Will it be a majority thing and they all have two buttons attached to their seats so they can choose who they thought won? Or will it be like a college open mic night where applause is used to determine the winner. In which case, will there be a decibel meter to determine who, exactly, received the louder applause or will some person decide who had more support? If the latter, who will that person be? [Ed. Note: Possibly via text message voting, but who actually takes part in text message voting at stadiums? Other than me that one time fans were asked which ethnic stereotype will run around Miller Park in a sausage costume fastest, for obvious reasons. Don’t judge me.] 

Weight – So yeah, Mestre do Combate will have same day weigh ins. The idea is to discourage harmful weight cutting by fighters and to encourage to fight at their natural weights. Love the concept, hope it works. Amateur wrestlers have to weigh in the same day as competition and they still cut a lot of water weight often times.

Elbows – No elbows. Sorry, that sucks. A real Jiu Jitsu practitioner needs to ultimately learn how to deal with the different range and angles that elbow strikes pose on the feet and on the ground. At least professional MMA fighters should learn how to.

I’ll definitely be watching this event in November. I love anytime someone new enters the space. It allows for more opportunities for fighters. Let’s see how all these rules play out. What’s your prediction, ‘taters?

Technical bouts, messy albatross or something in between?

– Elias Cepeda

CagePotato Roundtable #3: Who’s Your Favorite Fighter to Never Win a Major Title?


(In the heart of the child who made it, the Super HLUK belt is the most prestigious title on the planet.)

CagePotato Roundtable is our new recurring column in which the CP writing staff and some of our friends all get together to debate an MMA-related topic. Joining us this week is MiddleEasy.com founder Zeus Tipado, who was kind enough to smoke an entire bag of PCP and channel the spirit of Wallid Ismail. If you have a suggestion for a future Roundtable column, send it to [email protected]. This week’s topic: Who’s your favorite MMA fighter to never win a major title?

Ben Goldstein

We take personality for granted these days. Everywhere you look, the MMA ranks are packed with shameless self-promoters, aspiring comedians, unrepentant assholes, and assorted clown-men. But in the UFC’s infancy, fighters tended to come in two types: Stoic (see Royce Gracie, Dan Severn) and certifiably insane ( see Joe Son, Harold Howard). David “Tank” Abbott changed all that. He entered the UFC with a fully-fledged persona, and managed to stay in character through his entire career. Simply put, he was the UFC’s first villain, and he played that role more effectively than anyone has since.

Heralded as a “pit fighter” — a term invented by UFC promoter Art Davie — Tank’s martial art of choice was hitting guys in the head really hard, which he did while wearing the sort of fingerless gloves that soon become industry standard. It’s difficult to overstate the impact that Tank’s debut at UFC 6 had on a 14-year-old Ben Goldstein as I was watching the pay-per-view at my friend Josh’s house. It wasn’t just that Abbott starched John Matua in a mere 18 seconds, or that Matua’s body seized up when his head hit the canvas. It’s that Tank reacted to the knockout by mimic-ing Matua’s stiffened pose. Tank actually mocked John Matua for having a seizure. Ruthless! And how about his destruction of Steve Nelmark at the Ultimate Ultimate ’96, which had to be the first “oh shit is that guy dead?” moment in UFC history. Tank was a living reminder that the UFC was very real, and very dangerous.


(In the heart of the child who made it, the Super HLUK belt is the most prestigious title on the planet.)

CagePotato Roundtable is our new recurring column in which the CP writing staff and some of our friends all get together to debate an MMA-related topic. Joining us this week is MiddleEasy.com founder Zeus Tipado, who was kind enough to smoke an entire bag of PCP and channel the spirit of Wallid Ismail. If you have a suggestion for a future Roundtable column, send it to [email protected]. This week’s topic: Who’s your favorite MMA fighter to never win a major title?

Ben Goldstein

We take personality for granted these days. Everywhere you look, the MMA ranks are packed with shameless self-promoters, aspiring comedians, unrepentant assholes, and assorted clown-men. But in the UFC’s infancy, fighters tended to come in two types: Stoic (see Royce Gracie, Dan Severn) and certifiably insane ( see Joe Son, Harold Howard). David “Tank” Abbott changed all that. He entered the UFC with a fully-fledged persona, and managed to stay in character through his entire career. Simply put, he was the UFC’s first villain, and he played that role more effectively than anyone has since.

