by Nick Gullo
Top: Urijah Faber.
Bottom: Jonathan Brookins coaches Michael Chiesa.
During the storied episode, the screen cuts to Chris Leben, who summarizes: “The famous fucking fighter speech. Someone should get him an Emmy for that one.” He laughs, then sobers. “It fired me up, it was intense, you know, here I am coming from fighting in only small shows, and now I’ve got the president of the UFC asking me if I want to be a fucking fighter or not, so it definitely lit a fire underneath it.”
Forget the Emmy and crafting MMA lore, this was war. Each week following the January 17, 2005, premiere, Dana paced the office, waiting for the ratings. Thankfully, with each episode the audience grew, and come UFC 51 on February 9, 2005, the PPV buys rebounded to 105,000. Which signaled a heartbeat. The patient gasping. But don’t pop the champagne yet—
Throughout each TUF season, sixteen fighters compete, every week eliminating two more via two-round bouts until only the finalists remain. Every season culminates with The Ultimate Fighter Finale, and that first finale, broadcast live and free April 9, 2005, featured Stephan Bonnar versus Forrest Griffin.
Make or break, this was it. The last hurrah. Fans inside the Cox Pavilion, located on the University of Nevada, Las Vegas campus, had no idea they were soon to witness history. Bruce Buffer announced the fight. The ref dropped his hand. Griffin and Bonnar rushed across the cage, and it was on—a non-stop slugfest that brought the crowd to its feet; and throughout the bout Joe Rogan exclaiming, “This is a battle here … what a war … that first round was the Hagler–Hearns of MMA … these guys are swinging … this crowd’s going nuts … the craziest war I’ve ever seen … I’m just honored to be here watching this … [and finally] how do you call anybody a winner in that fight?”
Afterward, bruised and panting, the two fighters stood, heads bowed, between referee Herb Dean. Bruce Buffer announced the scores: 29–28, 29–28, 29–28 … winner by unanimous decision … Forrest Griffin!
Dana handed over the glass plaque, announced the new car, the new motorcycle, then told Stephan Bonnar that he was no loser, the throw-down also earned him a six-figure UFC contract.
The next morning Dana paced that familiar trench in his office carpet, glancing at the phone on his desk, Where the hell are the overnight ratings?! Ring. He leapt over the desk and, holding his breath: 3.3 million viewers.
Holy shit, this can’t be right.
Dana hung up the phone, and right then it rang again, and again, and again, all day, reporters calling for comment. “That was the greatest fight in UFC history,” he gushed, more relieved than boasting, because he knew, Yeah, great ratings for a free-TV audience, but the company lives or dies via PPV buys. PPV buys—and in just a week would come the true test: UFC 52, TUF coaches’ finale, pitting Randy Couture against Chuck Liddell for the light heavyweight belt. Would even a fraction of that massive audience make the leap?
Well, the next Saturday the dam burst, and after that event’s record-breaking 280,000 buys, prayers answered, the well-watered fields ceded their bounty, and Dana never had to ask for another infusion.
A few months after Michael Chiesa slammed Al Iaquinta, slid behind, and caught him in a rear-naked choke, winning season 15 of The Ultimate Fighter, we caught up backstage in Seattle. “There’s no way I could ever prepare myself for winning the show,” he said. “It’s like a catapult that throws you from watching the UFC at home on TV to sitting in the front row of the arena. It still blows me away.”
Top: Master Thong warms up Daron Cruickshank before his TUF bout; bottom: Andy Ogle consoles Jon Cofer after a loss.
Top: Michael Vick removing his “lucky” handwraps; bottom: Team Cruz, group prayer.
Like Alice down the rabbit hole?
“Hah, yeah, it’s crazy, the strangest thing was learning to make peace with my new life. I worked so hard, so long, to get here—then, when you make it to the other side, it’s trippy. Before everything was such a grind, now every morning I just get up and train. I don’t have to worry about money, or go punch a clock. Now fighting is my job. It’s my life. I never would’ve imagined, but that’s been a major adjustment.”
You feeling the pressure?
“Of course. TUF produced world champions Forrest Griffin and Rashad Evans, so yeah, I know everyone’s watching. I just tell myself, One fight at a time. Forget the rest. Of course I want the belt, and I want to take advantage of the opportunities, but I’m gonna take the toughest fights and work my way up.”
How was that first day back in the gym?
“It’s heavy because now everyone’s out to get you. You go from up-and-comer to the guy with a target on your back. I didn’t see that coming. After winning the show guys want to hurt you so they can go home and say, ‘Oh yeah, I beat the crap out of Mike Chiesa today.’ They’re like, ‘Screw this UFC guy, I’m gonna take his head off.’ So now I have to perform in every training session. That’s hard when you’re pushing through camp, dog tired, and left and right guys are gunning for you. But I was the same way. One of my best friends is Cody McKenzie [TUF season 12 competitor], and when he came off the show I was like, ‘Oh, I can’t wait to get my hands on him, I’m gonna beat his ass.’ I’m just as guilty.”
Michael Chiesa submits Al Iaquinta for the TUF crown.
