Let's Get It On!_ The Making of MMA and Its Ultimate Referee - Big John Mccarthy [61]
Afterward, I told DeLucia, “I’m sorry I didn’t get to you fast enough.”
“Well, I was tapping,” he answered, slightly perturbed. DeLucia received no lasting damage to his arm, but there’s a famous picture of the armbar, Royce’s tense body stacked and extended into the air with teeth clinched, that captures my mistake plain as day.
Needless to say, I learned that my own positioning was as important as the fighters’ and I wouldn’t be able to see everything from any one vantage point. I’d have to keep moving.
In the semifinals, Patrick Smith submitted Johnny Rhodes with a standing guillotine choke. I’m glad Rhodes had been paying attention at the rules meeting when I’d told the fighters they could tap out with their feet if they had to. Rhodes did just that at the forty-five-second mark.
As expected, Royce submitted Pardoel in the second semifinal match, which advanced him again to the finals to meet Smith. The much larger Pardoel put up a struggle when Royce tried to take him down, but the Dutch fighter was open season once Royce got him to the canvas. Mounting Pardoel’s back and getting his hooks in, or wrapping his heels around the Dutchman’s legs so he wouldn’t slip off, Royce used Pardoel’s own gi under his chin to submit him with a lapel choke.
After the bout when I presented the winner, Pardoel tried to raise his hand, but I pushed it down. I guess he was used to winning.
The fifteenth and final bout of the night was upon us with Royce meeting the strong, aggressive kickboxer Patrick Smith. We called this the classic striker versus grappler match. Again, I had no worries for Royce, and apparently he didn’t either.
“If you put the devil on the other side, I’m going to walk into the fight,” Royce told the cameras before the bout.
Smith, the local Denver favorite, was far from the devil. He didn’t even connect with a kick before Royce had him in his arms to initiate the takedown. Once he got it, Royce mounted Smith’s chest in seconds and threw six short, bare-knuckled punches straight at Smith’s face. Smith looked like he was on the verge of tapping out, but his corner threw in the towel as I intervened. Seventy-seven seconds had passed.
I was surprised Smith had tapped so fast because he’d built up some steam during the show. Smith’s UFC 1 introduction video kept running through my head. Pedaling on a stationary bike with his short dreadlocks swaying back and forth, Smith said, “Hi, my name is Patrick Smith. I’m impervious to pain. I don’t feel pain.”
In an ironic display of respect, Royce and Smith embraced and exchanged words.
“You’re a tough man,” Royce said.
“You’re the best,” Smith replied.
Again, Royce was hoisted onto the shoulders of his ecstatic family, Rorion and Helio included, as he held an oversized show check of $60,000 over his head for the world to see. The memo line said, “For: Being the Best!”
Nobody was there to tell me, but I was aware I couldn’t congratulate Royce or celebrate with the rest of the team right then. I had to remain impartial.
Afterward, I met up with Elaine, and we went to the after party in a small ballroom inside the hotel.
“Mr. McCarthy, you’re fantastic,” Bob Meyrowitz said, handing me an envelope.
“There’s something extra in there for you.”
I’d been told I’d be paid $500, but they’d added an extra $250. They must have been happy with what I’d done.
I wasn’t sure I was, though. I believed in the UFC’s goal—to find the best fighting style—but I wasn’t thrilled about the methods used or the role I’d played to get us there.
Keith Hackney, Kimo Leopoldo, Harold Howard, Roland Payne, and Royce meet the press at UFC 3 (September 1994)
Royce’s future wife, Marianne, placing names on the board after the fighters are paired by number with the bingo machine for UFC 3 (September 1994)
I was mic’d at every UFC event and hated it.
THIS