Death Clutch - Brock Lesnar [55]
It was a perfect scenario for Dana and the UFC. Either I was going to defeat a former Heavyweight Champion, and launch my own career from the top, or Frank was going to kick my ass and show the world that WWE guys have no business stepping into the Octagon.
When I got home I watched some tapes of Frank’s past fights. He had good technical skills, and he was very capable, but I saw a guy who wasn’t in my league.
Whether was or wasn’t really didn’t matter to me. I was getting one chance in the UFC, and I planned to rip out whatever heart Mir had and feed it right back to him. I was going to make a statement. And I was going to make a lot of money doing it.
The fight was set for UFC 81 on February 2, 2008, at the Mandalay Bay Events Center in Las Vegas. Super Bowl weekend.
The UFC promoted the fight with everything they had. You couldn’t walk down the street without seeing my face on a billboard or poster. I was all over the TV, radio, and the Internet. If you didn’t know I was fighting that weekend, you just weren’t paying attention.
It was a smart move on their part. A good investment. The UFC made money on me that day, and I think it’s a safe bet to say they have continued to make money on me ever since.
But everyone knows what happened.
There’s a saying about how sooner or later everyone loses in the UFC. I lost sooner.
I took Frank down right away, and was pounding him. The crowd was going crazy. The noise was deafening, and I couldn’t hear the referee when he pulled me off Frank. For a minute, I thought the fight had been stopped and that I had won. But my hand wasn’t getting raised; instead I was being led to my corner, and Frank was being given a moment to shake the cobwebs from his scrambled brain.
Referee Steve Mazzagatti said that I had illegally hit Frank in the back of the head when he was down. That was Mazzagatti’s reason for standing us up. Frank was given some time to recover, but I immediately took him down again, and resumed beating his ass.
I had the fight won, but then I made a stupid rookie mistake. I was in too much of a hurry to finish the fight, and I stepped into Frank’s legs when he was on the ground. I was trying to get a better position, where I could just crack him in the face and knock him out, but I fell right into the same trap I had been trained not to fall for. We must have practiced that scenario about a thousand times in training. I left myself open, and Frankie Boy rolled me right into the knee bar. I had no choice. Tap out, or let him break my leg. I tapped, and I have no one to blame but myself.
I know I handed Frank that victory. I gave it to him. He didn’t deserve to win. He’s not a better fighter than I am. On his best day, he’s not half the athlete I am on my worst. I gave him my leg on a silver platter, just handed him that submission. That was my loss, not Frank’s win. I screwed up.
I was a very lucky man that night, because I impressed enough people, especially Dana White, that I got to keep my job in the UFC. I think I’m the only guy in the history of the company that came in with no experience, got beat in ninety seconds, and was declared a hot prospect when it was over.
Still, that loss to Frank Mir chapped my ass real good.
I came from piss-poor South Dakota, and worked my way to become an NCAA Champion, and then Undisputed WWE champion. I could have played professional football if I wanted to spend a year in Europe to learn the game. When I’m almost thirty, I go into the mixed martial arts game, get a shot in the UFC, beat Frank’s ass for a minute and a half, only to hand him a victory?
Just thinking about it now gets me pissed off all over again. I absolutely knew in my heart, my mind, and my soul that I am a better fighter than Frank Mir. Losing to Frank was one of the worst moments