Let's Get It On!_ The Making of MMA and Its Ultimate Referee - Big John Mccarthy [60]
Again I was pointing and screaming to Morris’ corner to throw in the towel for their fighter, who had essentially been punched unconscious. The cornerman looked at me, turned his back, and threw the towel into the audience.
Smith stopped only because he thought my yelling was directed at him. He jumped off Morris, ranted, and paced around the Octagon. I quickly moved Smith away from Morris just in case he got any ideas to resume his destruction.
The fight lasted thirty seconds from start to finish, and in that half a minute I realized this system wouldn’t work. Given the power, corners weren’t coming through when their fighters really needed them most.
Already UFC 2 was unfolding much differently than its predecessor, and I didn’t like what I was seeing. My view from the cage kept getting worse.
The next quarterfinal bout would become one of the most infamous of all the early fights because it included the show’s second alternate, Fred Ettish. A kenpo karate expert from Minnesota, Ettish had flown to Denver for the tournament with no guarantee that he’d get to fight. When Ken Shamrock had withdrawn with a broken hand, the first alternate had been moved into the tournament. When Freek Hamaker couldn’t continue with a hand injury, Ettish was called up.
Fred was like me. He believed in what the UFC stood for and wanted to support it any way he could. With twice as many fights to deal with that night, SEG and WOW were short-staffed and disorganized backstage, so they’d asked if Ettish would lend some manpower.
Fred was ferrying the fighters from the hotel to the staging area when Rorion found him to say he’d be going on. Ettish had less than ten minutes to find his cornermen in the audience and wrangle them backstage, change into his gi, and warm up.
Ettish patty-caked early kicks with Johnny Rhodes, who’d battered his first opponent for nearly twelve minutes earlier that night. The 210-pound Rhodes swiftly stumbled Ettish with a counter right hand, then pushed him to his back with a few follow-up shots.
I knew right away that Ettish wouldn’t be able to win.
Ettish tried to fend off Rhodes from his back by flailing his legs, but the next punch opened Ettish’s forehead and sent him onto his stomach. He covered up, but Rhodes pummeled him with fists and knees. Propped on his left elbow, Ettish stretched his right arm to keep tabs on his standing stalker, shaking his head to get some of the blood out of his eyes.
All I wanted to do was get Ettish out of there.
Rhodes didn’t have a lick of ground fighting knowledge, but he finally climbed on top of Ettish to find a way to finish the bout. Rhodes grabbed Ettish’s neck with his right arm for an improvised choke and squeezed it with his bicep.
I followed Ettish’s body as it flopped around the mat like a helpless fish pulled from the water. Then I saw the tap and jumped in.
A dazed and bloodied Ettish managed to blurt out, “I didn’t tap.”
Crouched beside Ettish, with his white gi and black belt stained with blood, I said, “Okay.” What else could I say? I knew I’d seen him tap. I guess he didn’t remember it because he was going out from the choke.
His battle had just begun. Over the years, no other UFC fighter has been as ridiculed as Ettish. Fans denigrated him, called his style fetal fighting, and launched websites to crucify a man for those immortal three minutes and seven seconds. All because he had enough courage to go in there, do the best he could with what he knew at the time, and show an immense amount of heart. Since that day, I’ve had nothing but respect for Fred Ettish.
In the other pair of quarterfinal bouts, grappler Remco Pardoel knocked out Orlando Weit with elbows on the ground, and Royce armbarred Jason DeLucia. Both were over in under two minutes, but I performed poorly in the latter one.
During Royce and DeLucia’s fight, I stood on the wrong side and missed the whole setup to Royce’s armbar submission and the inevitable tapout. I think I’d overestimated what DeLucia