Kakutogi Road: The Complete History of MMA Volume 84 "Paradigm Shift" (Total History of UFC-1)

[Mbetz1981]

Kakutogi Road: The Complete History of MMA Volume 84 "Paradigm Shift"
“There are decades where nothing happens, and there are weeks where decades happen.” – Vladimir Lenin. (And in the world of combat sports, few weeks have packed more decades' worth of change than those leading up to November 12, 1993.)

MB (Michael Betz): Every generation feels a shift—an invisible ripple in the air that begins as a murmur before swelling into an unstoppable current. These shifts arrive without warning, as arbitrary as the wind, yet their impact reshapes history. For years, we at Kakutogi Road have been tracing these undercurrents—the quiet revolution that began within the rings of Japanese pro wrestling, where the foundation of modern MMA was first laid. But Japan’s evolution, though groundbreaking, was insular. It unfolded within the puroresu ecosystem, seen only by diehard fans willing to sift through grainy tapes or scan the pages of obscure fight magazines.

America’s awakening would be different. It would be loud, brutal, and televised.

For anyone under 35, it's almost impossible to comprehend how shrouded in mystery the martial arts world was in 1993. This was a time before YouTube breakdowns or leaked sparring footage—when the average person’s understanding of a "real fight" was shaped by action movies, pro wrestling, and martial arts magazines. Sure, boxing and wrestling existed, but they felt like isolated islands in a sea of speculation. The notion of what actually worked in a fight seemed like an esoteric secret, guarded by those who knew, and unreachable to the rest of us.

ML (Mike Lorefice): It was a time when the debate of pro wrestling being worked was finally coming to an end after only 7 decades, when boxing still reigned supreme because it was the only high profile combat sport. Most notions of fighting were still based upon flashy movie action scenes, where it took decades to evolve from untrained actors such as James Cagney or John Wayne knocking people out with one improperly thrown, incredibly telegraphed punch to real martial artists such as Bruce Lee and Chuck Norris utilizing an endless array of spinning and flying kicks to take out gangs of henchman singlehandedly because the stuff they actually did in karate tournaments wasn't deemed to be marketable enough to sell movies tickets. The ninja craze of the 1980s hadn't yielded much to elevate the credibility of fighting either, instead conjuring silly debates about Chinese throwing stars being more effective than bullets because stars couldn't be caught in your teeth. Frank Shamrock probably captured the collective martial arts knowledge of the public best when he mentioned, "I'd watched Chuck Norris (movies), and that was it."

MB: We knew the truth was out there—but how could we get to it?

Yet, cracks were beginning to form in the matrix.

Films like Bloodsport (1989) and the explosive popularity of Street Fighter II (1991) had ignited something. They stirred imaginations and fueled debates that rang out across playgrounds, gyms, and military barracks. The questions were universal:
"Could a wrestler beat a boxer?"
"Was karate really as deadly as the movies made it seem?"
"Was devoting your life to kung fu wisdom, or folly?"

These weren’t just idle questions. For many of us, they mattered. They gnawed at something primal. We didn’t want theory—we wanted proof.

And in November of 1993, thanks to a relentless visionary named Art Davie, the world would finally get its answer.

Art Davie alongside Rorion Gracie


Davie was born in Brooklyn on April 6, 1947. He was the driving force behind what would become the Ultimate Fighting Championship—an event initially pitched under the grandiose title War of the Worlds. An amateur boxer in his youth, Davie’s journey toward this moment began in 1965, when he was humbled by a wrestler during a friendly sparring session. They were of similar size, but that didn’t matter. The wrestler put him on his back and rendered him helpless. No punches, no counters—just the suffocating truth of physical dominance.

That encounter lodged itself deep in Davie’s psyche. Years later, while serving in the Marine Corps, the same questions resurfaced during endless barracks debates about fighting styles. These weren’t casual conversations. They were theoretical wars, waged over beers, boredom, and bravado.

But for Davie, this was never just talk.

After leaving the military, he built a career in advertising—becoming a sharp, audacious copywriter known for bold campaigns that demanded attention. Yet his fascination with combat never waned. He watched the bizarre spectacle of Muhammad Ali vs. Antonio Inoki, the stunt fights of Chuck Wepner, and the grappling feats of Gene LeBell. These mismatches were messy and awkward, but they hinted at something profound:

Style vs. Style.

There was a spectacle here—and a truth—waiting to be uncovered.

He began pitching his idea: A no-holds-barred tournament—real fighters, real styles, one night, one winner. But every meeting ended the same way. Ad executives smirked, executives balked. Too brutal. Too risky. Too far-fetched.

What Davie needed was a spark.

He found it in Rorion Gracie.

Davie first heard the name in 1989, reading a Playboy interview that introduced the Gracie family’s Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu to the wider world. The Gracies claimed their style was superior to all others, and they had the underground “Gracie Challenge” fights to prove it. Davie was hooked. He sought out Rorion Gracie, trained with him, and pitched his vision: Let’s settle this once and for all—on Pay-Per-View.

But Rorion didn’t bite.

To him, Davie was just another fast-talking hustler with a dream and no credentials to back it up. Gracie had heard it all before. He had no reason to believe this would be any different.

But Davie was persistent.

He noticed that Rorion’s Gracies in Action tapes—showing jiu-jitsu dismantling other martial arts—were popular but confined to a niche audience. Davie made an offer: Let me handle your marketing. He crafted an ad campaign, and the sales exploded, generating $150,000 in profit.

Suddenly, he had Rorion’s attention.

With John Milius—the Hollywood screenwriter and director best known for Conan the Barbarian and Red Dawn—joining as an ally, the dream began to solidify. Davie created an LLC in Colorado, exploiting a legal gray area that allowed for no-holds-barred fighting. He then secured a deal with Semaphore Entertainment Group (SEG), a Pay-Per-View company willing to gamble on blood and chaos.

ML: Colorado was chosen due to the lack of an athletic commission, but the altitude made it arguably the least desirable location for the fighters to compete in a tournament, especially one that was short notice for most of them, that they didn't know whether would actually happen, or if it would really be real fighting.

MB: The budget was $750,000. The stakes were far higher.

Now, Davie needed fighters. He scoured dojos and gyms, hunting for men who could represent their styles with legitimacy. He needed karate masters, boxers, wrestlers—representatives of the martial arts world as it had existed in myth.

Every selection had to pass through Rorion, though he was largely indifferent—unless the fighter was a grappler. Those were the threats. Those were the men who might ruin the Gracie coronation.

Because make no mistake—Rorion wasn’t seeking competition. He was seeking confirmation.

ML: Davie had admirable goals of proving theories and exposing years of stylistic propaganda. He did his best to give fighters a venue to prove themselves, the problem was he needed Rorion to make it happen, and to Rorion, it was all a Gracie Jiu Jitsu infomercial. Rorion liked how much more money he was making from video tape sales, and with this well calculated tournament designed to crown his style of fighting as the one true combat necessity, students and instructional sales were poised to go through the roof. He wasn't going to make the mistake his father Helio did, seeing his style defeated by judoka Masahiko Kimura. Though Davie initially pursued then 2 time Greco-Roman champion Aleksandr Karelin, who he had no chance of affording, he was quickly informed by Rorion that wrestlers weren't allowed. That meant no offers to Mark Coleman, Mark Kerr, Kevin Jackson, Dan Severn, Dan Henderson, Randy Couture, Mike Van Arsdale, Dennis Koslowski, etc. While BJJ was designed to still work off your back, crucial to the Gracie's success over the course of 3 fights was getting on top of his opponent, and Royce seemingly only had one double leg takedown that he dropped down into off of his annoying side kick. If that failed, he hoped to maintain the clinch until he could trip the opponent up. Do you think this simplistic grappling sequence would have worked against Coleman or Kerr, especially after they'd seen it earlier in the night, or that they weren't taking him down and bashing his skull in??? Rorion certainly wasn't confident. Still, in typical Gracie fashion, they weren't honest about it either. Zane Frazier found the casting to be dubious, and questioned Rorion about it the day before the show. “We were going to compete in Colorado, right near the Olympic Training Center in Colorado Springs, and there were no wrestlers involved? I remember at the fighter meeting before the event, Rorion told me all the wrestlers declined to fight.”

Davie wasn't encouraged to pursue anyone trained by any of the other Gracie's either, so Carlos' students such as Mario Sperry weren't considered, nor were Gracie rivals such as the Machado Brothers or Luta Livre expert Marco Ruas. This may have been presented to Davie under the guise of Royce being the Jiu Jitsu representative. This was very much an invitational, with the invitations designed to prove one very specific point. Davie's final field of fighters somehow included an American sumo wrestler, the existence of which one can seemingly count on fingers, but only high school wrestler whose career ended due to breaking his neck turned Pancrase shootfighter 2 months earlier, Ken Shamrock, had any notable training in any ground based combat sport (wrestling, jiu jitsu, judo, sambo, etc). Future UFC matchmaker John Perretti described UFC 1 on the Lytes Out Podcast as being "A disgusting infomercial, at best", and likes to call the early UFC matchmaking “purposeful mismatches”. Royce Gracie's opponent kept changing until they settled upon arguably the weakest fighter in the field.

MB: Gracie Jiu-Jitsu was undefeated. It had conquered all challengers in gyms and behind closed doors. Now, Rorion saw UFC 1 as the ultimate stage to showcase his family’s dominance.

What he didn’t realize—what none of them realized—was that this event wouldn’t just crown a style. It would tear the veil from the martial arts world.

The force field was about to break.

(To be continued in next post)...

 

[Mbetz1981]

(Volume 84 Continued... part 2)

Robot Roll Call!

Here was the motley crew that Art Davie was able to assemble for tonight’s event.

Gerard Gordeau


Of tonight’s cast of characters, none—aside from Ken Shamrock—has appeared more frequently in our journey through kakutogi history than Gerard Gordeau. A staple of Dutch kickboxing circles and a familiar face in the Japanese fighting scene, Gordeau was no stranger to the world of legitimate combat. This wasn’t even his first shoot fight. Readers can revisit our archives for a deeper dive, but Gordeau had already engaged in no-rules bouts on Dutch kickboxing cards in the late '80s and had participated in the very first shoot under the FIGHTING NETWORK RINGS banner—a lopsided contest against Masaaki Satake.

Even by this point, whispers of Gordeau’s questionable character had begun to surface. But it wasn’t until 1995’s Vale Tudo Japan tournament that the full measure of his cruelty would be revealed, when he permanently blinded one of the toughest men to ever lace up gloves—Yuki Nakai. That incident would forever stain his legacy.

But from Art Davie’s vantage point, Gordeau was a practical investment. Likely working for a modest fee, he offered an exotic flair—representing Savate, a French kickboxing art virtually unknown to the American public. He was seasoned, battle-tested, and carried the kind of dangerous aura that made for good television. While Gordeau has never quite proven himself to be an elite talent in the times we’ve covered him, he’s no pushover. His striking is aggressive, his demeanor is ruthless, and in a night built on uncertainty, that made him a valuable wildcard.

