Let's Get It On!_ The Making of MMA and Its Ultimate Referee - Big John Mccarthy [57]
I was standing next to them. Rorion, dressed this time in a more practical tracksuit, squatted on the other side of the chain link. We both knew either the tapout or Wizard’s unconsciousness was imminent.
As soon as Wizard went limp, I stepped in and he fell back to the canvas.
Two fights in under two minutes. No sweat.
The next fight paired Johnny Rhodes, another karate champion, against David Levicki, a kung fu practitioner and supposed Navy SEAL.
I took one look at all 275 pounds of Levicki and thought, I don’t think so. I’d met a few Navy SEALs, and there was no way a man Levicki’s size would be able to fulfill all those physical demands. Besides, the way Levicki talked about it set off my bullshit meter big-time.
Still, Levicki had Rhodes on the run right away. But when they clinched and fell to the mat, Rhodes landed inside Levicki’s guard, then quickly hopped one of his own legs over Levicki’s right leg into half guard. From there, the fighters pretty much stalemated in terms of punching, though Levicki regained his guard by pulling Rhodes’ body back between his legs. I watched Rhodes try to push his fingers into Levicki’s jugular, which was perfectly legal.
Levicki wasn’t doing much from the bottom except trying to keep Rhodes close. As he hugged him, Levicki’s legs naturally tugged at Rhodes’ gi pants until suddenly we had a full moon rising inside the Octagon.
Son of a bitch, I thought. I didn’t know what to do at first because I wasn’t supposed to interfere with the fight. But the man’s ass was staring me in the face, so I decided to move in and pull them up. I tried to offset this by blurting out, “Get to work,” but Rhodes’ pants just kept sneaking back down his legs. I must have yanked them up at least fifteen times.
Eventually, Rhodes’ hugging, slapping, and sporadic punches opened a cut over Levicki’s eye. The blood began to flow, creating a puddle on the canvas next to him, but there wasn’t much I could do but grab those pants and try to keep UFC 2 from earning an X rating. The blood started to cloud Levicki’s vision, so I asked him if he wanted to continue. Levicki finally tapped out by telling me no, he’d had enough.
At about thirteen minutes, it was the longest UFC fight so far, and I was thinking, Shit, here I’ve been touching a man’s ass on TV. This sucks.
Little did I know a little nudity would be the least of my worries. It was all about to go downhill.
The first round’s fourth fight matched the two greatest names I would ever hear in the UFC: Freek Hamaker and Thaddeus Luster. Hamaker was a student of Gerard Gordeau, the savate champion who’d made it to the UFC 1 finals against Royce. Gordeau had been announced as retired for this event, but I guess he wanted to keep his lineage alive by sending in one of his students.
Hamaker said his main discipline was sambo, which is Russia’s version of wrestling with some effective leg locks and submissions. Luster was introduced as a seventh degree black belt in kung fu san soo, which he calmly explained on the telecast was the most potent fighting system on the planet.
As soon as this match hit the ground, the ponytailed Hamaker moved on top of Luster to half guard. Luster soon figured out that Hamaker’s ponytail made a nice handle for keeping his opponent at an arm’s distance. Hair pulling wasn’t illegal, so I simply paced, waiting like the rest of the audience.
Hamaker kept trying to line up a shoulder lock called the keylock or Americana. I was a Brazilian jiu-jitsu blue belt under Rorion at this point, so I could follow his technique. I was tempted to tell him he was doing it wrong.
Hamaker finally freed his now unruly hair and managed to create enough distance for a few punches. Then he mounted Luster.
Smothered underneath the Dutchman, Luster