Hella Nation - Evan Wright [97]
The truth was Tito was drifting, working odd jobs, sometimes partying, sometimes excelling, but not quite reaching his full potential as an athlete or as a student. It wasn’t until Tito was introduced to the UFC that he found a focus, or what he refers to as his “calling.” This happened when he met a colorful Huntington Beach native named Dave “Tank” Abbot while working out at a community college gym.
Abbot was a 275-pound former college wrestler who had become a star in the UFC. Screenwriter John Milius describes Abbot, who could bench-press 625 pounds, as “truly a monster of a man.” Abbot had one real passion. “I loved beating the shit out of people,” he says. Before entering the UFC, Abbot served six months for assault with a “deadly weapon”—the sidewalk he used to beat his victim’s head against. In the UFC Abbot became one of the most popular fighters, despite the fact that he was often beaten by smaller, more skillful opponents.
Tito joined Abbot’s “Team Tank,” becoming his training partner much the same way aspiring young fighters now work with him on Team Punishment. Even though Tito lost his first UFC fight, he was hooked. A chance encounter with a local Bakersfield nightclub promoter named Sal Garcia was to drastically change Tito’s approach to becoming a star in the UFC.
They met while attending a wet T-shirt contest at a popular Bakersfield nightspot called the Rockin’ Rodeo. Garcia, a huge fan of the UFC, recognized Tito from across the room. Even though Garcia had seen Tito’s one losing fight, he signed a contract to become Tito’s manager. For Garcia, who had organized the wet T-shirt contest, the chance to manage a losing fighter in a dead-end sport was probably a step up. “I saw his potential,” says Garcia. “But it was different than he saw it. I told Tito, ‘So what if you can fight? What matters is bleaching your hair, wearing crazy shorts, adding stuff that will make people remember you.’”
When Tito wasn’t training at the storefront no-holds-barred fighting gyms that had sprouted up in Southern California, he and his new manager Garcia spent long afternoons devising routines for Tito’s UFC show. Garcia videotaped Tito practicing flamboyant, WWF-style victory dances. They worked on Tito’s costume, coming up with the perfect blend of black shorts, orange flames and blond hair. “I hammered it home to Tito,” says Garcia. “Having a strong image is more important than winning or losing.”
THE AUDIENCE at the Mandalay Bay Arena is predominantly young, male and white. Some have the telltale ramrod posture and severe bowl-cut hair-styles of active military personnel—cross-pollination between the military and no-holds-barred fighting is common, with fighters like Erik Paulson moonlighting as civilian trainers for the Navy SEALs and Marines. Many in the crowd have the shaved heads, tattoos and chin beards common among Tito’s entourage. Quite a few have Mohawks. Unlike the stiff, brushlike Mohawks favored in the punk community, here they are grown out and relaxed with greasy pomade, so they look almost like pieces of roadkill draped over their wearers’ heads. Eccentricities of style in this group seem less a matter of whimsical self-expression than tokens of defiance they dare you to look at. The profusion of guys with flattened, Z-shaped noses and holes where their front teeth should be is proof how much this crowd likes a good fight.
Their happiest moment before Tito’s arrival comes during a middle-weight bout between Dave Menne and Gil Castillo, whose fight turns to a bloodbath in a dramatic third round. It is textbook no-holds-barred fighting. Castillo and Menne start the round boxing. Menne batters Castillo’s face, opening wounds. Castillo throws Menne onto the mat. Now Castillo is on top, beating Menne’s face. Meanwhile, Menne executes a sneaky jujitsu move and traps Castillo in a choke hold called a “guillotine.” Castillo struggles helplessly, blood from eye wounds streaming down his face. With each gasp Castillo’s eyeballs roll farther back in bloody eye sockets. His arms flop helplessly.