ML: A seedy, rough and tumble character from the mean streets of The Netherlands, Gordeau was a bouncer and a debt collector who admits to knowing all the mobsters in his homeland. He switched from futbol to judo during his youth because he got kept getting injured, and from judo to karate because he kept getting DQ'd from tournaments because he wanted to win too badly. Gordeau was 38, and getting to the end of his career, but even if he was over the hill, he's someone who was good enough to represent striking. He wasn't great, but he was still good enough that he believed UFC wouldn't accept him if they knew his full credentials or if he sent an actual impressive sample of him in action like he was supposed to, so he claimed the more exotic art of savate rather than kyokushin karate, and provided no footage. According to him, he was initially pitted against Royce Gracie in the first round of the tournament, but when the organizers found out that Gordeau had previously competed in Fighting Network RINGS, they changed the matchup. Davie had initially wanted a younger and better known Dutch kickboxer, either Ernesto Hoost or Peter Aerts, but they demanded appearance fees that would have broken the tiny UFC budget, while 8 time European karate champion Gordeau agreed to participate for no appearance fee, and claims he only got paid because he made the final (my guess is he got the $15,000 for runner up, but didn't realize that was going to include whatever winning in the 1st & 2nd rounds was supposedly worth). He asked for 75,000 to appear for UFC 2, and since they refused, he never wound up appearing in another UFC.

Teila Tuli


One of only two men to receive an appearance fee from Art Davie to step into the Octagon (the other being Art Jimmerson), Tuli came with a reputation as one of sumo’s bad boys. Davie had heard whispers that he’d been kicked out of the Japanese sumo system for shoving one of his instructors—a cardinal sin in that rigid, hierarchical world. True or not, the story added to Tuli’s mystique, especially in his homeland of Hawaii, where he was already something of a local legend.

As for whether sumo wrestling had any business in a no-holds-barred fight? Davie didn’t know—and that was exactly the point. Tuli’s sheer size and the spectacle of sumo colliding with other martial arts made him an ideal ingredient for this human experiment. Whether he would sink or smash through his opponent was anyone’s guess—but it would be exciting either way.

ML: Taylor Wily from Honolulu, Hawaii was billed under the Polynesian spelling Teila Tuli to sound more exotic. My understanding was that Teila got banned from sumo for pushing a reporter into a glass window. Either way, Tuli had been removed from sumo for four years when Davie called, and it's doubtful he'd done a lot of useful training in the interim. Davie said Tuli truly believed he would win, and made sure that throwing the opponent over the cage wall was considered legal under UFC's brand of no rules fighting. He received a $6,000 appearance fee because it was somehow important to have a sumo, a sport that no one really considers combat, or even thinks about in the US, while amateur wrestling, a sport which every school has at least one team of from middle school onwards, magically remained out of thought, out of mind.

(Continued in next post)

 

[Mbetz1981]

(Volume 84 continued... part 3)

Kevin Rosier

Kakutogi Road veterans will remember Kevin Rosier, a name that conjures images of both brutal knockouts and, perhaps, unfulfilled potential. We've previously witnessed his spectacularly awkward, yet effective, victory over Don "Nakaya" Nielsen (a fight defined by wild flailing and Nielsen's inability to stand vertical on the canvas for any reason), and his decisive loss to a prime – and still-haired – Maurice Smith. Going into UFC 1, Rosier was a quintessential journeyman kickboxer, a mercenary of the ring who traveled wherever the paycheck led him. This was a necessity in the often-precarious world of American kickboxing in the 80s and 90s, and Rosier had amassed a collection of wins and minor championships.

Rosier's greatest liability, however, was his weight. Around this period, he allowed his conditioning to slip, ballooning in size and never quite regaining the athleticism of his earlier career. This extra weight undoubtedly hampered his speed and stamina, preventing him from mounting a serious challenge for major titles in boxing, kickboxing, or MMA. Yet, despite this setback, Rosier remained a dangerous competitor for another decade, carving out a living in the fight game.

What Rosier lacked in finesse, he made up for in sheer toughness and devastating power. He possessed a granite chin and an almost reckless willingness to absorb punishment. This often proved to be a winning strategy, as few opponents could match his raw power in a straight-up exchange. Rosier was almost always guaranteed to win a battle of attrition, making him a formidable, if inconsistent, force.

ML: Rosier worked as a bodyguard for entertainers like Rick James, Billy Idol and Debbie Harry and as a bouncer at Nightclubs such as Studio 54, Limelight and CBGB. Rosier had been a super heavyweight kickboxing champion in the 1980s, and a journeyman boxer whose career highlight may have been sparring with Tommy Morrison, predominantly competing in the kicks above the waist style the US promoted at the time. Rosier said his fighting prime was 1983 when he weighted 235 pounds. Rosier had no recorded fights since 1990, a tough year for him because he was destroyed by Maurice Smith in a heavyweight vs. super heavyweight matchup promoted by All Japan Kickboxing on 1/20/90, with Rosier claiming Smith broke his shin and cracked his skull. Rosier took no time to recover, saying he fought Melvin Cole a week later, and blew out his knee (this fight is one of about 60 missing from his wikipedia record, but they do have him losing a boxing match on 4/7). While fighters weren't doing training camps at this point, but were just training regularly with their friends for whatever sanctioned or unsanctioned scrap came up, Rosier had no reason to be keeping himself in shape because he was retired. He signed with UFC 3 weeks before the show, and underwent a crash training course where he supposedly lost 45 pounds. They claimed he still weighed a robust 265, but Bill Wallace repeatedly claimed he was tipping the scales at 300+, and in this one regard, I tend to believe he was accurate.

Zane Frazier


Our next combatant, karate and kickboxing stylist Zane Frazier, entered the UFC arena through perhaps the most unconventional – and satisfying – route imaginable. Before UFC 1, Frazier was an accomplished competitor, holding a 4th-degree black belt in American Kenpo Karate, and four ISKA world kickboxing championships, along with a respectable record in professional kickboxing, and even some boxing experience. But his path to the octagon began with a brawl and the debunking of a martial arts myth.

Frazier had a prior working relationship with Frank Dux, the (supposed) subject of the now-infamous Bloodsport. Remember, in 1993, many still believed Bloodsport was a true story, crediting Dux as a real-life kumite champion. Dux had apparently hired Frazier to teach classes but had never paid him. This led to a confrontation at a Southern California trade show, where Dux was peddling his merchandise.

While accounts differ on the specifics – some claiming Dux instigated the fight by throwing the first punch, others saying Frazier attacked after Dux refused to pay him – the outcome is undisputed: Frazier thoroughly beat Dux, reportedly knocking him down multiple times. Art Davie, who happened to arrive at the trade show shortly after the altercation, witnessed the aftermath, with police still on the scene. Frazier, seeing his opportunity, immediately approached Davie and expressed his interest in competing in the upcoming UFC.

Frazier's later career never quite reached the heights his early potential suggested. He was already approaching the end of his athletic prime when the UFC began, and, as it was later discovered, he suffered from undiagnosed medical issues that severely hampered his breathing. This likely explains his tendency to gas out prematurely in later MMA fights, a stark contrast to his earlier stamina.

Nevertheless, Zane Frazier was a legitimate force in the karate world, known for his intimidating presence and aggressive, high-volume, punching style. And, perhaps most importantly, he deserves our eternal gratitude for delivering a much-needed dose of reality to Frank Dux's fabricated world of martial arts fantasy, forever shattering any illusion of Dux's credibility with a real-world beatdown.

ML: Rorion had already chosen Frazier when Davie met a handcuffed Frazier at the DRAKA trade show after beating up Frank Dux in less than a minute. Frazier was well on his way to being one of the legendary myth busters, as he also beat up Jean Claude Van Damme in 1989 in sparring. Unfortunately, he nearly died from walking pneumonia between the time Rorion chose him and the time UFC 1 actually got off the ground, spending a month in the hospital and losing 40% of his lung capacity. Frazier had some knowledge of Gracie JJ because he eventually managed to track down the Gracie in Action videos even though Rorion wouldn't even allow an old school buddy to sell them to him, or anyone associated with Gracie JJ to train with him. Frazier carried a portable mat with him in case the opportunity to work out with a real practitioner ever presented itself at a park or gym, and was able to train his own striking students in ground and pound with a grappling dummy based on what he learned from the tape. Frazier also refused to send tape of himself to the UFC because he figured the Gracie's would be studying it to figure out how to beat him, but said that Royce had footage of all the fighters he faced in UFC while the other competitors didn't know who was even fighting until they showed up. Gracie minions Big John McCarthy and Carlos Valente were also tasked with recording the fighters practice sessions in the week leading up to the show. Frazier claimed Rorion had promised him he'd fight Royce Gracie in round 1, but once he showed himself to be crazy, almost getting into a fight during the rules meeting for the no rules show, standing up for the legality of the equipment he wore in training that he had submitted to Art Davie himself long before - most notably taping his fists so he could actually punch without breaking his hands - Rorion decided he was best avoided and switched Royce's opponent to Art Jimmerson.

(To be continued in next post...)

 

[Mbetz1981]

(Volume 84 continued... part 4)

Royce Gracie




Royce Gracie. The name alone evokes a revolution in martial arts. While countless words have been written about him, it's no exaggeration to say that no single individual did more to change North America's perception of grappling from the mid-90s onward than Royce. Before the world witnessed UFC 1, most Westerners – influenced by action movies and traditional martial arts – believed striking, especially flashy techniques like crescent kicks and spinning attacks, was the key to fighting. The idea that someone could effectively fight, let alone dominate, from their back was almost unheard of, outside of dedicated Judo circles. Then came this seemingly skinny guy in pajamas, effortlessly submitting larger, more intimidating opponents with techniques most had never seen – the triangle choke, the armbar from the guard, positions previously considered disadvantageous turned into weapons. It was, to put it mildly, esoteric magic to the uninitiated, and Royce's influence on the martial arts landscape is immeasurable.

But the original plan wasn't Royce. Art Davie, like many others, had heard the legends of Rickson Gracie. Everyone he spoke to insisted Rickson was, without question, the best fighter in the family. Davie repeatedly pressed Rorion about Rickson's participation, but Rorion remained noncommittal. The reason, as Davie later discovered, was a rift between Rorion and Rickson, stemming from Rickson's desire for greater independence. Officially, the conflict arose from Rickson teaching private lessons without Rorion's approval, but this was likely a symptom of a deeper issue: Rickson's ambition to forge his own path, possibly including competing in Japan and opening his own academy, clashed with Rorion's tightly controlled vision of Gracie Jiu-Jitsu.

Rorion eventually proposed Royce, a choice that initially surprised Davie. Royce was known within the family as a goofy, laid-back kid who loved the beach. While later narratives have suggested that Royce was chosen because he was smaller than Rickson, and thus a better demonstration of BJJ's effectiveness against larger opponents, the truth is likely more complex. While, at around 175lbs, Royce had the ideal, lithe, frame to show that size was no match for the Gracie's approach. Royce was the perfect representative for several reasons: Royler was considered too small, Royce had experience in Gracie Challenge matches, and, most importantly, he was completely malleable to Rorion's will. Unlike the ambitious Rickson, who sought greater autonomy and financial reward, Royce in 1993 was a devoted follower of Rorion's, a true believer in Helio's self-defense-focused evolution of Judo. He was a "soldier" for the cause, more valuable to Rorion's ultimate goal – the widespread dissemination of Gracie Jiu-Jitsu – than even the legendary Rickson.

