Let's Get It On!_ The Making of MMA and Its Ultimate Referee - Big John Mccarthy [46]
When Elaine told me how assured Tina was during their phone calls, I took note, but I was far from convinced that Ken Shamrock would be the one to take it.
The week of the event, Elaine and I flew out to stay at the Executive Tower Inn in downtown Denver, Colorado, which was about six miles from the arena. Elaine spent most of the week prepping with the other staff members in one of the meeting rooms. Meanwhile, I joined Royce’s group, which included his brothers Royler, Relson, Rickson, and Rolker, as well as Fabio Santos, who worked at the Torrance academy, training at a local gym reserved for the fighters.
When I wasn’t with Royce, I was helping Rorion. There wasn’t really a promotional model to follow for this type of show, so we were all just winging it, which meant there were tons of last-minute snafus to fix. When Rorion needed a certain fighter somewhere, I’d go retrieve the guy. People had to be picked up at the airport, and some would want to be taxied from the hotel to the local gym and back.
Behind the scenes, Rorion was dealing with much more than mounting his first UFC event. On more than one occasion, Rorion called me to his hotel room to discuss his issues with his family. The UFC was a reunion of sorts for many members of the Gracie family, some of whom had flown in from Brazil. A few of Rorion’s relatives weren’t pleased with the way he’d trademarked the Gracie Jiu-Jitsu name in the United States and felt he was trying to monopolize jiu-jitsu here. Rorion had even legally stipulated that his brother Rickson add his first name to his own academy so it wouldn’t be confused with Rorion’s.
Rorion told me he’d been physically threatened by one older family member, and he asked if I thought he should hire security or if I could get him a gun. I’d thought Rorion had all the answers, but in the end he wanted what I had. There’s nothing better for self-defense than a gun. I didn’t fulfill his request, of course.
The night of the show, a few of Rorion’s friends stood within earshot of him, just in case a confrontation erupted outside the cage. It was the first time I saw these little cracks that are present in all families, whether they’re a martial arts dynasty or not.
When I wasn’t with Rorion, I had the opportunity to meet the other competitors, some of whom had larger-than-life personalities. Kevin Rosier, a lively New Yorker and former ISKA kickboxing champion, showed up at the hotel an unfit-looking 300 pounds or so, but he was funny as hell.
Kevin talked more about how much he could eat than anything else. “How many large pizzas have you eaten at one time?” He surveyed the people at the table at the hotel restaurant. “I’ve eaten four at once by myself in one sitting.”
You could tell he was proud of it.
Naturally, we’d also talked about what was to come. Jimmerson, the boxer from St. Louis, Missouri, told me he doubted Royce would be able to get by his vaunted left jab. “How’s he going to deal with that?” Jimmerson flicked out his fist a few times.
I asked him a simple question. “How many times per round have you ended up clinching with an opponent?”
Jimmerson looked confused and said, “I really don’t know.”
“Well, if clinching happens in boxing all the time and it’s not a legal part of the sport, how are you going to keep it from happening when it is legal?” I asked him to indulge me and took him to a back part of the ballroom, where I proceeded to grab his two legs and take him down in just a couple seconds.
Jimmerson looked up at me and said, “Oh my God, he’s going to break my arms and legs, isn’t he?”
“If you get in trouble, all you have to do is tap out. That’s always an option.”
Jimmerson knew he’d be facing Royce in the tournament’s first round because Rorion and Art had predetermined that matchup. They knew a win for Royce would be especially symbolic to a United States