Death Clutch

by Brock Lesnar

  My lawyers bet me that the UFC would not put a camera anywhere near me, because I wasn’t under contract to them, had just fought for a rival organization, and, most importantly, I was that guy from WWE. We knew the UFC didn’t want anything to do with sports entertainment, because fans accepted the UFC as the real deal and there was no reason to toy with that perception.

  I’m not saying the UFC did anything to make me feel unwelcome. I’m sure they were happy taking my money for the tickets. But they didn’t do anything to make me feel welcome, either. When the show came to an end, the lights were coming up, the cameras were going down, the fans were leaving the building, and I had to make a quick decision.

  That’s when I said to my lawyers, “Boys, I’m hopping the rail, and no one better try and stop me.” Lawyers being lawyers, they just started getting ready for any legal issues that might come about because of my move. Deep down, they loved the fact that their client had such balls.

  I jumped down to the main floor, pushed my way through the crowd, and walked right past security. When I got near the Octagon I found myself directly behind Dana White, so I tapped him on the shoulder and introduced myself.

  We found an empty room in the back of the arena, and Dana sat down with me and my lawyers. I’ll give him credit; Dana didn’t pull any punches. That’s a good thing for a promoter in the real fight business. He came right out with it. “What makes you think you can do this, Brock? What makes you think you can be in the UFC with the best fighters in the word?”

  I told Dana, “Don’t look at me like I’m an entertainer thinking he’s a real athlete. I AM A REAL ATHLETE, an NCAA Division I Heavyweight Champion. Pro wrestling just offered me a chance to get out of debt and make a lot of money right out of college.”

  I only had a few minutes to make my case because Dana had to get to the postfight press conference. I was just as up front with him as he was with me. I told Dana I don’t have the time to work my way up in small organizations, fighting tomato cans. Either I can be a champion fighter, or I can’t. I asked Dana to just give me one chance, with the best part of it being that the UFC couldn’t lose in the deal.

  If I win, the UFC has the golden goose. If I lose, someone else is going to become a star at my expense. Either way, my fight will draw money. MMA fans will pay to see me get my ass kicked. WWE fans will pay to see one of their own take on the best the UFC has to offer. There was no downside to the idea.

  Dana knew this was a win-win proposition, but he also knew he had to throw me to the wolves. If Dana was going to give a WWE guy a shot, without ruining his own credibility, it couldn’t look like a work or an easy setup. It had to be against a real opponent. There are no easy fights in the UFC, and Dana wasn’t going to offer me one just to build me up. I wasn’t looking for any favors, either. I wanted to start at the top.

  Dana had to leave for the press conference, but I wanted an answer. I got the one I was looking for. The UFC was going to give me a shot.

  At the time, the promotion was looking to do something with its former Heavyweight Champion Frank Mir, and I was the perfect answer to everyone’s problems. Mir had been in a motorcycle accident that derailed his career, and he was in the process of making his comeback. He’s a big guy, dangerous on his feet and on the ground. No one could call a fight with Frank Mir a setup.

  It was a perfect scenario for Dana and the UFC. Either I was going to defeat a former Heavyweight Champion, and launch my own career from the top, or Frank was going to kick my ass and show the world that WWE guys have no business stepping into the Octagon.

  When I got home I watched some tapes of Frank’s past fights. He had good technical skills, and he was very capable, but I saw a guy who wasn’t in my league.

  Whether was or wasn’t really didn’t matter to me. I was getting one chance in the UFC, and I planned to rip out whatever heart Mir had and feed it right back to him. I was going to make a statement. And I was going to make a lot of money doing it.

  The fight was set for UFC 81 on February 2, 2008, at the Mandalay Bay Events Center in Las Vegas. Super Bowl weekend.

  The UFC promoted the fight with everything they had. You couldn’t walk down the street without seeing my face on a billboard or poster. I was all over the TV, radio, and the Internet. If you didn’t know I was fighting that weekend, you just weren’t paying attention.