ML: Rorion was pissed at Rickson for taking his students and charging them for private lessons in the garage. Many famous martial artists turned UFC down or just ignored them before UFC 1 because they didn't know who Davie was or believe UFC was legit or would ever actually happen. Rickson was on the inside since his family was promoting it, but SEG Owner Bob Meyrowitz has said Rickson never had any interest in participating in any UFC, and just purposely priced himself out, asking for a million dollars, so he had his excuse for not competing. Royce, who was much less interested in money and a lot easier for Rorion to control, became UFC's raison d'etre. Royce was the everyman that would be customers could relate to. He was the smallest guy in the tournament, and wasn't physically intimidating to the point he didn't want to take his gi off during promotion for fear of exposing he had no muscles. Royce had all the advantages though. He knew more or less everything about UFC from the beginning, whereas most of his opponents signed on less than a month before the event, either having to juggle commitments to other fights or having to start training because they had nothing going on, and didn't even know what they were signing on for or how to train for this mysterious event against unknown opponents of different styles. The fighters were selected from a pool that was specifically designed not to be a threat to BJJ. He was allowed to wear his gear, while other fighters weren't. The refs were Gracie students from the Brazilian police force who barely spoke English. Royce knew all the fighters in the tournament from the moment they signed on. They had all been scouted for or by him to some extent. His opponents were changed in order to provide even more favorable matchups. Gracie underlings such as Big John McCarthy and Carlos Valente were going around intimidating the other fighters as to how they were going to get injured once Royce got hold of them. According to Shamrock, the fight card was rearranged seven times the day before the event, placing Royce in the position with the least amount of resistance. According to Gordeau, Royce had even been informed by the UFC doctors about his specific injuries before their final.

Art Jimmerson

Before he became a meme as the infamous "One Glove" Jimmerson, Art Jimmerson was a respected professional boxer with a record of 29-9 and a former NABF Cruiserweight title challenger, even being ranked as high as #4 in the world, by the WBC. He was one of only two fighters – the other being Teila Tuli – to receive an appearance fee from Art Davie, a testament to Davie's desire to secure legitimate boxing talent for his event. The total prize money being offered was $75,000, and the grand prize was $50,000, and while Jimmerson was initially enthusiastic about the potential payday, that enthusiasm would quickly evaporate.

The legend goes that John McCarthy, who was present at UFC 1 (though not yet as a referee, as he wouldn't begin that role until UFC 2), attempted to give Jimmerson a crash course in grappling before his fight. McCarthy reportedly warned Jimmerson about takedowns and submissions, particularly armbars and chokes, demonstrating some basic techniques. This impromptu lesson, ironically, had the opposite of its intended effect. Jimmerson, instead of feeling prepared, became increasingly anxious. By the time he entered the octagon, he was visibly terrified.

This fear manifested in the now-legendary "one glove" decision. Jimmerson, reportedly believing that he needed one hand free to defend against takedowns, and tap out without actually tapping (claiming that he couldn't afford to ruin his jab against a grappler) entered the fight wearing a single boxing glove on his left hand. The strategy, if it can be called that, proved utterly ineffective. He was quickly taken down and mounted by Royce Gracie, offering little resistance, before tapping to the top pressure, alone.

UFC 1 marked the end of Jimmerson's brief MMA career. He returned to boxing and later found success as a trainer, working at the UFC Gym in Torrance, California, and helping to train several up-and-coming fighters. He passed away on June 12, 2024, at the age of 60, leaving behind a unique, if somewhat unfortunate, legacy as one of the most memorable figures from the early days of the UFC.

ML: With then 27-year-old Mike Tyson serving 6 years for rape at the Indiana Youth Center, boxing wasn't at a high point. Failing to secure known boxers such as Bonecrusher Smith and Leon Spinks, who had an easier and more consistent job doing terrible worked martial arts matches in FMW, Jimmerson was contacted in the final weeks when Davie was quite desperate, and wound up being the 2nd biggest earner of the night even though he didn't connect on an offensive maneuver. Fearing they couldn't make payroll, they actually offered him a piece of the UFC, but figuring a piece of nothing was nothing, he opted for the cold hard cash. The Beginning is an easy subtitle for UFC 1, but it could more aptly be described as Sham & Shamrock. Shamrock is largely self-explanatory, but Sham is Jimmerson not trying to win, instead opting to circle and tap out as soon as he was taken down. Jimmerson was already in training for one of the biggest boxing matches of his career on 1/9/94 against NABF & WBA Cruiserweight champion Orlin Norris, the older brother of 3-time world champion Terry Norris, who had defeated an aging Sugar Ray Leonard a few years earlier. Jimmerson couldn't afford to get injured going into that important boxing match, and when Big John McCarthy gave him an example of what he was in for, asking him how he was going to defend himself from Gracie Jiu Jitsu then proceeding to double leg Jimmerson, mount, and put his fist in his face asking what he was going to do now, Jimmerson was suitably spooked. Jimmerson also couldn't afford to break a hand either. If he ever had any idea of actually competing, when he was allowed to still wear his boxing gloves, but only without being able to tape his fists underneath, he pretty much gave up on it and just wanted to get out of there healthy with his appearance fee.

To be continued in the next post....

 

[Mbetz1981]

(Volume 84 continued...part 5)

Ken Shamrock

Over the past five years, the Kakutogi Road has extensively documented Ken Shamrock's journey, from pro wrestling to the nascent world of MMA. (Volume 45, in particular, offers a detailed look at this pivotal transition.) Now, at UFC 1, Shamrock was poised to put his hard-earned skills to the ultimate test.

It was Scott Bessac, Shamrock's training partner, who first alerted him to the upcoming "no-holds-barred" event, after spotting an advertisement. Intrigued, Shamrock contacted Art Davie. While the paycheck was certainly appealing, Shamrock remained deeply skeptical. He repeatedly questioned Davie, convinced there had to be a "catch," some hidden element of pro wrestling fakery. He wouldn't fully believe the event was legitimate until he witnessed the brutal opening bout between Gerard Gordeau and Teila Tuli.

For his part, Davie recognized Shamrock's legitimate fighting ability, but he didn't fully grasp the depth of Shamrock's grappling skills, honed in the grueling world of Pancrase. Davie knew Shamrock was a potential threat to Gracie, perhaps the biggest threat, but he underestimated the extent of Shamrock's knowledge. Had Rorion Gracie fully understood Shamrock's background – his training with Funaki, Fujiwara, and Gotch, his mastery of shoot wrestling submissions – he likely would have vetoed his participation. To Rorion, Shamrock probably seemed like just another muscle-bound "tough guy" from the world of professional wrestling.

This misjudgment would prove crucial. Shamrock's role in the early UFC, and in the development of MMA as a whole, cannot be overstated. Royce Gracie needed a credible rival, a foil to demonstrate the effectiveness of Gracie Jiu-Jitsu against a skilled and determined opponent. Without Shamrock, the UFC might have been a one-off curiosity, a Gracie infomercial rather than the birth of a new sport. Consumed by a desire for revenge after his loss at UFC 1, Shamrock became fixated on a rematch with Royce, a rivalry that would ultimately culminate at UFC 5.

Furthermore, Shamrock's presence represented the subtle but profound influence of Japanese MMA on the American scene. Though the average American fan might not have realized it, Shamrock's fighting style, his training methods, and his overall philosophy were deeply rooted in his experiences in Japan. The techniques he learned from the UWF lineage, the catch-as-catch-can wrestling principles passed down by Karl Gotch, the submission grappling honed in Pancrase – these were the foundations of his success, and they would soon be disseminated through his Lion's Den team, shaping the next generation of American fighters. Even if it was not immediately apparent, the DNA of Japanese combat sports was woven into the fabric of early American MMA, and Ken Shamrock was one of its primary carriers.

In the years to come, this East-West convergence would only intensify, as American audiences became increasingly familiar with Japanese fighters and fighting styles. We owe a tremendous debt to Ken Shamrock, not only for his legendary rivalries with Royce Gracie and Tito Ortiz, which fueled the UFC's explosive growth, but also for his role in bridging the gap between two distinct, yet intertwined, martial arts worlds. He was, in many ways, the bridge between the established world of Japanese shoot-style and the burgeoning world of American MMA.

ML: Ken's adopted father, Bob Shamrock, was a huge fan of pro wrestling, but Ken thought it was just silly. He liked the money better than what he was making bouncing though, so Bob got him a tryout with Buzz Sawyer's Academy in Sacramento, which eventually led to Ken training with Nelson Royal and Gene Anderson in North Carolina. Still, Ken was doing parking lot brawls for side money. His first paying real fight was $700 to win against a 6'2”, 270 pound white bearded Santa in a parking lot outside a biker bar. While touring All Japan, Dean Malenko, later known as “The Shooter” despite never doing any shoots, showed Ken a tape of the UWF 4/15/90 Masakatsu Funaki vs Minoru Suzuki match, and Shamrock was intrigued because it wasn't so phony. After being “dead in the ambulance” when defending the honor of a friend's girlfriend from a groping Nasty Boy Knobs didn't work out the way he hoped, as Nasty Boy Sags clocked him in the back of the head with a steel phone, he wound up going to Florida where Karl Gotch, Mr. Soronaka, & Dean's father Boris Malenko were set up to try out for UWF. Quickly accepted and threw into the ring against Yoji Anjo, the UWF split at the end of the year, with Ken getting just one more fight in against Funaki before joining him in PWFG. 2 years later, wanting to be free of predetermined finishes and to avoid putting over Yoshiaki Fujiwara, who Ken described as a “60-year-old man”, Shamrock joined Funaki & Suzuki in forming Pancrase. Spending so much time in Japan the past 4 years, Ken was unfamiliar with the Gracie's despite the Lion's Den and Rorion's version of Gracie JJ being based out of California. Shamrock's student Scott Bessac, one of the instructors at the Lion's Den who was getting close to making his debut in Pancrase saw the UFC add in Black Belt magazine and contacted Art Davie. Scott was honest about Ken being the better and more experienced fighter, so Davie chose Ken instead. While Ken wound up being one of the early MMA greats, he was essentially still a pro wrestler in the minds of the Gracie's, who assumed a couple of fights under hybrid wrestling rules weren't going to be enough for him to be a real threat to Royce. Shamrock was incredibly handicapped for this show, having just rear-naked choked Takaku Fuke in Pancrase on 11/8. He was the last fighter to arrive on Tuesday, and was obviously jet lagged. Adding insult to injury, Rorion refused to allow Ken to wear his boots, which he'd never competed without as a pro, leaving Ken slipping and sliding without them. Shamrock has described punching a head with bare knuckles as akin to hitting a bowling ball. Though Ken was one of the hardest punchers in the field, Rorion refusing to allow fighters to tape their hands probably played a big part in Ken's strategy to approach this a Pancrase fight against a bunch of fighters unfamiliar to that submission oriented style, rather than as a street fight. Ken was so sure he would win if it was actually real before he even saw the opposition, and with one look at the band of misfits Davie had round up, he was practically already counting his dollars. "I see all these guys there, and they all did not look like fighters to me,” Shamrock said. “Some of them should have been in a rocking chair, drinking a beer, and other ones looked like they shouldn’t be in a sports event at all, which was Royce Gracie.”

Patrick Smith

Patrick Smith, a local Colorado favorite known for his aggressive striking, entered UFC 1 as a hometown hero in the right place at the right time. Earlier that year, Art Davie had scouted Colorado, recognizing it as a legal "safe haven" for his audacious concept. The state's prevalence of Limited Liability Companies (LLCs) offered a degree of protection from the legal challenges that might have scuttled the event elsewhere.

Smith had recently won the 1993 Sabaki Challenge, a grueling, bare-knuckle, full-contact karate tournament held in the very same McNichols Sports Arena that would host UFC 1. This victory, showcasing his devastating punching power, caught Davie's attention, leading him to visit Smith's dojo. Impressed by Smith's ferocity and local popularity, Davie signed him as the first fighter for the inaugural UFC event. It's likely Smith's confidence was soaring, buoyed by his recent success and the prospect of competing on a grander stage.