Heralded as a “pit fighter” — a term invented by UFC promoter Art Davie — Tank’s martial art of choice was hitting guys in the head really hard, which he did while wearing the sort of fingerless gloves that soon become industry standard. It’s difficult to overstate the impact that Tank’s debut at UFC 6 had on a 14-year-old Ben Goldstein as I was watching the pay-per-view at my friend Josh’s house. It wasn’t just that Abbott starched John Matua in a mere 18 seconds, or that Matua’s body seized up when his head hit the canvas. It’s that Tank reacted to the knockout by mimic-ing Matua’s stiffened pose. Tank actually mocked John Matua for having a seizure. Ruthless! And how about his destruction of Steve Nelmark at the Ultimate Ultimate ’96, which had to be the first “oh shit is that guy dead?” moment in UFC history. Tank was a living reminder that the UFC was very real, and very dangerous.

The rise of talented, well-rounded heavyweights in the UFC made Abbott obsolete just as quickly as Nirvana killed Warrant. (Work with me, here.) Violent losses to guys like Vitor Belfort and Pedro Rizzo in 1997-98 led to the end of his first stint in the UFC, and his return five years later — as promising as it looked at the time — ended in three more first-round stoppage losses. Since then, Tank’s career highlights have included getting knocked out by Paul Buentello in Strikeforce, getting knocked out by Kimbo Slice for EliteXC, and taking an unofficial decision win over Scott Ferrozzo in a backyard. His famous beard has gone gray with age, and now Tank Abbott looks exactly like what he is — a faded legend from the old times, an MMA pioneer who deserves your respect even though he never respected anybody.

Wallid Ismail, via Zeus Tipado

A lotta guys, they talk alotta bullsheet. They say ‘Wallid, who’s the best guy that never had a…how you say, that never had a belt.’ Guys, they ask me this all the time, man. I say there’s one guy that I remember from Curitiba, Brazil. This guy name Pele, he fight everybody. He’s from the heart of Brazil, the jungle of Brazil — like me. I’m from the Amazon.

Pele fight everybody — he fight Matt Hughes, Pat Miletich, Babalu, Lee Murray, Jake Ellenberger — and he still fighting, man! Pele is still fighting…and winning! This guy no cheeken, he knows! He knows he da best, ya undastand? I told you, I told everybody last time I do interview with Cagea Potato, I say ‘Hey, this guy Pele should be champion.’ I just want everybody to remind — everybody to remember that this guy Pele should be champion.

A long time ago, Pele fought this guy Macaco Patino at the Campeonato Brasileiro de Vale Tudo. These guy, he talk alotta bullsheet. Before the fight me, Macaco, Pele and this guy Stephen Quadros — you know Stephen Quardos? Stephen Quadros was in the room and Macaco has too much cock. He’s too cock, how you say — he cocky. He had alotta guys on the side, talk alotta bullsheet. Macaco pick up a phone a threw it at Pele from across the room! This guy coward, ya undastand? Pele, he was confident. Everybody get in between Pele and Macaco. Pele say ‘You fight now, but tomorrow I make you quit fighting I hit you so hard.’ Pele confident man, he no coward. Next day at Campeonato Brasileiro de Vale Tudo, Pele make Macaco tap to strike. To strike! No one tap to strike! I see Macaco after the…after the fight and I ask ‘Why you talk alotta bullsheet and tap to strike? Because you cock, you coward — you scared about Pele.’

I think I get Pele in Jungle Fight to win a title. He train hard for every fight, no doubt about. Believe me, he will put on a great fight in Jungle Fight. Tell everybody go to Jungle Fight and get my website because everybody know I don’t stop. This is my home. I don’t care. Let’s go to the big fight.

