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By UFC 75 in 2007, Filipovic was losing his indestructible aura. Brazilian jiu-jitsu black belt Gabriel Gonzaga had knocked him out months before at UFC 70 by stunning him with his own left high kick.

Filipovic was in desperate need of a win, and the UFC matched him against French kickboxer Cheick Kongo to ensure a stand-up battle from two fighters who likely wouldn’t be looking for the takedown.

Though Kongo is one of the most physically imposing fighters in MMA with a body that could be used as an anatomy chart, he was hesitant to engage at the top of his bout with Filipovic. This is called giving respect to your opponent’s skills, and it had Kongo’s corner screaming at him to not back away. Slowly but surely, though, Kongo began to land powerful body blows that hurt Filipovic.

By the end of the first round, it was clear Kongo now believed what he wasn’t too sure of before the fight started: he belonged in the cage with Filipovic, and he could win. I watched Kongo’s confidence soar as he started to dictate the pace of the second round. Several times during the fight Kongo threw knees that Filipovic reacted to as if he’d been hit in the groin, but I paid close attention to where the shots landed and didn’t stop the action.

In the third round, as Kongo clinched with his opponent, he started throwing knees again, one of which hit Cro Cop low. I called time to allow Filipovic to recover from the low blow. He crouched on the fence.

“It’s not the low blow,” a pained Filipovic answered, looking up at me. “I just can’t do this anymore. John, do you think I am too old for this anymore?”

I covered the microphone on my shirt. This was a vulnerable moment for one of the most feared fighters on the planet, and I’m sure he didn’t realize I was wired for the world to hear him doubting himself.

“You’re not too old. You just need to believe in yourself and go back to what you’re good at. Get yourself right before we restart. Or if you don’t want to restart, I’ll get you out.”

It was nobody’s business what was said between Filipovic and me, but cageside commentator Joe Rogan was sitting close enough to hear some of the conversation and relay what he’d heard. That’s the only reason I would share this now.

Fighters have told me things I’ve never told anyone else. I want fighters to know they can trust me in the cage, and that includes keeping some of our conversations private.

UFC 76

“Knockout”

September 22, 2007

Honda Center

Anaheim, California

Bouts I Reffed:

Jeremy Stephens vs. Diego Saraiva

Lyoto Machida vs. Kazuhiro Nakamura

Keith Jardine vs. Chuck Liddell

When you name your show “Knockout,” you’d better do your best to deliver. Zuffa tried by pairing former UFC light heavyweight champion Chuck Liddell against fellow striker Keith Jardine. If Liddell was known for his unorthodox counterpunching style, Jardine was—times five. Jardine tore up Liddell’s body with beautiful kicks from a variety of angles and took a decision most never predicted. Neither fighter held anything back, and it was an honor to be in the cage with two athletes willing to lay it on the line for both themselves and the fans.

By October, I was having my own private conversations with The Fight Network, a two-year-old Toronto-based cable channel that broadcasted boxing, MMA, and pro wrestling content twenty-four hours a day across Canada. The channel wasn’t available in the United States yet, but it hoped to bridge that gap shortly. What I liked about The Fight Network was that it covered as many combat sports events as it could from the UFC down to the smaller promotions, so this was a way for me to still be a part of the sport. The Fight Network reminded me of ESPN when it had launched years before, and there was something intriguing about getting in on the ground floor.

On November 6, 2007, I verbally agreed to join the company full-time as an on-air analyst and commentator, signaling the end of my fourteen-year career as a referee.

We kept the news under wraps for weeks. I wanted