However, UFC 1 would expose a critical flaw in Smith's armor. While he was undoubtedly a dangerous striker – a "hammer" capable of devastating knockouts – he proved to be a brittle "nail" under pressure. His loss to Ken Shamrock that night revealed a tendency to mentally collapse when faced with adversity. This pattern – flashes of brilliance followed by abrupt defeats – would define Smith's career. He would achieve some notable victories, including a stunning upset over kickboxing legend Andy Hug in a K-1 bout in September of 1994, showcasing his explosive power. But these moments of triumph were often fleeting, overshadowed by his inability to maintain composure when the tide turned against him. Despite this inconsistency, he was undoubtedly a force to be reckoned with.

ML: Smith was not just a local hero, but a legitimate contestant capable of providing as good a start to a fight as anyone. The issue is while one could argue the various merits between Gordeau, Rosier, Rosier, and Smith, these four were essentially all kickboxers. Sure, Smith's primary background was as a 3rd degree blackbelt in Taekwondo, but looking at the big picture, you had 2 submission fighters, 5 strikers, and a sumo who doesn't actually do anything.

(To be continued in the next post)

 

[Mbetz1981]

(Volume 84 continued... part 6)

Jason Delucia

Jason DeLucia's path to the UFC was perhaps the most bizarre – and ultimately, most revealing – of any fighter at the inaugural event. As a young man of 23, DeLucia, a supposed practitioner of "Five Animals Kung Fu and White Crane Gung Fu", was driven by a burning desire to test himself against the best. In 1991 he came across comments made by Steven Seagal in various martial arts magazines, boasting that anyone who doubted his fighting prowess could challenge him to a fight at his Los Angeles dojo – a fight, Seagal dramatically added, "to the death."

Seizing this seemingly once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, DeLucia embarked on a cross-country odyssey. He drove 3,000 miles to California, secured an apartment, and began a six-month vigil outside Seagal's dojo. But Seagal, the supposed master of Aikido and cinematic tough guy, never emerged to face him. Instead, DeLucia was politely handled by Seagal's head instructor, Matsuoka Haruo, allowed to observe classes but never granted the promised showdown.

Dejected and running low on funds, DeLucia was about to give up when he heard rumors of a different kind of challenge – a group of "ragtag Brazilians" offering real, no-holds-barred fights. Skeptical after his Seagal experience, DeLucia called the Gracie Academy in Torrance directly. Rorion Gracie himself answered and confirmed the challenge was genuine.

This led to DeLucia becoming one of the early "victims" featured in the now-infamous Gracies in Action tapes, providing visual proof of Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu's effectiveness. While DeLucia lost, he impressed Rorion and Royce with his willingness to fight. However, he wasn't considered a serious threat to win a tournament; he had just enough jiu-jitsu to be dangerous to strikers, but not nearly enough to challenge Royce on the ground. As a result, DeLucia was designated an alternate for UFC 1, meaning he would only compete if another fighter was injured and unable to continue.

DeLucia's later career would prove him to be one of the most underappreciated pioneers of MMA. By 1996, he had developed into a remarkably well-rounded fighter, seamlessly blending striking and grappling in a way few others could match. He was known for his unorthodox side-stance, his ability to launch high kicks with the speed of jabs, and his fluid transitions between striking and grappling, as showcased in his fights in Pancrase. He was on a significant winning streak until a freak knee injury suffered against Joe Slick at UFC 23 in 1999 derailed his momentum, a setback from which he never fully recovered. Despite his undeniable skills and contributions to the early evolution of the sport, DeLucia remains a largely forgotten figure, a testament to the unpredictable nature of fighting and the fickle winds of fame.

ML: Many fighters were denied entry due to past or present association with the Gracie's. Shooto fighter Erik Paulson was one of the most well-rounded fighters of the era due to learning in elementary school that his lovely judo throws didn't work when a kid simply pulled his hair. He then made it a point to train in most striking and grappling styles, so he'd have the answers. Rorion allowed him to be one of Royce’s cornermen. Big John McCarthy also wanted to participate, but someone who at that point would have been using size to make up for Jiu Jitsu knowledge wasn't the image Rorion wanted to present. To the average Joe, a guy like McCarthy winning, even if through choke rather than knockout, wouldn't really prove anything groundbreaking enough to make them purchase Gracie in Action because he's such an imposing figure. McCarthy worked security at the show. The one Gracie associate that sort of got to participate through Rorion's invitation was DeLucia. MMA's first aikidoka, DeLucia moved from Massachusetts to conquer Seagal and Hollywood. Never appearing in a martial arts movie, he became one of MMA's 1st cross trainers when he was humbled by Royce Gracie, though at least Rorion decided to cancel their $600 wager in advance because that was rent money (“$500 or $1000 is a bet”). As the 2nd Gracie JJ student involved, Jason was kind of their backup plan if things don't go well for Royce. DeLucia said they wanted him to make up a tournament or title for his credentials, but he was too embarrassed to claim point karate was real fighting, so he didn't comply. The alternate fight was only going to take place if they needed a replacement, but Rorion told DeLucia late that night that they needed him to fight before the final because the card was going too quickly. DeLucia said he got paid $1500.

Trent Jenkins


Of all the fighters who competed at UFC 1, Trent Jenkins remains perhaps the most enigmatic. A second-degree black belt in American Kenpo Karate with some amateur boxing experience, Jenkins entered the tournament as a purely stand-up fighter. While he lacked grappling experience, he possessed evident natural athleticism, showcasing quick hands, and decent power. His style could be described as being an aggressive brawler, preferring to stay on his feet, and overwhelm his opponents.

UFC 1, unfortunately, would not be a showcase for Jenkins's potential. He was quickly overwhelmed by the grappling of alternate, Jason Delucia, tapping out to a rear-naked choke in under a minute. He would attempt to transition to MMA on several more occasions --- only to face defeat each time. Despite his lack of success in the burgeoning sport, Trent Jenkins will forever be a part of MMA history, a footnote in the groundbreaking event that changed the martial arts world forever. He may not have become a star, but his participation in UFC 1 cemented his place in the annals of combat sports.

ML: Jenkins was a local who ultimately never won an MMA fight during an 8-year career.

(To be continued in next post)...

 

[Mbetz1981]

(Volume 84 continued... Part 7)

Commentary Theater 3000

Kathy Long:


While the fighters were the main attraction of UFC 1, the commentary booth also held a significant figure in the world of martial arts: five-time kickboxing world champion, Kathy Long. As longtime readers of the Kakutogi Road know, we've extensively covered Long's impressive fighting career, but here she took on a different role – providing color commentary alongside Bill "Superfoot" Wallace and Jim Brown.

Long's selection wasn't accidental. Art Davie hoped to capitalize on a pre-existing tension between Long and Wallace. In 1992, Wallace had sparked controversy in Black Belt magazine by stating that "women shouldn't be involved in full-contact sports" and that he didn't consider women's kickboxing to be "real fighting". Long had responded forcefully in the same publication, calling Wallace's comments "a slap in the face to all women athletes" and arguing that women's kickboxing was just as legitimate and demanding as men's. Davie hoped this simmering feud would translate into on-air fireworks.

Davie had hoped for drama that never transpired. Perhaps a professional setting led to a more diplomatic environment. Long offered insightful, technical observations, drawing on her extensive experience as a competitor. For example, she frequently pointed out the nuances , something the other commentators (and most of the audience) were unfamiliar with, and correctly predicted that Royce's jiu-jitsu would be a problem for the strikers. However, her delivery was at times understated, a contrast to the more boisterous style of her co-commentators. Wallace, in particular, tended to dominate the conversation, often interrupting with lengthy anecdotes about his own fighting prowess and generally dismissing any fighting style that wasn't kickboxing.

While Long's commentary career in MMA was unfortunately brief, she brought a unique and valuable perspective to the broadcast. The UFC would later tap another kickboxing legend, Don "The Dragon" Wilson, for commentary duties, perhaps seeking to recapture some of the potential for expert analysis that Long had offered.

ML: Kathy Long was perhaps the best prepared fighter for Royce Gracie. Trained to always do what she could to stay off the ground in a street fight because you never knew who would show up and interject themselves, she was 1st a black belt in Kung Fu San Soo, a self-defense technique based on ending a real fight by any means necessary in 3 strikes or 10 seconds. San Soo isn't a competition based sport, and is very much in the line with the sort of tactics Gordeau would appreciate, gouging eyes, crushing testacles, whatever it takes to survive. These tactics served her well in her youth when she was one of the only female bar bouncers, having to regularly take out men who were twice her size. Long knew a choke and a few joint locks, and was also a black belt in aikido, which unlike San Soo is more designed to use the opponent’s movement and momentum against them without hurting them too badly, but also includes throws and joint locks. If she would actually have been included in the broadcast, things would have been much better. She provided some insight where she could, but given Bill Wallace rambled incessantly to the level of Michael Bisping and Chael Sonnen, and was remarkably even more moronic, opportunities for Long to add anything were few and far between, especially since Wallace was a proud Neanderthal who believed a woman's place was in the home. Realizing there were many more skills to learn, Long signed up for training with the Gracie's grappling rival the Machados, with Jean Jacques in turn having her teach his students kickboxing. Long ultimately wasn't that big a fan of early UFC. “I referred to the UFC as the Gracie shows... It was so lopsided and so one-sided, there's no equality here. His art is good, but it just seemed like they were hand-picking his opponents.” Later on, a friend got her to watch, and she became more interested, “I saw there was a resurgence of kickboxing coming through, where people in kickboxing were dominating... Then there were wrestlers who came in and they changed the game completely, and judo players who came in and changed the game, and at that point, I was more excited to watch the fights.”

Bill Wallace:


Bill "Superfoot" Wallace, a legend of American kickboxing, represented everything that was about to be challenged – and ultimately, overturned – at UFC 1. He was a relic of an older paradigm, a time when the martial arts world was shrouded in a haze of hyperbole, half-truths, and outright fantasy, where mystique often trumped practicality.

This disconnect from reality may not have been apparent to the casual viewer during the broadcast, but it became painfully clear to Art Davie hours before the event. During a behind-the-scenes tour of the octagon, Wallace took it upon himself to condescendingly lecture anyone within earshot about how he would effortlessly defeat every fighter in the tournament. He spoke as if from Mount Olympus, dispensing wisdom to the mere mortals below. Davie quickly realized he'd made a mistake in hiring Wallace, but it was too late to change course.

In retrospect, however, Wallace's presence serves as a valuable lesson. He is a stark reminder that clinging to outdated methods and a closed mindset, while perhaps creating a temporary aura of invincibility, will inevitably crumble under the weight of reality. The great irony, of course, is that Bruce Lee, the martial arts icon most revered by Wallace's generation, embodied the opposite philosophy. Lee's Jeet Kune Do was founded on the principle of constant adaptation, of absorbing what is useful and discarding what is not. He recognized the limitations of his own Wing Chun background and actively sought to incorporate elements of wrestling and Judo, understanding that a true martial artist must be well-rounded. Wallace, on the other hand, remained trapped in a rigid worldview, blinded by his past successes and unwilling to acknowledge the changing landscape of combat.

ML: Wallace stumbled, bumbled, and burped his way through the broadcast, slow to pick up what was really going on. Wallace actually trained in judo from 1963-66 and only shifted to karate because he was healing the torn ligaments in his right knee (which was the reason he mainly kicked with his left leg). He also wrestled and has a BA in physical education from Memphis State University, where he taught wrestling, weightlifting, judo and karate, and assisted with boxing, so he shouldn't have been as baffled by what he saw as he actually was.

