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By the look on his face, I could tell Royce was ready but nervous, which was understandable, but I wasn’t nervous at all. I truly believed in his ability.

Jimmerson, the boxer, entered next, seeming anxious and not at all comfortable with his new surroundings. I immediately realized the quick demo I’d given him a couple days earlier had made a greater impression than I’d thought. On his left hand, Jimmerson wore a red boxing glove. I guess he counted on pounding on Royce while his free hand held him down. In reality, the single glove would be a hindrance.

As soon as Royce took Jimmerson down by grabbing his legs exactly the way I’d done in the ballroom, Royce passed over the boxer’s legs and sat on his chest, which is called taking mount position. The audience didn’t know it, but Royce had achieved in a few seconds what’s considered one of the most dominant positions in MMA today.

Jimmerson’s gloved hand wasn’t able to grab a solid hold of Royce’s body, which was now horizontal to his own, and I think he panicked as Royce began to successfully pry him off. Without a single hold or choke applied to him, Jimmerson tapped out and yelled, “Get off me.” The fight was over in two minutes, eighteen seconds.

Rorion said in an interview directly afterward that he wished the boxer had put up more of a fight. “Royce didn’t get a chance to do much,” he said. He was probably lamenting over the $20,000 he’d just watched fly out the window. Then he threw me a look as if to say, “What the hell was that?”

I shrugged but knew my ballroom tutorial with Jimmerson had probably bungled the whole thing up.

As we moved to the last quarterfinal bout, I have to admit my interest was piqued. I knew Ken Shamrock had grappling experience because of his fights in the Pancrase organization. In fact, Ken had won his third fight and left Japan for Denver just four days earlier, bringing with him Pancrase regular Takaku Fuke to work his corner. Hands down, Ken had the most confident look and swagger of any fighter I’ve ever seen enter the cage. He gave off this aura that he meant business.

Ken’s opponent, Patrick Smith, was a local tae kwon do fighter and kickboxer whom Art had scouted at a Sabaki Challenge when he’d visited Denver to select the venue. Smith had a large entourage, and when I’d passed them backstage in the tunnel, I’d heard them screaming, “We’re gonna kill you,” to Ken to psych Smith up.

Ken had been standing a few feet in front of them, getting hot. He turned around to Smith and said something like, “I’ll see you in a minute.”

Smith’s record was listed as 250—0, which I’m sure raised a few eyebrows besides mine. I didn’t want to miss this fight.

Ken’s discipline was listed as shootfighting, which incorporates a multitude of martial arts to allow a fighter to kick, punch, wrestle, and grapple. Of all the participants at UFC 1, Ken was probably the closest example of a true mixed martial artist.

I wasn’t surprised when Ken quickly engaged Smith in a clinch and took him down, then settled into Smith’s guard, moving his body between his opponent’s legs. From there, Ken tried to create some space to either punch or find a submission. After a few seconds, Ken grabbed Smith’s leg and lay back with the appendage, torquing the heel with his arms. The move, called a heelhook, places a great amount of pressure on the opponent’s knee and can also affect the ankle.

Smith didn’t know what was happening to him or how to defend the hold. He kicked at Ken and landed a pretty good blow to his eye with his free leg. He even tried a few downward elbows to Ken’s shin, but the pain washed over him too quickly and Smith tapped out.

After he was able to recover to his feet, Smith suggested, “Let’s fight like real men.”

Both sides’ cornermen had to tangle themselves between the two hotheaded fighters.

The crowd, not understanding what they were watching, started chanting, “Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit . . .”

Though he was urging Ken to continue, Smith had already tapped out and the fight was over.