Let's Get It On!_ The Making of MMA and Its Ultimate Referee - Big John Mccarthy [127]
What makes it all rewarding is the relationships I’ve gained. I don’t know if it’s because the rest of the world has always seemed to be against it, but mixed martial arts has always felt like a family to me. I see the managers, agents, cornermen, cutmen, and fighters at show after show and know we all share a common bond.
I cherish my friendships with people like Monte Cox, still the most understatedly powerful manager and one of the funniest SOBs in the business. I met Cox around UFC 13, when he asked me for an autograph for his son. Cox would go on to manage three UFC champions simultaneously and oversee the careers of some of the most famous fighters from Pat Miletich’s camp, like Matt Hughes and Jens Pulver. I enjoyed talking with Cox about the fighters and potential matchups over our meals at the shows. I didn’t always agree with him, but he has a great knack for telling his funny fighter stories. Cox would do just about anything for his fighters. He’s even let some of them live with him and his family while they’ve gotten their starts.
Cutmen like Leon Tabbs and Jacob “Stitch” Duran, fight coordinator Burt Watson, Nevada State Athletic Commission Representative Colleen Murphy, and others are the real people of the sport, the ones who go above and beyond behind the scenes to make it as great as it is. And then, of course, there are the fighters.
I don’t have a favorite fighter. I like them all. I’m not saying that to be impartial. They’re all different, but they all have the balls to step up and do what others are afraid to. What most people don’t understand is the fear involved with going out there. It’s not so much a fear of the fight but of failure. You’re putting yourself out there for everyone to judge you.
When you’re an NFL player and you go out on the field with the rest of your team, you can hide. There’s a chance you’ll be exposed in that play you don’t get right, but most of the game, you’re shielded among the rest of your team.
In fighting, there’s no hiding. All eyes are on you and your opponent. When you’re out there in the cage, with the lights blaring and the crowd cheering and camera bulbs flashing, it’s incredibly stressful. Fighters are surrounded by all these people—trainers, family members, teammates, cornermen, and fans—expecting so much and judging their skill based on this one fight. “You’re only as good as your last fight,” as the popular saying goes.
It’s how fighters handle the pressure that gives me so much respect for them. It also tells me a lot about who they are. I get to see a lot of this firsthand backstage. Some fighters are laughing and joking as if they’ve almost forgotten they’re about to go out in front of thousands to show what they’ve got. Then there are the ones throwing up, not communicating, or standing still while their minds are going a thousand miles an hour. If I could bet on the sport, I’d be a rich man. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve left the locker rooms knowing exactly which fighter would win.
Not a lot of people can climb into the cage and lay it all on the line. That’s what makes fighters special. They can.
Maybe because of their hazardous choice of occupation, fighters often have great senses of humor. A lot of them are pranksters, which is something I can appreciate, of course. I’ve had some funny moments with fighters over the years, but I think Scott Smith, a middleweight from California who’s fought for both the UFC and Strikeforce, got me the best.
I was making my usual rounds backstage one night when Smith told me he had a problem. I don’t remember if he was fighting or cornering a teammate that night, but he looked concerned, and my natural response was to help him if I could.
“I think I have a hernia,” Smith told me, “but I don’t want to show the doctors.”
With an entire roomful of cornermen standing around, Smith walked me to the side for a little privacy. There, he pulled out the waistline of his