Jim Brown


In stark contrast to Wallace's outdated pronouncements, Jim Brown, the legendary NFL running back and social activist, offered a different kind of insight – one born not from formal martial arts training, but from a lifetime of navigating real-world challenges, both on and off the field. Brown entered the UFC commentary booth with limited knowledge of this new hybrid form of combat, but he possessed an intuitive understanding of human nature, athleticism, and the dynamics of conflict. He could cut through the hype and posturing, instantly recognizing the genuine article. He may have lacked the in-depth knowledge of a lifelong martial artist, but his experience in high-level athletics, combined with a life of overcoming adversity, gave him a unique aptitude for understanding the mentality of a fighter.

While his lack of technical expertise would become a liability in later UFC broadcasts, at UFC 1, Brown's perspective resonated with the average viewer. He was the everyman, reacting with a mixture of awe and curiosity, but his years of experience in professional football, combined with a keen understanding of power and leverage, gave him a unique ability to assess the fighters. For example, he quickly picked up on Royce Gracie's strategy, even if he didn't know the specific names of the techniques, noting how Gracie used his opponent's weight against them and controlled them on the ground. He also, wisely, questioned the practicality of many of the traditional martial arts. He wasn't spouting memorized facts or reciting dogma; he was offering raw, unfiltered observations, and, more often than not, he was right. He might not have always had the correct terminology, but that never prevented him from getting his point across.

ML: Brown excelled at every sport he tried. Football, lacrosse, baseball, basketball, track, he was just an all-around great athlete, probably the greatest running back ever. He didn't really know what he was talking about from a technical perspective, but he learned the broad points on the job. He wasn't a good announcer per se, but most of what little he said was accurate, and it was funny to see how he was ahead of Wallace at every turn when it came to figuring out what was going on and why, even if from a very general perspective.

(To be continued in next post...)

 

[Mbetz1981]

(Volume 84 continued...Part 8)

Rich Goins

ML: UFC's ring announcer until Bruce Buffer played the role in Friends, “G-man” was the local morning show sports guy for Fox 103.5 in Denver and a boxing ring announcer known for saying the fighters last name twice. He was present at the rules meeting, with his takeaway being that Rorion wanted every advantage for Royce. He also witnessed the fighters working out in the days leading up to the event, and though Tuli had no business being there to the point he'd lose in 10 seconds if he didn't somehow manage to bowl them over because he didn't know how to strike and wasn't quick on his feet. Goins didn't understand why Tuli was training against wrestlers given there were no wrestlers in the tournament.

Bob Meyrowitz

ML: UFC co-creator and future owner, Meyrowitz, was a longtime music producer who worked with the biggest names in rock from The Rolling Stones to the Who to Bruce Springsteen to U2. A pioneer of syndicated radio concert specials, his weekly program, The King Biscuit Flower Hour, presented a condensed version of a famous group's live performance, and was one of the most anticipated shows on most rock radio stations every Sunday night since 1973. Meyrowitz had shifted to specializing in promoting PPV concerts, so he had a good understanding of the business end of things. His athletic background was in baseball, swimming, and boxing. He used to have theoretical conversations with friends who trained in the various branches of hand to hand combat about who would win, but there were really only 2 answers, neither of which were provable. Either their sport would win because their sport was obviously the best, or there was no way to tell because they couldn't compete against each other due to the rules being different. With the creation of UFC, there was finally a way for karate to compete against taekwondo. Meyrowitz wanted the tournament style because he wasn't going to be able to sell preexisting big names the way he did with concerts. He knew that nobody really knew these fighters, but by getting to see the winners a 2nd and 3rd time, the audience would have information on them and develop a rooting interest, whether for or against. Once the UFC established stars, and Meyrowitz understood how unfair it was to ask guys to fight 3 times in a night, he was happy to discard the tournament format because it had accomplished what it needed to in getting the promotion off the ground. Meyrowitz wasn't involved in fighter selection, but in general, wanted great athletes so the public didn't think it was just a bunch of thugs.


To truly capture the experience of UFC 1 as it unfolded, we're going back to the original source. We're fortunate to have access to the complete, unedited live Pay-Per-View broadcast, a rarity in itself. So, for this and future UFC columns, we'll be relying primarily on these original recordings, only turning to modern resources like UFC Fight Pass if absolutely necessary to cover bouts excluded from the initial broadcast. Fortunately, for UFC 1, everything is here, including the alternate bout between Jason DeLucia and Trent Jenkins, a fight that aired live but was omitted from the later commercial VHS release.

From the opening moments of the broadcast, UFC 1 revealed its eccentricities – and its biases. Bill Wallace immediately set the tone by persistently referring to the event as the "Ultimate Fighting Challenge", despite the official name being the Ultimate Fighting Championship. This seemingly minor detail, coupled with a loud, on-air burp that elicited a moment of awkward silence from the rest of the commentary team, established Wallace as an immediately unprofessional presence.

Adding to the dodginess was the presence of Rod Machado, an aviation expert and student of Royce Gracie, brought in to provide pre-fight analysis. Machado, ostensibly there to offer technical insight, made it clear from the outset where his allegiances lay. He repeatedly emphasized Royce's superior ground skills, and even went as far as to say that the man with the superior ground skills was likely to be winning the fight, essentially acting as a Gracie evangelist. While no one yet knew the extent to which grappling would dominate, Machado's blatantly biased commentary seemed questionable, considering that the vast majority of the viewing audience had likely never heard of Royce Gracie or Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu.

ML: Rod Machado , who wasn't related to the legendary brothers Jean Jacques, Rigan, Carlos, Roger, or John, added to the Gracie infomercial nature of the event, very obviously shilling for the brothers at literally every turn. He wasn't the worst because he understood ground fighting, but he just felt so oily and shady, very much like the hometown announcer who is so biased you can't trust anything he says. He put forth such “facts” as “95% of the fights, according to PD (police department) studies, end up on the ground”.

As if to further cement the unusual atmosphere, and before any fighting began, Wallace then informed the audience that the competition would not take place in a ring, but rather in a redundantly described "octagonal octagon," before handing off to a young, relatively unknown, Brian Kilmeade (years before his Fox News career) for a tour of the fighting structure.

ML: Davie wanted a cinematic and unique enclosure to make the fights even more startling for the audience. “I thought of some sort of a cage, but with a moat, and we could put sharks in it. Then I thought of some sort of circle. Then maybe the outer ring would be electrified.” Bob Meyrowitz wanted a glass enclosure so it would be better to film, but was informed that would be too risky for the fighters. What they got was original, but beyond the basic structure, had a lot of practical issues that needed to be worked out if fair fighting was going to happen in UFC at some point. Zane Frazier described the super soft Octagon canvas as a sponge where the fighters would struggle just to maintain balance. Claiming you had to move carefully like walking on a mattress, this largely eliminated footwork and in creating a more flat-footed fight, made it much easier for the opponent to take you down. Once again, these advantages were incredibly convenient for Royce, who didn't want to be on his feet any longer than he absolutely had to. As with everything else, there was no time for the fighters to prepare for what they were in for, with Frazier estimating the fighters first saw the Octagon at 3pm on fight day. 4 hours later, they attended the ill-fated rules meeting, where Rorion systematically banned people's gear, while allowing Royce to remain in his trusty pajamas. 6-to-8-ounce gloves were legal, but since you couldn't wrap your hands under them, they were useless.

Gerard Gordeau vs. Teila Tuli


The first-ever UFC fight began, not just with a clash of styles, but with a clash of languages. Brazilian referee João Alberto Barreto, whose English was, shall we say, limited, attempted to explain the (minimal) rules to Dutch Savate fighter Gerard Gordeau, who understood approximately zero of what was being said. It was a fittingly chaotic start to an event that promised chaos.

Then came the violence. Teila Tuli, a massive sumo wrestler weighing over 400 pounds, immediately took the aggressor's role, slowly stalking the much leaner Gordeau. However, Tuli's inexperience was immediately apparent. He kept his chin exposed, and after a telegraphed bull rush, it wasn't a direct strike, but rather an awkward stumble that brought him down, tripping over his own feet as he pressed Gordeau against the cage.

Gordeau seized the opportunity. With Tuli still on the ground, Gordeau unleashed a brutalroundhouse kick that landed flush on Tuli's jaw. The impact was sickening. One of Tuli's teeth went flying into the crowd, a fitting grand declaration of violence that symbolized the UFC’s birth. The visual was shocking, both disgusting, and exhilarating. Any lingering doubts about the legitimacy of the "no-holds-barred" claim were instantly dispelled. This wasn't pro wrestling; this wasn't staged. This was now violence for the sake of violence.

And that very same violence, while captivating for some, proved too much for others. Representatives from Gold's Gym, a sponsor of the event, were reportedly horrified. The executives' wives were visibly distressed, some even fleeing the arena in disgust. Gold's Gym would never sponsor another UFC event. And if that wasn’t insane enough, the referee who was attempting to call for a cut man to look at Tuli’s eye, wound up getting Rorion Gracie instead, presumably because no one could understand the instructions that he was trying to convey. Tuli was deemed unable to continue and the birth of a revolution was born.

ML: One can assume that Gordeau wouldn't have followed whatever rules Barreto may have been instructing him about. Tuli's size was all he had going for him. This fight proved that it's not that difficult for a skilled fighter to knock out someone half their size that doesn't know what they are doing. Gordeau was smart. He knew the sumo, or “soo-moo” as Wallace called it, was going to charge. Gordeau angled off and pushed Tuli when he was backed into the cage from the rush, and Tuli lost his balance. This is the huge difference between no holds barred and modern MMA. Now, the ref would allow Tuli to safely get back to his feet if Gordeau wasn't going to lock up with him. Here, Gordeau was able to soccer kick Tuli while he was getting up, then nail him with a right to the cheek. Tuli didn't know enough to wear a mouthpiece, so a tooth went flying out of the Octagon, while two others got lodged in Gordeau's foot. This was already a far cry from Shawn Michaels kicking air, and the representatives of the event's sole sponsor, Gold's Gym, left in shock and horror. At this point, Jimmerson's decision to take the guaranteed cash was looking wise. Meanwhile, there was one person who was really excited by this. Shamrock was watching backstage, and now he knew "this is what they said this was,” so it was game on for him. The ref is allowed to pause these fight but not stop them, and after a lot of chaos and confusion, it somehow ended. Gordeau's hand was broken, and he had to leave the teeth in his foot until after the show because the surgery was invasive, and having their doctor remove them at site would have left Gordeau with an open wound that would likely have gotten infected.

(To be continued in next post...)

 

[Mbetz1981]

(Volume 84 continued... part 9)

Kevin Rosier vs. Zane Frazier


“It’s not really thrash, it’s not speed. It’s more like slop. Power slop!”

— Chazz Darby, Airheads

There’s no better way to describe Kevin Rosier’s fighting style than power slop. He’s strong, he’s dangerous, but nothing he does is graceful or methodical. Every strike is a barrage of blunt force trauma, delivered with no concern for accuracy or finesse—just sheer brute force. Zane Frazier, on the other hand, had legitimate skill in American Kenpo, but he had never experienced anything remotely resembling MMA. To make matters worse, he suffered from undiagnosed asthma, which would haunt his career. The result? A fight that wasn’t a showcase of elite martial arts, but a sloppy, gloriously entertaining brawl—exactly the kind of fight the casual fans on PPV wanted to see.