  It was a smart move on their part. A good investment. The UFC made money on me that day, and I think it’s a safe bet to say they have continued to make money on me ever since.

  But everyone knows what happened.

  There’s a saying about how sooner or later everyone loses in the UFC. I lost sooner.

  I took Frank down right away, and was pounding him. The crowd was going crazy. The noise was deafening, and I couldn’t hear the referee when he pulled me off Frank. For a minute, I thought the fight had been stopped and that I had won. But my hand wasn’t getting raised; instead I was being led to my corner, and Frank was being given a moment to shake the cobwebs from his scrambled brain.

  Referee Steve Mazzagatti said that I had illegally hit Frank in the back of the head when he was down. That was Mazzagatti’s reason for standing us up. Frank was given some time to recover, but I immediately took him down again, and resumed beating his ass.

  I had the fight won, but then I made a stupid rookie mistake. I was in too much of a hurry to finish the fight, and I stepped into Frank’s legs when he was on the ground. I was trying to get a better position, where I could just crack him in the face and knock him out, but I fell right into the same trap I had been trained not to fall for. We must have practiced that scenario about a thousand times in training. I left myself open, and Frankie Boy rolled me right into the knee bar. I had no choice. Tap out, or let him break my leg. I tapped, and I have no one to blame but myself.

  I know I handed Frank that victory. I gave it to him. He didn’t deserve to win. He’s not a better fighter than I am. On his best day, he’s not half the athlete I am on my worst. I gave him my leg on a silver platter, just handed him that submission. That was my loss, not Frank’s win. I screwed up.

  I was a very lucky man that night, because I impressed enough people, especially Dana White, that I got to keep my job in the UFC. I think I’m the only guy in the history of the company that came in with no experience, got beat in ninety seconds, and was declared a hot prospect when it was over.

  Still, that loss to Frank Mir chapped my ass real good.

  I came from piss-poor South Dakota, and worked my way to become an NCAA Champion, and then Undisputed WWE champion. I could have played professional football if I wanted to spend a year in Europe to learn the game. When I’m almost thirty, I go into the mixed martial arts game, get a shot in the UFC, beat Frank’s ass for a minute and a half, only to hand him a victory?

  Just thinking about it now gets me pissed off all over again. I absolutely knew in my heart, my mind, and my soul that I am a better fighter than Frank Mir. Losing to Frank was one of the worst moments of my life, because I lost to someone who simply did not deserve to beat me, let alone even be in my Octagon.

  I wanted a rematch!

  I knew I’d have to work my way through some people to get back to Frank, but I didn’t care who they put in front of me. I wanted Frank Mir again, and I wanted him in the worst way. Every thought I had about Frank was consumed with bad intentions.

  GETTING BACK ON THE HORSE

  UFC 87 was scheduled for August 9, 2008, at the Target Center in Minneapolis, the UFC’s first-ever event in the state of Minnesota. I was going to fight in my adopted hometown, a couple of miles away from the U of M campus where I had wrestled for the Gophers.

  I was originally matched up with UFC Hall of Famer Mark Coleman, who has a strong wrestling background and had had fights all over the world, but he suffered an injury shortly before the event and had to back out. With Coleman gone, the
UFC asked me if I would fight “The Texas Crazy Horse,” Heath Herring. I didn’t even think about it before I said yes. I told Dana when we first met, I would fight anyone he wanted to throw at me, and I meant it. I wasn’t interested in building a résumé littered with easy victories. I came to the UFC to fight, and I was willing to step into the Octagon with anyone.

  Besides, I’m a businessman. There’s a little bit of money on the undercard . . . but there’s a whole lot of money at the top. Which one would you go for? My goal was never to be the third match on the card in WWE, and that’s an environment in which the winners are predetermined. In the UFC, the outcomes are for real. You pit your athleticism and desire to succeed and win against the other trained athlete’s desire to succeed and win. One man moves on, the other drops down one or two notches. Keep going up, reach the top, make the money.

  And like Curt Hennig taught me, “Get in to get out.”