[Ed. note: Wallid would like all of you to buy his “Angry Wallid” t-shirt for just $17.99 on WorldOverEasy.com]

Seth Falvo

I’ve implied it on here before, so I might as well just come out and say it: I grew up a professional wrestling fan. Growing up, Razor Ramon (later known by his real name, Scott Hall) was one of my biggest heroes (draw your own conclusions). Every now and then, I’ll still watch AWA reruns on ESPN: Classic and legitimately enjoy it. There, I said it.

That being said, I never got behind the professional wrestling careers of the MMA fighters like Ken Shamrock and Dan Severn. To me, the MMA fighters were way too normal for professional wrestling’s cartoonish reality (Ed. Note: Obviously, aside from Tank Abbott’s obsession with boy bands). They weren’t working class white guys acting like pro-Apartheid South African colonels — they were tough guys acting like tough guys. They weren’t jumping off of the top rope — they were using somewhat realistic looking takedowns and submissions. The fact that they would lose to oiled up steroid abusers that they would destroy in real fights made the whole thing too stupid for me to continue to suspend my disbelief. In my case, The Masked Man’s theory is true: The legitimate tough guy who earns a living as a fake fighter is too much of a paradox.

Needless to say, I immediately fell in love with Ikuhisa Minowa.

Minowaman appeals to my inner wrestling geek the way that Chael Sonnen wishes he did. We’ve seen fighters donning professional wrestling attire before, but they’ve tended to get their asses kicked. We’ve seen professional wrestling moves in MMA, but not as frequently or deliberately as Minowa uses them. We’ve seen freak show fights, but this guy has made a career out of winning them.

Of course, it bears mention that as good as he’s looked against Super Hulks, he tends to lose to guys his own size. And while he’s been fun to watch in Japan, his most recent fight against Kendall Grove was “adequate (for a ProElite bout)”, which is the nicest way to say “boring as shit” that I could think of. But while Minowaman will never hold a major title, he’ll always be one of my favorite fighters because he’s the bridge between professional wrestling and mixed martial arts that guys like Shamrock and Severn couldn’t be: He’s the cartoonish fighter who is legitimate enough to win real fights.

Mike Russell

The first name that popped into my head when we were discussing the theme for this week’s roundtable was Renato Sobral, who I’ve enjoyed watching for as long as I remember. The only snag was I had forgotten that he held the Strikeforce strap briefly after snatching it from overachieving Bobby Southworth. Damn, so much for Babalu.

Then I spent the next half-hour crossing names off my rapidly dwindling list.

“Okay, I’ll take Sakuraba instead. Rex has Sakuraba? Then I’ll go with Karo. Wait. Does Pre-Zuffa WEC count as a major title? It does? And Zeus has Pele, right? In that case I’m going with my number-five favorite fighter to never hold a major title: Igor Vovchanchyn.”

Yeah Google experts, “The Ukraine Freight Train” wore gold briefly, but his belt was almost immediately repossessed by the Yakuza because he kneed Mark Kerr in the head while he was on the ground, so it doesn’t count. See, we have Wikipedia in Canada too. It’s a bunch of binders full of printouts stored at the library/post office/trading post and we can only sign out one volume for 15 minutes per week, but we have it, so suck it Xenophon.

Anyway, at the time the Japanese promotion rules said that the winning strikes he landed in the bout were simply not allowed, domo arigato. The rule was changed months later and he would avenge the fight by beating Kerr one year after coming within a rule change of being a champ. Always a bridesmaid, huh I-Vov?

Prior to the controversial first fight with Kerr, which was afterwards ruled a no-contest, Igor was on a 32-fight winning streak. Not many fighters are able to flash that card — let alone wins over a prime Sakuraba, Gary Goodridge, Gilbert Yvel, Yuki Kondo, Enson Inoue and Valentijn Overeem — who were all victims of “Ice Cold.”

Sure Vovchanchyn wasn’t the most athletic guy and he was far from being the most talented fighter, but he always came to fight, which is something a lot of guys in the current point-fighting era of MMA don’t do. When Igor was one of the guys in the ring, you could expect punishment, and no matter if he was the guy inflicting it or the one absorbing it, the fight was going to be exciting. The dude had 55 wins in his 66-fight career: 29 knockouts, 17 submissions and only eight decisions, which says a lot about his style, which, if had to describe, I’d say was “tactical brawling.”