From the start, Frazier landed clean shots and battered Rosier relentlessly, but conditioning issues soon took their toll. Once his oxygen tank ran dry, it was open season for Rosier, who went to work on Frazier with all the glee of Gallagher smashing a watermelon. It wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t technical. But it was undeniably captivating. This wasn’t a display of technique par excellence, nor was it a tribute to a lifelong quest for martial arts mastery. What it was—was two notches above a street fight, a raw display of grit and survival. Kevin Rosier may have been the master of power slop, but there was no questioning his toughness or his heart.

ML: This wasn't exactly a technical masterpiece, but it captures the raw energy and danger, the scrappy desperate aggression of a street fight. This might not be great if you're a student of technical martial arts, but for a casual fan just looking for a good scrap, this is wild and crazy and fun. If Gordeau vs. Tuli captures the brutality of no holds barred best, this is the classic match of UFC 1, capturing the back and forth, fighting yourself and your opponent nature of a competitive brawl. This was aided by being UFC 1's “marathon”, the only match to surpass 2 ½ minutes. They just pounded each other until they collapsed. Frazier knew he had to get this over as quickly as possible because his lungs were shutting down from “the fog” quicker than he could say John Carpenter. He was battling his lungs more than The Paragon of Power Slop early on. Rosier overwhelmed Frazier with pressure early, throwing wide sloppy hooks, but Frazier ran out of real estate against the cage, and wound up on his back. Frazier actually managed to get up and answer with a big right hand, and then he had his way with Rosier against the cage. Frazier landed good solid shots with precise technique, while Rosier was wild, and kept missing somehow. Frazier was also aided by a knee to the nuts, and while the ref didn't admonish him, they don't have the power to actually do anything about it anyway, so fouls are essentially legal. I'm not even sure if they can disqualify a fighter for doing it endlessly. I'm confident that if Frazier was 100%, he finishes this against the cage, but he's very much in conservation mode, and Rosier's strategy of blocking punches with his head actually worked because Frazier just didn't have it in him to give Rosier any more brain damage. Frazier had a chance to wrestle, but went for knees instead, and after the second knee missed, there was obviously something wrong with Frazier because he was suddenly so exhausted he could barely move. With his lungs closing on him, Frazier was forced to simply retreat, seemingly hoping he could maybe get his wind back if he could stall for a little while. It doesn't happen, and Frazier eventually conceded to just standing against the cage hunched over, hoping the round was just about over. He was no longer able to defend himself even unintelligently, allowing Rosier to stand over him and deliver the Rosier stomps heard round the world. The fight would have been stopped much sooner today, but eventually UFC's 1st cornerwoman, Frazier's wife, threw in the towel, realizing his lungs had betrayed him like when he had pneumonia earlier in the year. Rosier was pretty banged up, but shockingly, he had actually managed to largely win on conditioning due to his opponent being in such physical distress he was essentially in no condition to fight before it even started. Good match.


Royce Gracie vs. Art Jimmerson

Here is a matchup destined for internet immortality, but for all the wrong reasons. What followed was less a fight and more a live demonstration of the crippling power of fear, combined with the effectiveness of basic grappling against an utterly unprepared opponent.

Royce, to his credit, displayed a surprising degree of tactical awareness in the opening moments. He repeatedly used a low, arcing front kick – almost a push kick aimed at Jimmerson's lead knee – to keep the boxer at bay and probe his reactions. Then, with perfect timing, as Jimmerson retreated from another low kick, Royce shot in for a lightning-fast double-leg takedown. From there, the fight, if it could even be called that, was over. Jimmerson, still haunted by John McCarthy's pre-fight warnings about bone-breaking submissions (a pep talk that spectacularly backfired), offered virtually no resistance. He was mounted almost instantly. With no submission attempt even threatened, Jimmerson, in a moment of pure panic, tapped out.

No, this wasn't a "good" fight in any conventional sense. It was a squash match, a mismatch, a testament to the gaping chasm between a skilled grappler and a completely clueless striker. But it was fascinating – a glimpse into the mind of a terrified fighter facing an unknown threat, and a clear demonstration of the dominance of even basic grappling against a boxer with zero ground game. It's a meme for good reason, this was a comedic tragedy.

ML: The first two fights delivered variations on what people had dreamed of seeing gore, brutality, and carnage, as Manowar's Eric Adams loved to scream, “Violence and Bloodshed!” The featured performance by the chosen one, Royce Gracie, on the other hand, was a disgrace that was greeted with well-deserved incredulous booing. I've actually seen people list this fight not going on first so Royce could have gotten more rest as evidence against favoritism for Royce, but UFC probably would have been dead on arrival if this farce, complete with a Papa Shango level of voodoo where Jimmerson tapped from simply being mounted, had been the world's introduction to UFC. The live audiences would have been rioting, fans at home would have been throwing their remote at the TV then calling the cable company for a refund saying at least Hulk Hogan's nonsense is charismatic and entertaining. Shamrock would have been like, yeah, this is not even shoot wrestling at the level we were doing in UWF. This just seemed a shit show from start to finish. The fight will always be brought up as one of the possible works in the UFC because a guy submitted without ever being put in a submission hold. The fact that Jimmerson was paid more to appear than the eventual runner up was paid for 3 fights also created speculation from both fighters and fans as to the nature of what he was actually paid for. Sure, there are a series of explanations that make it likely that Jimmerson took the money and ran without taking the money for a specific thing and running. Jimmerson deciding to move around and tap as soon as it hit the ground vindicates some people slightly, but Jimmerson should have never been there in the tournament in first place because he wasn't there to try to win the tournament, or even a match. Jimmerson was a useless disgrace who is still rightfully a meme 3 decades later. Jimmerson was only initially interested because he didn't have to cut weight, but he already tried to pull out after accepting $10,000, which resulted in Davie doubling the offer, and then it being to much money for him to refuse, even though he arguably had no clue what he signed up for. Either way, Jimmerson is a boxer who signed up to box. Once they took away his hand wraps, he couldn't box because glove on or glove off, his hands weren't protected. From there, he had massive indecision due to his earlier run-in with Gracie boogie man John McCarthy. If you believe this was on the level, your case is that Jimmerson was overthinking about worst case scenarios until he completely self-destructed. Making things worse, after the carnage of the opening bout, Jimmerson’s manager supposedly rushed back to his dressing room in tears, pleading with him not to go through with it. Art went out, with the strategy of making sure he didn't get injured. He was really thrown off even by Gracie's little sidekicks. Jimmerson hesitated so much I don't think he even threw a strike. Gracie easily took him down when he tried without Jimmerson overcommitting because he'd have to do something to actually commit. This match was a complete embarrassment. Losing would have been one thing, but it was obvious that Jimmerson didn't even try. No one knew what to make of this because nothing happened, so people went to their usual frame of reference, and assumed it was the usual pro wrestling chicanery. Even the information man Machado was dumbfounded as to what actually happened because even the lowest level clown in the dojo doesn't tap to “mount pressure”. Jimmerson lost his big boxing match to Orlin Norris on 1/9/94, but at least he lived to fight another day, and was allowed to fight there. This is a worst match of all-time candidate.

 

[Mbetz1981]

(Volume 84 Continued... part 10)


Ken Shamrock vs. Patrick Smith

Ken Shamrock entered UFC 1 as an enigma, even to the event’s organizers. While they recognized his athleticism and toughness, they likely underestimated the depth and lethality of his grappling skills, honed in the unforgiving world of Japanese shoot-style pro wrestling. And, as his later performance against Royce Gracie would suggest, perhaps even Shamrock himself hadn’t fully grasped the extent of his own abilities.

But against Patrick Smith, he was a predator.

Smith tried to intimidate Ken from the outset, a tactic that only earned him a mean-mugging from Ken’s adoptive father, Bob Shamrock. Up to this point, the night had delivered plenty of violence and a dose of bewilderment—especially after a skinny guy in pajamas dismantled a professional boxer. But now, the public got to see something entirely new: just how quick and devastating submissions could be.

It took hardly any time at all for Ken to put Smith away with a basic straight ankle lock. The reaction? Utter confusion. Smith, the commentary team, and most of the crowd seemed baffled as to how this fight had ended so abruptly. Leg locks were an alien concept to the Western audience—the nuances of lower-body submissions were practically unknown outside of niche grappling circles. It may have taken multiple VHS rewatches before fans fully grasped what they had witnessed, but make no mistake—Shamrock was the first to show the Western world just how brutal real submissions can be in a real fight.

ML: Shamrock just assumed he's the better grappler than everyone, which was a good strategy against kickboxer Smith. Shamrock just clinched as quickly as he could, not giving him any chance to get his striking going, and spun Smith down because he didn't have the balance without his sneakers to do a proper takedown. Smith seemed to understand the guard and actually was more than passable off his back. Smith didn't understand the leg lock game though, and while Shamrock wasn't able to get a tendon hold or heel hook initially, Smith didn't realize that he was still in danger until he got his legs free. Thus, Shamrock was able to keep playing footsies for as long as he wanted, and eventually got the pressure he needed to make Smith tap. Everyone was pissed that Ken beat the local hero with some move they couldn't see and didn't understand, so they were cursing him out and pelting him with beer and garbage on the way back to the locker room.


Gerard Gordeau vs, Kevin Rosier

Gerard Gordeau’s victory over Teila Tuli had come at a cost: a broken hand, sustained from that single, fight-ending punch to Tuli’s face—and a tooth still lodged in his foot. The injury was a stark reminder of the risks of bare-knuckle fighting, especially the fragile nature of punching without gloves. Despite the swelling and the heavy tape job, Gordeau entered his second fight with stoic, almost robotic determination.

Rosier, on the other hand, looked more like a starstruck fan than a fighter. He seemed genuinely happy just to be in the cage with another striker he respected—a refreshing attitude, perhaps, but definitely not the mindset he needed right now.

Unfortunately, the School of Power Slop was not built for multiple fights in a night. Rosier had nothing left for Gordeau. He was still gassed from his war with Frazier, and, as an American kickboxer with no real Muay Thai experience, he was completely clueless when it came to dealing with Gordeau’s ruthless low kicks. The result was inevitable. Gordeau wins easily and moves to the next round.

ML: Gordeau's right hand was inflated like a balloon, and his shard filled right foot couldn't have been much better. Still, even if Gordeau was down two key weapons, he had energy, while Rosier was a beached whale. Rosier had like a whole tub of Vaseline on his left eye where he was cut, and when I first saw this, I thought he had borrowed some makeup from “Adorable” Adrian Adonis. Bill Wallace had the classic line “they're going over the rules right now that there aren't any of”. Gordeau would circle left and use the right low kick, breaking Rosier down the way Maurice Smith had. Gordeau was the classic tough guy, still willing to throw the right hand even though it added to his own problems. Rosier went down after taking it, and then Gordeau could use the right elbow instead because he was leaning over a turtling Rosier. Gordeau made a game of it, backing out and then waiting for Rosier to start to get up so he could step in and elbow him or whatever. Finally, Gordeau turned him onto his stomach from the momentum of the elbow, and then was able to stomp him in the side for the win, arguably breaking Rosier's ribs. There was arguably some sort of unenforced agreement as to letting the opponent get up, but if it did exist, the ref never stepped in or forced the opponent to back off like today so it was definitely never practiced. The sport was a lot more brutal due to this ability to hit the opponent when they were down or when they were getting up. That was the main way fights ended by striking, not the one punch KO's people envisioned from the old Hollywood tough men, but just the inevitability of being trapped in an inopportune position. The fighters always took too much damage because they either didn't believe in giving up or were too compromised to be able to, and the corner throwing in the towel always took much longer hemming and hawing than the impartial, unattached ref would have. Rosier was so gracious in defeat he described Gordeau as a gentleman and a classy guy. I guess there's a first for everything.