  I’m a big-money athlete. That’s not my ego talking. It’s a fact. That’s how I view myself. If I thought of myself any differently, I wouldn’t be a big-money athlete. I’d be some guy imagining what it would be like to be a main eventer. I dream, just like everyone else. I also go after my dreams and make them happen in reality.

  Heath Herring was no slouch. He was a fighter with a tough guy’s reputation that he earned by fighting top-level guys like Fedor, Nogueira, Kongo, Cro Cop, Belfort, and Kerr. Heath was 43–27–1 before our fight. That’s a lot of experience in the fight game. This was a man who knew his way around every inch of that Octagon. For me, it was only my second fight in the UFC.

  I don’t think Heath took me seriously, and that rubbed me the wrong way. He looked at me like I was a greenhorn, a WWE wrestler who didn’t belong in the Octagon with an experienced veteran like him. He acted as if it was beneath him to fight me, and I was determined to make him eat his own words. I’m sure to his friends and family, Heath is an “okay guy,” but I just didn’t like him.

  I’m sure that Heath Herring doesn’t like me, either . . . after all, I broke his face.

  I never want to take away any man’s ability to earn a living, but I have to admit I enjoyed that punch. One shot, and Herring was reeling backward, ass end over teakettle, with a broken orbital bone. If he hadn’t been such a tough bastard, the fight would have been stopped right there. But for three rounds, no matter how much I beat his ass, he just kept coming back for more. Heath took that beating like a man, and he never even thought about quitting. I have to give him that. He at least earned that much.

  I won a unanimous decision for my first victory in the UFC. Heath Herring has never fought again.

  UFC 91: MY FIGHT VS. RANDY COUTURE

  I was told that my next UFC fight was going to be against Cheick Kongo, the French Muay Thai kickboxer. Kongo is one of the best strikers in the game, and I thought I would match up well with him because I could easily take him down and control him on the ground.

  Then I got the word that Dana White wanted to offer me the opportunity of a lifetime. I wasn’t going to fight Cheick Kongo. I was going to fight Randy Couture for the UFC Heavyweight Championship of the World.

  Randy is the Godfather of MMA, a living, breathing legend who is still one tough old bastard. Randy was upset with the UFC when negotiations for a match with Fedor Emelianenko fell apart, and Randy’s people told him he could “retire” from the UFC while he was still champion, and then go fight for another organization. From what I understand, the whole idea was for Randy to go elsewhere and get a piece of the action and a bigger payday. The UFC and Randy ended up exactly like me and WWE. Everyone was suing everyone else, which means a lot of time and money was being spent, with no return on that investment.

  The UFC made the decision to create an “interim title,” which I liked to call the “fake title,” since to win that championship, all you had to do was beat another contender. If you want to rule over a kingdom, you have to dethrone the reigning king. Randy was the king of the heavyweight division, but the UFC had grown tired of waiting for him to defend his crown, so they wised up and decided to take a page right out of Vince McMahon’s playbook and turn a bad situation into a moneymaker.

  The plan was to first settle the lawsuit with Randy. The UFC’s lawyers had him up against the cage, because there was no way he was going to be able to jump to another organization while he was still under contract to the UFC. No judge was going to buy the “retirement” ploy and then allow Randy to “come out of retirement” just so he could get a piece of his fight with Fedor.

  As things stood now, Randy was going to defend the title against me. In the meantime, two other heavyweights would battle it out for the fake title . . . I mean the interim title . . . and then the two champions would meet for the Undisputed UFC Heavyweight Championship of the World. The decision was an example of marketing genius, a win-win for everybody.

  Couture settled his lawsuit with the UFC and agreed to defend his title at UFC 91 on November 15, 2008, at the MGM Grand Garden Arena in Las Vegas. I could not ask for a bigger or better opportunity in life.

  A lot of hard-core UFC fans resented the fact that I was being given a title shot in only my third UFC fight, my fourth MMA fight overall, but my attitude was very simple.

  Screw them.

  Only a fool would turn down a chance to fight Randy Couture for the UFC Heavyweight Championship in Las Vegas. What was I supposed to do? Say “no thank you”?