After walking away from the sport before hitting his stride (sort of like ReX) due to a glut of nagging injuries back in 1998 at the prime fighting age of 32 and with a staggering 55-10 (1NC) MMA record, Igor reportedly took his career earnings and opened up a small restaurant back in the Ukraine. The eatery caters to well-fed, hard-drinking Russian tourists. They have a unique dash and dine policy at the restaurant: If you can make it to the door without getting knocked out by a karate chop to the neck, your meal is on the house.

Andrei Arlovski forfeited the bet when he crumpled to the floor while tucking in his napkin during his first visit to the establishment.

Chris Colemon

A few seconds into your first Genki Sudo fight you ask yourself, “What the fuck is he doing?!?” A few minutes later you have your answer: “Whatever the fuck he wants.”

Sudo’s entrances were more entertaining than most fights; his fights were more interesting than most of our lives. The “Neo Samarai” made a career of unorthodoxy. His unique arsenal included superb takedowns and flying submissions, and when spinning backfists and sommersault kicks lost his interest he’d simply start making shit up. The “Mixed” in Sudo’s MMA included maneuvers from professional wrestling and the B-Boy world. From bouncing off of the ropes for a drop kick to taking his opponent for a helicopter ride, he transformed high-risk, crowd pleasing moments into fight finishing techniques. And if you think losing a fight in front of thousands of people is demoralizing, imagine that the dude kicking your ass is taking frequent breaks to do the robot.

Between appearances on “Ninja Warrior”, Sudo submitted Mike Brown and Nate Marquardt, KO’d Royler Gracie, and scored a decision win over Duane Ludwig [ignore those record books, kids. Ludwig did not win that fight]. He’s also the proud inventor of the ‘cankle lock‘.

Sadly, Sudo retired from the sport in his prime at the age of 28 after heeding questionable advice from a urinal. Since that time he’s written eight books and found success as a Japanese pop star. So yeah, a guy getting life-coach lessons from the shitter has a better life than you.

Anthony Gannon

When it comes to losing title fights, you can add Kenny Florian to the “death and taxes” certainties of life. He had three shots at glory in the UFC, two at lightweight that he lost to Sean Sherk and BJ Penn, and one at featherweight that he lost to Jose Aldo, not including the lightweight title eliminator he lost against Gray Maynard. That’s a lot of chances, but he earned them by pretty much destroying everyone else they put in front of him. Kenny has mad squabbles, but he just could never get his hands on that stinking belt.

His odyssey took him from 185 all the way down to 145 in search of the strap – the only fighter in UFC history to ever compete in four different weight divisions. Perhaps if he didn’t injure his back, an injury that may force him to retire, he could have tried his hand at 135, or even the UFC’s new 125-pound division. He probably could have made it if he rid himself of such unnecessary components as that extra kidney, perhaps that cumbersome second lung, and if he clipped his toenails really low, like to the point where it hurts like a sumbitch. Kenny just had that level of dedication, the kind young fighters can learn from.

Kenny never made excuses. In the Sherk and Maynard fights he spent more time on his back than my ex-girlfriend when she was “studying.” Speaking of which, I also love Kenny because he looks more like my old economics professor than a fighter. I can envision a meathead student boldly challenging Kenny on the merits of the Laffer Curve and whether it does in fact justify supply-side economics, and Kenny with his bowtie and sweater-vest delivering a ridge-hand to the Adam’s Apple for such blatant sass. I digress.

Kenny didn’t bitch and whine about wrestlers humping him like many other fighters do. He took full accountability, and said he needed to get better at wrestling. Imagine that, personal responsibility – what a novel concept. Kenny always worked towards improvement. The fact that he never held a belt is certainly not because he didn’t take his talent as far as it could possibly go. He did. He was simply beaten by better fighters. That may be of little consolation to Kenny at this point, but he should be proud of his accomplishments in the cage. He went for it, time and again, and pushed himself to the limits to get there. For that, I salute Kenny Florian: Here’s to you, Mr. Non-Title Winning Fighter Turned Commentator. Break to Bud Light “Real American Heroes” theme…

Jefferey “Karmaatemycat” Watts

So many gatekeepers, guys, seriously? How about an undefeated grand-master with over four hundred fights? Only one name has stood out in Mixed Martial Arts since day one, and that name is Gracie. Even though blatant ignorance won’t allow most people to get past the Royce Gracie Era, I hold the very personal opinion that the greatest fighter to never hold a title is Rickson Gracie. I mean, who else do you know with a lineage like Rickson? You don’t. It’s just that simple.