Royce Gracie vs. Ken Shamrock

The Shamrock-Gracie semifinal was arguably the fight that ensured the UFC's future beyond a one-time spectacle. Shamrock, with his muscular physique, intense demeanor, and American background, provided the perfect charismatic foil to the quiet, unassuming Royce Gracie and the mystique of Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu. The clash of styles, personalities, and nationalities created a compelling narrative that resonated with viewers and fueled the desire for a rematch, ultimately driving interest all the way to UFC 5's impressive pay-per-view numbers.

However, at UFC 1, Shamrock entered the fight overconfident, perhaps even arrogant, after his quick submission victory over Patrick Smith. He had reportedly been dismissive of the other competitors, as evidenced in his post-fight interview with Smith, where he downplayed the difficulty of the competition, comparing it unfavorably to the challenges he faced in Pancrase, stating that these fighters "didn't understand submissions." He seemingly hadn't bothered to scout Royce, a critical mistake. It's likely, though, that any such scouting report wouldn't have prepared him sufficiently. The nuances of high-level Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, particularly gi-based grappling, were simply unknown to most Western fighters at the time. Another disadvantage for Ken, was his lack of gi experience. He was unaware of how it could be utilized against him. And, perhaps most importantly, he made critical tactical errors during the fight itself.

Royce initiated the fight with a deliberately telegraphed double-leg takedown attempt – a move that would be easily stuffed by modern MMA fighters, trained in sprawl-and-brawl tactics. But Shamrock, relying on his wrestling instincts, instinctively sprawled to defend. Gracie, whose gi was arguably his greatest weapon throughout his career, immediately used Shamrock's gi against him, wrapping the lapel around Ken's neck, and using that grip to pull himself into guard.

This is where Shamrock's Pancrase experience, ironically, hurt him. In Pancrase, fighters were accustomed to attacking leg locks from similar positions. As his fight against Kimo Leopoldo at UFC 3, would later show, raw aggression and power could sometimes overwhelm even a skilled BJJ practitioner. But Shamrock, instead of unleashing a barrage of strikes, reverted to his familiar leg lock game, attempting to secure an ankle lock to break Royce's guard. This proved to be his undoing. As Shamrock focused on Royce's leg, he neglected his own neck. Royce capitalized, using Ken's momentum to shift position and secure a gi choke. Shamrock, momentarily stunned, tapped out. The referee, initially, missed the tap, but to Shamrock's credit, he immediately admitted his submission, ending the fight.

The loss was a transformative experience for Shamrock. His post-fight interview revealed a newfound humility, an acknowledgment that in the world of submission grappling, victory could be snatched away in an instant. This defeat ignited a burning desire for revenge, a quest for a rematch that initially led him to enter the UFC 3 tournament. However, when Royce withdrew due to exhaustion, Shamrock, likely using a swollen hand as a convenient excuse, also pulled out, his motivation tied solely to settling the score with Gracie.

The Shamrock-Gracie fight solidified grappling's dominance in the "no-holds-barred" arena, but it also revealed the diversity within grappling itself. It was no longer enough to be a wrestler; the world was now aware of the subtle, yet deadly, art of Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu – a style that used an opponent's own clothing as a weapon, a concept utterly foreign to the singlet-clad wrestlers of America.

ML: According to Shamrock, "Half the field appeared to be guys who were over the hill and just looking for a quick payday." He didn't know this tournament was going to take place, or be real, and he didn't know who was involved beforehand, so he didn't do any preparation. He arrived from Pancrase, and did his typical training and partying, assuming he would win a shoot or lose a pro wrestling match to whoever he was paid to lose to. He had no idea who Gracie was, to the point he seemingly assumed he did karate because of the gi. Shamrock said, "Now, I went into this thinking I was the only person who actually had a ground game. Granted, I had no idea who Royce Gracie was at that time, or the kinds of fighters that comprised the rest of the field. But I did know what I was capable of. If I went in and fought my style, the rest would take care of itself." DeLucia, who knew what the Gracie's were capable of, and that their style wasn't what Ken would be expecting, nonetheless warned Ken that Royce had a strong rear naked choke, but Ken brushed him off, confident no 175 pound “karate guy” was going to choke him out. These were arguably the 2 smallest fighters, but people were already figuring out that this was the most important fight of the night. Bill Wallace though was showing how much he'd picked up from both quickly winning on the ground when he mentioned he was interested to see if their kicking techniques could “create the opening for what you might call the kaboomer". Shamrock stuffed Gracie's takedown at the bell, and turned him over, but couldn't seize control, and then Gracie just pulled guard. Since Gracie was so proactive here, we didn't really get to see what Shamrock's strategy actually was, but Shamrock was too overconfident to give up a chance at working on top, which Gracie may have counted on. Royce had an answer for Ken predictably going for the leg lock, and got back on top. Ken still seemed to be thinking entirely offensively though, and while he was still figuring out if there was something he could do with the leg, Gracie set up the choke. When Ken rolled to his knees, he just gave Royce the choke. Arguably, if Royce wasn't able to use his lapel, he wouldn't have been able to finish here, and in order to do the traditional rear naked choke, he would have had to release Shamrock's right leg because Gracie's left leg was what was holding it in place. Royce was nonetheless actually able to get enough leverage from just a near side leg hook that he didn't need to fully secure Shamrock's back in order to choke him out. Ref Helio Vigio was one of the only people who should have understood what he'd be seeing on the ground from Royce, but somehow missed Ken doing five big taps as if he were a pro wrestling heel ref, and Ken could have continued if he wanted to be dishonorable and lie about it. Shamrock knew in the postmatch that he was being too offensive, too concerned with his own potential submission. Much of Shamrock's reflection and discussion of the fight has centered on the equipment issues. "When I got on the canvas, it felt like fighting on ice. Here we have an event where there are essentially no rules, but I can’t wear my shoes? Come on." “Early on in the fight, I went in for the same leg lock that I won my first fight with. But Royce wrapped my arm around in his gi, which is the traditional uniform worn in martial arts. To get my arm loose so I could complete the hold, I was going to drive my knee right into his crotch. No rules, man.” “I lost traction on my back foot and slipped. Royce took advantage and got top position on me. When I tried to roll through it, he was able to wrap the gi around my neck and started choking me.” In reality, Shamrock lost because he was overconfident, and he didn't know what BJJ actually was. He underestimated his opponent and overestimated his ability to just have his way with anyone on the ground, believing it was a physical impossibility that a scrawny little guy in pajamas could beat him. Obviously, if he had a better understanding of his opponent, he would have leaned into his striking and only grappled if Gracie managed to take him down or pull guard. Shamrock was clearly also very preoccupied throughout, “I was losing air (from Gracie's choke), and I distinctly remember thinking, why’d they take my shoes away?” Definitely Rorion's fighters meeting accomplished some Jedi mind tricks, keeping the fighters distracted and angry throughout the event. “They said my shoes were a weapon, but here I am getting choked out by Royce’s gi, which he was using like a rope, and somehow that wasn’t considered a weapon.” The importance of Royce using the gi was that Ken didn't know how to fight the choke. Normally, his technique was attacking the arm, but he couldn't battle cloth in the same manner, and there wasn't time to figure out the best alternative.

(To be continued in the next post...)

 

[Mbetz1981]

(Volume 84 continued... Volume 11)

Jason Delucia vs. Trent Jenkins

In contrast to his earlier portrayal as a grappling dummy in the Gracies in Action tapes, Jason DeLucia showcased a surprisingly well-rounded skillset in this alternate bout—an early, "1.0 version" of the sophisticated fighter he would later become in Pancrase. Right from the start, he demonstrated his striking versatility, launching a crisp hook kick to Trent Jenkins’s face from his characteristic side stance. Jenkins, relying on his kenpo and boxing background, tried to close the distance with straight punches and, for a brief moment, found some success.

Recognizing the threat, DeLucia seamlessly switched gears, securing a quick takedown. On the ground, he looked like me in my BJJ white-belt days—jumping at every possible chance to lock in a rear-naked choke. Unlike me, though, he actually got it. With Jenkins clearly untrained in grappling, DeLucia made quick work of him. Given the era, Jason looked great here, and this fight provided an early glimpse of the seasoned, skilled competitor he would evolve into throughout the rest of the decade in Pancrase.

ML: There wasn't much to the fight, a trip by DeLucia, or “DeLuka DeLuka” as Goins announced him as, back take into a choke. The Gracie pageant then continued with the ceremony honoring Helio Gracie as the original Ultimate Fighter.

Royce Gracie vs. Gerard Gordeau


More than anything else, this fight confirmed what everyone in Holland already knew—Gerard Gordeau was a nasty, nasty man. Sure, his dirtiest moment would come later in 1995 when he permanently blinded Yuki Nakai, but here, we got to see his versatility in rule-breaking as he pulled out the ever-faithful ear bite. Yes, this fight is best remembered not for its technique, but for showcasing just how lawless American MMA was at the time. Incredibly, fouls like biting didn’t even result in disqualification—instead, offenders were merely fined for each infraction, with the money going to the victim as some sort of weird, bare-knuckle reparations program.

As for the fight itself, it was quick and decided entirely in the clinch. Gordeau attempted to stall Royce’s takedown by clinging to the cage and pressing against it. It worked—for a moment. But Gracie, to his credit, was shrewd in making small, calculated adjustments, eventually torquing Gordeau away from the fence and bringing him to the mat. Then, after Gordeau took a tasty morsel of Gracie’s ear, Royce swiftly ended things by securing the rear-naked choke.

One thing many readers may not realize is that this first UFC actually had rounds—unlimited five-minute rounds, a format that was dropped for UFCs 2–4 in favor of no rounds, no time limits. This likely would have continued had it not been for the infamous UFC IV debacle, when the Gracie vs. Dan Severn match went so long that many PPV outlets cut off the broadcast before the fight even ended.

ML: Royce quickly did his takedown thing, putting out the right side kick feint to allow him to be extended low and grab a double leg. Whether or not the double leg worked wasn't so important, it allowed Gracie to get a hold of the opponent, and then he body locked Gordeau. Gordeau was able to hop over to the cage though and grab the cage to regain balance. Royce eventually tripped into mount, and Gordeau's only defense was to bite, so when Gracie got the rear naked choke in, he held it for an extra 5 seconds as a receipt. Neither fighter wound up being fined for their shenanigans. Jimmerson was probably thinking how much safer it was to just tap to nothing, if he wasn't home counting his loot. Even by the final, the public was still booing when the match went to the ground. Royce was sure to claim he's not there for the money in the post-match interview.

Conclusion: With UFC 1, the MMA revolution wasn't just televised; it was launched. As we have documented over the past five years, MMA didn't originate with this event; much of its foundation was built upon the groundwork laid in Japan, almost a decade prior. But, as with many groundbreaking innovations, the initial pioneer often paves the way for a more charismatic figure to capture the public's imagination. Think Tesla vs. Edison, Farnsworth vs. Sarnoff, or Engelbart vs. Jobs – history is replete with examples of brilliant inventors whose creations were ultimately popularized by others with greater marketing savvy.

