Let's Get It On!_ The Making of MMA and Its Ultimate Referee - Big John Mccarthy [141]
For instance, I’d handled the fighters’ gloves for just about every UFC event for the last fourteen years. In my hotel room, I would gently knead each pair myself before rolling them up so they’d keep their stretch, and then I’d bring them to the weigh-ins.
Once there, I’d sit at a table backstage, and each fighter would try them on until he found the right size to mold to his hands. Then, I’d have him initial a roll sheet with his size listed next to his name so I knew which size to bring the next time he fought.
I’d repeated this ritual since UFC 15, which was when gloves had become mandatory, until one of the commissions had decided they’d handle the responsibility themselves. Shortly after that, the Nevada State Athletic Commission asked the referees and judges not to attend the weigh-ins so we wouldn’t form a biased opinion of the fighters prior to their bouts.
These had been smaller changes I’d learned to live with. But what really bothered me, which would get me into hot water later, was the trend of some commissions assigning more and more inexperienced referees and judges. Boxing officials who’d previously shunned MMA saw all the buzz surrounding it and suddenly wanted in on the party, but the majority of them couldn’t tell an armbar from a heelhook. How can you know when to restand two fighters locked on the ground or evaluate their progress when you don’t really know what you’re watching? I was seeing fighters working hard to move to dominant positions, setting up submissions, only to be stopped and stood by referees who had no idea one of the fighters could be on the verge of ending the fight.
This wasn’t a case of ego for me; I’d always known more referees would enter the sport. But if you’re a race car driver, would you rather be in the pits or on the track, especially when you can get the car around without crashing it?
Since UFC 15, I’d handed out the fighters’ gloves and kept track of their sizes.
Change is inevitable, but that doesn’t necessarily mean you enjoy it, especially when you feel you’re being pushed away from what you love. The last time I’d left the Zuffa offices in Las Vegas, as I’d walked out, I’d looked around at the army of employees bustling about preparing for a handful of upcoming events, and I hadn’t recognized any of them. I think it was in that moment that I felt I wasn’t really a part of the UFC anymore.
I tried to bury these ominous thoughts and concentrate on what I could control: my own performance in the cage.
At UFC 71 “Liddell vs. Jackson” on May 26, 2007, at the MGM Grand Garden Arena in Las Vegas, it was my backstage routine that made the difference. That night, as always, I went over the basics with each fighter I’d be refereeing, and it was a good thing I did. Among the points, I said, “If you’re caught in a submission and scream out in pain, it’s the same as a tap, and the fight will be stopped.”
In his lightweight bout against Din Thomas, newcomer Jeremy Stephens was doing well until he got caught in a deep armbar submission. He tried working his way out and finally screamed as Thomas hyperextended his elbow joint.
I immediately stopped the fight, and the first words out of Stephens’ mouth were “I did not tap.”
When I reminded him of what we’d covered backstage, he deflated like a balloon.
I also officiated the headlining championship rematch between Chuck Liddell and Quinton “Rampage” Jackson that night, which had had one hell of a buildup for a bout that wouldn’t leave the first round. Liddell came in with a left hook to the body but left Jackson an opening to land a counter-right hook flush on his chin. The punch dropped Liddell, and Jackson went in for the kill, hitting the champion unconscious with one punch and back into consciousness