It’s a well known fact that Rickson could easily destroy most of today’s fighters if he was their age. Thankfully, for all these “talented” guys who call themselves fighters, Rickson is retired and focused on his Jujitsu. In his day, it is alleged that Rickson had over four hundred fights and won them all. Sure his sanctioned record says 11-0, but Rickson is one of the few true Jujitsu Gods, with a legitimate 8th-degree Black/Red Belt in BJJ around his waist.

Rickson also did his fighting when the “Unified Rules” didn’t exist, which makes him that much more badass. After all, the definition of Vale Tudo is “anything goes” or “everything goes,” and back in the day that’s exactly what they did. It should be noted that Rickson has been training to fight for the honor of the Gracie family name since the age of six years old. At the age of 53, that translates to 47 years of Martial Arts training, likely day in and day out.

Even years after his prime, his name is still revered in the MMA community. Many jujitsu newbies pay homage to the famed Rickson Gracie and would likely sacrifice their first born if only to harness just a bit of his supernatural talent. Most fighters would be content just retiring with a humble record, but not Rickson! 400+ fights and ZERO losses!

Jason Moles

Ever since his Fight of the Year against Karo “The Heat” Parisian at Ultimate Fight Night 6, Diego Sanchez has been one of my favorite fighters to watch in action, and it pains me that gold has eluded him this long despite a change in weight classes and a title fight against BJ Penn at UFC 107 — a fight he lost due to a cut. It’s like watching a dog that’s been in an accident chase a tail that isn’t there; he beats everyone except the guys that really matter. Nevertheless, Sanchez has remained as positive as Kimbo’s beard is gnarly, often found chanting “Yes!” while doing cartwheels.

Unshaken, the Jackson’s MMA product has proven time and time again that when he comes to fight, HE COMES TO FIGHT! As winner of the first season of The Ultimate Fighter, Diego Sanchez has been trying to live up to expectations worthy of a champion. Since then, he’s racked up an impressive five Fight of the Night awards, but never took home a championship belt. I know some of you aren’t in favor of giving it up for heart, but Rex and I are — so stick it.

Jared Jones

This was perhaps the easiest roundtable thus far for me to decide on. Tell me, which one of the other picks has 10 muthafuckin’ end of the night awards? How about a future position in the Indiana Senate? No, not you Matt, I’m talking about Chris muthafuckin’ Lytle, a.k.a the most entertaining dude to ever step foot in the Octagon. HE HAS NEVER BEEN FINISHED IN 54 MUTHAFUCKIN’ FIGHTS, and was in fact forced to quit in those two TKO losses that soil his record because the ringside physicians did not want to lose their jobs. His wars with Thiago Alves, Paul Taylor, Aaron Riley, Marcus Davis, Dan Hardy, and Tiki Ghosn *snicker* are just a few examples in Lytle’s insanely long list of credentials.

But the best thing about Lytle would have to be that he is perhaps the most underrated grappler in the history of MMA. He has submission victories that have come by way of forearm choke, bulldog choke, guillotine, kneebar, straight armbar, triangle kimura, and damn near every other form of submission available. Despite this, he chooses to stand and brawl with whoever will allow it, because the man puts entertaining his audience above winning, and that’s pretty much the point of this roundtable, right? Simply put, you don’t forget a Lytle fight, and the man has missed out on possible title fights to ensure that.