Satoru Sayama had a fully formed vision for modern MMA as early as 1984, codifying his ideas in two books by 1985 and establishing "Shooting" (later Shooto) as a legitimate combat sport. However, Sayama's efforts were hampered by several factors: while Japan had a robust print media dedicated to covering combat sports/pro wrestling, international exposure was limited. Sayama's own insistence on presenting Shooto as a pure sport, devoid of pro wrestling theatrics, proved to be another hinderance. Even in Japan, at the legendary Korakuen Hall (a venue almost synonymous with combat sports success), Sayama struggled to draw large crowds. He had a dedicated following, but his idealistic vision – his desire to shift public taste from the profane spectacle of pro wrestling to the divine purity of true competitive fighting – limited his mainstream appeal.

To be clear, Art Davie didn't "steal" from Sayama; he likely had never even heard of Shooto in 1993. But Davie succeeded where Sayama initially struggled because he understood the power of spectacle. By embracing the "no-holds-barred deathsport" perception – even if it was a hyperbole – Davie instantly grabbed the public's attention. In a way, he out-wrestled the pro wrestlers, creating a compelling narrative through marketing, while delivering a product that, crucially, featured real fighting. This proved to be a watershed moment for combat sports, exposing the Western world to the effectiveness of grappling, and establishing MMA as a legitimate athletic endeavor.

However, it also left Sayama as a figure largely unappreciated outside of hardcore MMA circles. He would experience a brief resurgence in popularity when his Vale Tudo Japan events introduced Rickson Gracie to a wider audience, but internal conflicts led to his ouster from Shooto in 1997. While UFC 1 was a moderate financial success, achieving a respectable 86,000 pay-per-view buys, its impact on popular culture and the perception of martial arts was nothing short of supernova that forever changed pop culture and the public’s perception of the martial arts. It was, in that sense, the most successful MMA event of all time.

ML: UFC 1 captured the imagination of fans due to a strong opening with back-to-back striking fights providing the fans with what they wanted to see, a brutal bloody knockout in match 1 followed by a competitive back and forth brawl in fight 2. Gracie Jiu Jitsu prevailed, and sales and class enrollment doubled after the event according to Royce, but Royce completely failed to capture the hearts and minds of the audience. Their initial impression of Gracie was so distasteful with the jobber match featuring the phantom finish. He also faced no adversity throughout the tournament, which didn't get him over as an underdog despite him being the smallest, and least imposing fighter. Yes, he won, and won easily, but it felt more like Jimmy Garvin during his Fabulous Freebirds days where he went from being a scrawny little weasel who got destroyed and just won due to interference from his manager Precious to being a scrawny little weasel who didn't sell anything and just won because the booker said so. People could accept that from the big intimidating Road Warriors, but not from Garvin. The Gracie's got fame and fortune, but Royce had yet to become an endearing figure, largely because they did such a great job of making it so easy for Royce that they didn't allow the fans to actually get behind him. Had a wrestler hit him in the face a few times, things may well have been different for him, either for better or for worse.

(To be continued in the next post)

 

[Mbetz1981]

(Volume 84 continued... Part 12)

Krummel’s Korner

Our most esteemed translator, John Krummel, did some research within the Japanese media world to see what he could uncover that would compliment this article, and here is what he has to share:

Pre-UFC History of MMA in Japan

Prior to the emergence of the UFC, UWF and its splinter groups (PWFG, UWFI, Pancrase, Rings) along with Shooto psychologically prepared Japanese fight fans—who, up to that point, were only familiar with professional wrestling—for the new genre of "mixed martial arts."

However, outside the world of sports entertainment, some martial arts-related groups were already heading in the MMA direction before UFC 1.

The Term "Sōgō Kakutōgi"

The term sōgō kakutōgi (literally "syncretic fighting arts") existed in Japan even before the first UFC and before the term "mixed martial arts" (MMA) came into common use. Today, sōgō kakutōgi is used as the Japanese translation for "MMA," but in the early 1990s, it referred to various organizations experimenting with reality-based fighting under minimal rules.

In general, this pre-UFC movement can be traced back to two distinct roots:

• Full-contact karate
• Shoot-wrestling (UWF and Shooto)

Both aspired to create "the utmost expression of fighting capacity" and "the most practical style of combat," leading to a variety of different sōgō kakutōgi rules that coexisted before the worldwide adoption of the Unified Rules of MMA.

Key Pre-UFC Organizations in Japan

1) Shooto – The First True MMA Organization

• Founded by Satoru Sayama in 1985 after leaving UWF.
• Originally called "Shooting", then rebranded as Shooto in 1990.
• Held its first professional fights in 1989, making it one of the earliest examples of true MMA competition.
• Created the Shooto Association in 1987, establishing a sports commission and ranking system for weight classes.
• Major contributions to modern MMA:
  
  • Used open-finger gloves (later adopted in modern MMA).
  • Allowed continuous ground fighting after knockdowns.
  • Used an octagonal ring with a grappling zone outside the ropes to prevent unnecessary breaks in the action.

Shooto was a pioneer in MMA rules, incorporating elements that would later define modern mixed martial arts.

2) Pancrase – Hybrid Wrestling Becomes Reality

• Pre-inauguration show: August 1993
• Official launch: September 1993 (two months before UFC 1)
• Founded by Masakatsu Funaki & Minoru Suzuki after leaving PWFG.
• Originally promoted as "hybrid wrestling," incorporating elements of different combat sports.

Rules & Innovations:

• Used the loss-point system from UWF, but fighters could win instantly by:
  
  • 10-count KO
  • Submission (choke or joint lock)
• Promoted realistic, competitive fights—many of which were effectively MMA bouts before the term existed.

Pancrase played a crucial role in bridging shoot-wrestling with modern MMA, setting the stage for future crossovers.

3) Shinbukan & The Bujin Cup – A Forgotten Pioneer

• Founded in 1976 by Hiroshi Honkawa in Fukuoka Prefecture as a karate dojo.
• All Japan Fighting Arts (Kakutōgi) Championship Tournament (Bujin Cup) started in 1986 as a full-contact karate event.
• 1988 rule changes transformed the tournament into a mixed-style competition, incorporating:
  
  • Throws
  • Ground submissions
  • Palm strikes to the head

Unique Rule Set:

• Fighters had to tap twice (earning half-points each) to fully submit.
• Allowed fighters to continue fighting after a single tap, making it one of the most brutal rule sets of its era.
• In 2003, they introduced MMA gloves and bare-knuckle rules in later rounds.
• In 2009, they banned submissions but legalized headbutts (with headgear).

Shinbukan tournaments were a crucial early experiment in mixed-rules combat and helped push Japan toward a true vale tudo/MMA culture.

Additional Japanese Organizations Influencing MMA

K-1 & Seidokaikan

• Pre-UFC involvement: Sent karate fighters into Rings from 1991–1993.
• Introduced vale tudo/MMA fights into early K-1 events.
• Staged sōgō kakutōgi (MMA-style) matches starting with the ’92 Kakutōgi Olympics.
• Fighters included:
  
  • Shoot boxing representatives
  • Dutch kickboxers
  • Daidōjuku karate fighters
  • Wajutsu Keishūkai grapplers

By the mid-1990s, K-1 had fully embraced MMA fights, blending them into its kickboxing promotions.

Daidōjuku (Kūdō) – The Hidden MMA Precursor

• Founded in 1981 by Takashi Azuma, combining Kyokushin Karate + Judo.
• Originally called "Kakutō Karate" (Fighting Karate).
• Hosted full-contact tournaments that included:
  
  • Head strikes & headbutts
  • Throws & ground grappling
• Used Supersafe headgear to allow full head contact.
• Renamed "Kūdō" ("Empty Way") in the mid-1990s.

Daidōjuku predated modern MMA, blending karate & grappling decades before the UFC boom.

Conclusion: Japan’s Role in Shaping MMA Before UFC 1

These pioneering organizations—Shooto, Pancrase, Shinbukan, Daidōjuku, K-1, and Rings—prepared Japan for the reception of vale tudo from Brazil and UFC from the US.

Many fighters who would later compete in modern MMA got their start in these pre-UFC organizations. Japan’s combat sports landscape was already moving toward realistic, minimal-rules fighting before the term "MMA" even existed, making it a crucial parallel development alongside the UFC’s rise.

**************************************************************************

In Other News

Breaking News from Fukuoka – Maeda Returns in Style

Fukuoka, Japan – October 23 – After nine months on the shelf following reconstructive knee surgery, Akira Maeda storms back into action, packing the Fukuoka International Center with a sellout crowd of 7,526. The legend doesn’t miss a beat, forcing Sotir Gotchev to tap in just 6 minutes and 16 seconds, finishing him with a half crab that left no room for escape.

Meanwhile, Nikolai Zouev continues his steady rise. The Russian grappler seems to be on the fast track for a future showdown with Maeda, and tonight, he makes his case loud and clear. Zouev dispatches Andrei Kopilov—one of the group's top contenders—forcing the tap in the semifinal, proving he’s more than just another name in the mix.

With Maeda back in the picture and Zouev on the hunt, the stage is set for a collision course. It’s only a matter of time.

Pancrase Ticket Rush – High Rollers Sell Out for Suzuki vs. Smith

Tokyo, Japan – November 8 – The hottest ticket in town is moving fast, and if you were hoping to snag premium seats for Pancrase’s upcoming showdown, you’re already too late. The big-money tickets are gone, snapped up in advance as fight fans clamor to witness Minoru Suzuki take on world heavyweight kickboxing champion Maurice Smith in a high-stakes mixed-rules clash.

With Suzuki’s submission mastery pitted against Smith’s devastating stand-up game, anticipation is through the roof. If the early sales are any indication, Pancrase is set for another packed house.

Fujiwara-Gumi Packs Korakuen – Malenko Wins, Inoki Sounds Off

Tokyo, Japan – October 29 – Pro Wrestling Fujiwara-Gumi rolls into Korakuen Hall with a night of hard-hitting action and a touch of nostalgia. In the main event, Joe Malenko takes the win over Yuki Ishikawa, proving once again why he’s one of the most technically sound grapplers in the game.

But the real fireworks come during a live edition of Fujiwara’s Pit, featuring none other than Antonio Inoki. The wrestling legend doesn’t hold back, airing out his political troubles before shifting gears and taking a walk down memory lane with Yoshiaki Fujiwara, reminiscing about the gritty early days of their storied careers.

A night of fights, history, and a little controversy—just another day in the world of Fujiwara-Gumi.

Kathy Long Steps Away from Kickboxing – But Not for Good

Bakersfield, CA – Five-time world kickboxing champion Kathy Long is stepping away from the ring, officially announcing her retirement to pursue acting and business ventures. But don’t count her out just yet—her manager, Eric Nolan, hints that a comeback isn’t off the table.

Long, with an 18-1-1 record, dominated the sport over a five-year career, collecting five KICK championship titles across multiple weight classes. Despite knowing she still has what it takes to succeed in the ring, she’s shifting gears, taking acting lessons three times a week and building her career in Hollywood.

She’s no stranger to the big screen—Long worked on fight choreography for Batman Returns, co-starred alongside Kris Kristofferson in Knights, and is currently on set for Natural Born Killers.

For now, she’s trading punches for scripts, but if the right opportunity arises, don’t be surprised if she laces up the gloves again. This story isn’t over yet.

 

[Mbetz1981]

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[witt1021]

Hell Yeah! Love this type of stuff!

 

[Mbetz1981]

Hell Yeah! Love this type of stuff!

I attempted to write the best article on UFC 1. I hope you all find it to be just that...

 

[Mbetz1981]

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