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I had already moved in to stop the fight when I saw Liddell go out.

It was the first time Liddell had been whipped in three years, and it snapped the cool California fighter’s seven-fight win streak. Not coincidentally, the last fighter Liddell had lost to had been Jackson himself, who’d brutally taken the UFC fighter out in a 2004 Pride grand prix tournament in Japan.

The day after UFC 71, I received a call from John Hackleman, Liddell’s coach since before his start in MMA, who thanked me for protecting Liddell. He said he’d been climbing up on the apron to stop the fight when I’d done it. That was a phone call I very much appreciated.

For UFC 72 “Victory,” we traveled to Belfast, Northern Ireland, for the first time. Elaine came with me, as always, but this time there was no question about my plane ticket. I did what Dana had suggested and upgraded myself to business class for the trip. It hurt paying $1,000 for the upgrade, but in the air it was worth every penny.

My hectic schedule continued till something had to give. I’d given up coaching the local high school football team to referee more shows and open the gym. But each time I would add something to my life, something would have to fall to the wayside.

Elaine had wanted me to quit the police department for quite a while. I’d turned down a lot of opportunities in MMA already because I didn’t have the time. More opportunities for TV and movie appearances cropped up, and though I didn’t seek them out, I certainly didn’t mind the extra money to support my family.

The UFC had about thirty events a year now, and I’d eaten up all my personal and vacation time. Elaine reasoned that the sport had grown immensely in the last couple years, and between the gym, appearances, and requests from commissions for me to teach their officials, I could now make a living off of MMA. I know Elaine was also worried about the pace I was keeping; no one could keep it up forever.

My tolerance for some aspects of the LAPD and its politics had long been gone, but I’d always looked at the job as our safety net. If everything else went to hell, I’d still have a steady paycheck and medical insurance from the department. I also loved teaching new recruits, but the job was taking up about 70 percent of my life.

I wrestled with this decision for a while and eventually came to the decision that it was time to take another step in my life. Now, after twenty-two years of service, I’d say good-bye to the LAPD.

UFC 73

“Stacked”

July 7, 2007

Arco Arena

Sacramento, California

Bouts I Reffed:

Sean Sherk vs. Hermes Franca

Rashad Evans vs. Tito Ortiz

Anderson Silva vs. Nate Marquardt

I took a point away from Ortiz in the second round for repeatedly holding the fence to avoid getting taken down by Evans. I had to be careful where to stop the action and waited for Evans to complete a takedown as to not rob him of the advantage he’d earned. It wasn’t your normally accepted fashion for point deductions but the fairest in that situation. By the end, Ortiz was only surviving to finish the fight, which ended in a draw.

At the postfight presser, Evans said to Ortiz, “You broke. You know you broke, and I know you broke.”

I never said anything to anyone, but I’d seen the same thing.

Ortiz fired back with his own gem when asked about the point deduction, an honest and true answer I never forgot: “Look, if you ain’t cheatin’, you ain’t trying.”

Touché, Tito, touché.

At the same time, I was falling under immense scrutiny in the fight community. I’d been working with athletic commissions since UFC 15, but I’d always felt like I was a part of the UFC and was obligated to them. In the sport’s early years, it hadn’t been a problem because there hadn’t been many promotions outside of the UFC to referee anyway. When Zuffa had taken over, they’d always given me the schedule months ahead so I could juggle my paid time off or vacations days.

When athletic commissions had begun to call to assign me to other promotions outside the UFC, sometimes on