I will end my rant with a few little known facts about Lytle: he was the inspiration for the movies 300, Commando, Mad Max, and Sensei Seagal‘s muthafuckin’ career. He mixes razor blades with his corn flakes every morning, and pisses blood every afternoon. Those last two are not related. Chris Lytle‘s NCAA tournament bracket is flawless every year, and in 1978, he beat Doyle Brunson in a game of Texas Hold ‘Em despite holding a Shoprite receipt and an Old Maid card. Former President Dwight D. Eisenhower once gave him the key to the country. That’s right, THE MUTHAFUKIN’ COUNTRY. Chris Lytle doesn’t need our worship, because the walls of his home have more plaques on them than Dr. Dre’s, but “Lights Out” is who we think of, subconsciously or otherwise, when we use terms like “warrior,” “badass,” or “Cobra Commander.”

And finally Doug “ReX13″ Richardson, who concludes today’s epic roundtable using the ancient art of haiku…

Saku need not boast
a hero, but holy shit
how is he not dead?

On This Day in MMA History: The Godfather of North American MMA, ‘Judo’ Gene Lebell Was Born in 1932

(Video courtesy of YouTube/TheFightNerd)

If the first MMA fight you ever watched was Stephan Bonnar versus Forrest Griffin, chances are you have no clue who “Judo” Gene LeBell is, but pull up a chair because you’re about to learn about the man in the pink gi.


(Video courtesy of YouTube/TheFightNerd)

If the first MMA fight you ever watched was Stephan Bonnar versus Forrest Griffin, chances are you have no clue who “Judo” Gene LeBell is, but pull up a chair because you’re about to learn about the man in the pink gi.

Many people give credit to the Gracies for bringing MMA to North America since they were responsible for founding the UFC and it’s Brazilian predecessor, The Gracie Challenge, but credit should actually go to Lebell, who helped introduce the sport to the masses nearly 30 years before the Octagon was invented.

Although it was seen as a spectacle or a publicity stunt at the time, decorated judo black belt Judo Gene Lebell called the bluff of a writer from a low budget magazine by the name of “The Judo Bums” that had boldly stated that any boxer regardless of ranking could beat a judo practician because judo players were all frauds.

After Lebell publicly denounced the troll story, the magazine offered to set up a bout between Gene and the writer boxer. He quickly accepted.

The modified ruled, no-holds-barred bout went down in Salt Lake City, Utah in December, 1963, but the pundit subbed in a professional boxer in his stead at the last minute by the name of Milo Savage. Both men wore gi tops and the only agreed upon rule was that they weren’t allowed to kick. Before the fight, Savage was caught trying to conceal brass knuckles under his hand wraps. In spite of the fact that Savage covered himself from head to toe with grease, Lebell still managed to hold onto the slippery boxer long enough to choke him out in the fourth round to become the first winner of a televised MMA bout in North America.

He would go on to train the likes of Bruce Lee, Gokor Chivichyan, Karo Parisyan and Manny Gamburyan while doing double-duty as a coach and movie stuntman over the course of his career.

Perhaps his crowning achievement besides the historic fight with Savage was the time he (allegedly) made Steven Seagal lose control of his bodily functions in his trailer on the set of “Out for Justice.”

As the story goes, Seagal purportedly told Lebell, who was a stunt coordinator on the film, that his Aikido trumped judo in effectiveness and that he could escape any hold Gene could apply. After the 58-year-old choked out “The Glimmer Man,” he proceeded to make him piss his pants by manipulating an acupuncture point on his neck he said was attached to the bladder.

After waking up in a puddle of his own urine, Segal kicked all of the onlookers out of his trailer and called his lawyers, who proceeded to slap a gag order on the cast and crew, warning them that if anyone breathed a word about the event, he would sue their asses. Thankfully the story saw the light of day, or else people may actually think Seagal is a dangerous former CIA operative who could kill you with his pinky finger like he claims.

The Gracie clan tried to set up a bout between Gene and Rickson 20 years ago, but it never materialized since there was a 27-year age difference between the two. Instead, Judo Gene suggested that he fight Helio instead, which the Gracies accepted, only if he could lose 55 lbs for the bout as Helio weighed 145 at the time. What’s curious is the fact that Gracie supporters have maintained that by turning down both bouts, Lebell ducked the family, even though Helio fought men much bigger than he was for most of his career.

Happy birthday to Mr. Lebell, who was born 79 years ago today and thank you for helping make North American MMA what it is today.