  “Oh gee, Mr. White, I’m not worthy”?

  “I need a few more fights before I earn the public’s acceptance to become the number one contender for Randy Couture’s heavyweight title!”?

  I took the opportunity that was presented to me, and I made the most of it. That’s what a fighter does. That’s what any businessman would do. Wouldn’t YOU do that for YOUR family?

  So many guys going into a big fight will screw themselves up in the head by listening to the critics and the so-called experts. Everyone was saying I didn’t belong in that fight. That I didn’t earn it. Randy has too much experience, I kept hearing. I, meanwhile, have no skills. But I never buy into the hype, the advertising, or the marketing. I ignore it all. When you step into the Octagon, hype means nothing. Reputations mean nothing. Nothing else matters but what happens when they lock that cage door.

  It’s just so pure. Two gladiators. One wins. One loses.

  When the referee instructs the two warriors to “fight,” the truth about a man is going to be revealed. Twenty thousand screaming fans. A worldwide pay-per-view audience. Everyone watching your every movement. Everyone wanting that spotlight to be on them at that moment.

  If your instinct is to psych yourself out, you’re only setting yourself up for a loss. You either believe in yourself, and your camp, and your trainers, and who you are . . . and what you can do . . . or you don’t.

  By the time I was offered the title fight with Randy, I had moved up to Alexandria, Minnesota, which is about three hours northwest of Minneapolis. I set up my own training facility, the DeathClutch Gym.

  I put my old wrestling coach, Marty Morgan, in charge of the camp. Greg Nelson and Erik Paulson came on board as my MMA trainers, and worked with me on my submission defense, striking, and general game plan. I was grappling with two-time NCAA Division I Champion Cole Konrad, and two-time NCAA Division II All-American Chris Tuchscherer. I brought in some other big, tough guys like Kirk Klosowsky and Jesse Wallace so I always had people who could push me harder and harder every day. When I needed work on specific skills, we would hire in the best people available, like seven-time Brazilian jiujitsu world champion Rodrigo “Comprido” Medeiros.

  I actually like Randy Couture. Well, I like him now. I didn’t let his status as a legend get into my head before we stepped into the Octagon with each other. Going into that fight, I kept reminding myself of the lesson I had learned against Wes Hand. I didn’t want to have any respect for Randy at all. He was i
n my way, an obstacle to be overcome on my way to the UFC Heavyweight Championship. Randy Couture was preventing me from providing a better life for my family, and that’s the only way I wanted to look at him.

  When you step into the Octagon with Randy you are not just fighting him, you are fighting everything he’s accomplished in the sport of mixed martial arts as well. It would be easy for anyone to be intimidated by his past, to be in awe of the fighter standing across the Octagon from you. But I knew that as soon as I thought to myself, “Oh wow, this is Randy Couture, he’s this and he’s that,” I would be done. I would have already lost the fight, before it even started.

  So I told myself, “I already know what Randy Couture is. Now I want to figure out what he isn’t.” That’s the big difference between me and all of the guys that he beat. I didn’t enter the Octagon holding Randy on some pedestal above me. I didn’t even look at him as an equal. I looked at him as the guy I was going to beat. In my mind, I had no doubt that I was the better man, the more deserving champion.

  As I stepped into the Octagon that night, the entire arena was booing me with a passion. It reminded me of my days as a heel in WWE. UFC fans did not want to see their hero crushed by a “fake” WWE professional wrestler. They wanted to see Randy show me that I didn’t belong, beat my ass, and ship me back to Vince McMahon’s doorstep in a box.

  From the moment the crowd got their first glimpse of Couture, the chants of “Randy . . . Randy . . . Randy!” filled the arena. As much as the crowd was booing me, they were cheering for Randy Couture. I was loving every moment of it. I knew I was going to win. My training peaked just at the right time. My confidence was at an all-time high. I looked across the Octagon, and all I saw was the person I was going to smash and beat for the heavyweight title. I was minutes away from being able to afford the best life possible for my family.