II: THE MACHINE
Top: Anderson Silva selling the fight.
Bottom: Chael Sonnen at the public workouts.
THE UFC IS not a fight company, it’s a production company—one of the biggest in the world—that just happens to sell fights. This is important, so I’ll write it again: the UFC is not a fight company, it’s a production company.
Yes, true, but with that logic you’d argue that Nike was a shoe company. Which it isn’t. Sure, you can stroll through a Nike store and fill your basket with shoes and cleats, socks and sandals—but don’t forget the T-shirts, pants, headphones, golf clubs, that wireless watch, and those shorts and sunglasses. Forget shoes, Nike is the world’s largest advertising agency, but it didn’t start that way.
It’s fascinating to identify the parallels between the two companies: the engine under Nike runs on advertising while the UFC is fueled via production.
In 1964, Phil Knight and Bill Bowerman stood on the University of Oregon track field while runners sprinted past. Bowerman ripped apart a heavy cleat, standard for the day, and told Knight, “Dude, this shoe sucks, we can make these damn things lighter, more comfortable”—and as the legend goes, Nike was born.
In 2000, Dana, Lorenzo, and Frank attended an early UFC event in New Orleans, and glancing around at the half-empty arena told each other, “We can do this so much better …”
Thirteen years later, Nike asked Dana to speak at their corporate gathering in Las Vegas. “In the early days, cable networks wouldn’t carry MMA, but they had no problem with porn,” Dana said. “Now we’re broadcast in 145 countries around the world, into 350 million homes.”
Ha ha, funny now, but this bias forced the young company to learn film and television production. They didn’t want to but circumstances forced their hand. Just as Knight and Bowerman intended only to build a better cleat, but soon found themselves brainstorming slogans, shooting arty photos for ads, writing commercials, courting famous directors.
Typical fight promoter duties involve selecting venues, negotiating fighter contracts, speaking at press conferences; but Dana found his days consumed with writing commercials, giving notes on promos, and crafting storylines, while at events he directed camera angles and reviewed every walkout song. Some might call this micromanaging, but if anything angered fans or offended advertisers, Dana alone answered the call.
Start an advertising agency, and, no question, my first choice for president would be Phil Knight. Start a production company, and I’d choose Dana White. This is what rival fight leagues don’t grasp—it’s not just about finding a talking head. The Craigslist job posting for promoter should read:
Help wanted promoting MMA fights.
&nbs
p; Comfortable speaking in public before thousands of fans, journalists, and television cameras? Have the ability to corral the egos of the toughest men and women on the planet? Here, there, so many fires and things-to-do you’ll sleep a mere three, four hours per night—but, hey, what’s health when you’re flying around the world on a private jet! :-) Oh, and the right candidate MUST understand all aspects of video broadcast and production, so if you fit the bill, apply here!
In addition to The Ultimate Fighter reality TV series, UFC produces UFC Ultimate Insider, UFC Tonight, UFC Primetime, along with several YouTube blogs. That’s millions of eyeballs glued to the revolution.
BEHIND THE CURTAIN
To understand a company, any company, we must plunge through the skin and bones and locate its beating heart. Forget org charts. Forget titles. Those only obscure. Instead, seek out the company’s core competency, the thing no competitors can match. Again, consider Nike: the swaths of accountants, lawyers, engineers, assembly-line workers, even the athletes—these are merely cyborg limbs dependent on that life-giving pulse. No world-class advertising = no sales = no contracts = no fall season = no new product = no endorsement money.
Top: Craig Borsari, pre-fight production.
Bottom: Mike Goldberg and Joe Rogan.
So if I were to profile Nike operations, I’d march past the reception desk and down that long hallway lined with classic posters, past the conference room, and rounding a corner I’d bust in on the head of advertising; and as she picked up the phone to call security, Ma’am, wait, please put that down, I know so few recognize the real game here, it’s just commercials, right, she’s just hawking goods, we hold the purse strings … but I see where the true power lies…
At UFC headquarters, if you walk through the entrance lobby and up the stairs, past reception desks you will reach the office of the executive vice president of production, Craig Borsari. And just how do we know this is the right door? Because it’s the only entrance adjacent to D.W.’s. To wit, the old adage: proximity = power.
As Dana’s right hand, Craig oversees every aspect of production, including prepackaged and live events. Those stirring Primetime segments. Those exciting pre-fight commercials, same. Every pay-per-view broadcast. That’s why Dana spends half the day in his lieutenant’s office, reviewing edits and mapping strategy.
THE WHEEL
Lorenzo Fertitta describes UFC events as the hub of a wheel, with the connected spokes representing ancillary products. It’s an apt analogy because fans watch the fights, then fill their carts with shirts, programs, necklaces, training bags, action figures, gloves, video games, magazines, etc.
So we’ve got a wheel spinning 365, powered by this production engine … a machine with five-hundred-plus employees around the globe, and the control room nestled in the Zuffa corporate offices, a few miles off the famed Vegas Strip.
SELLING THE FIGHT
Everyone has a job: editors edit, accountants balance, lawyers argue, and fighters, well, they sell the fight. Sure, there’s training and dieting and climbing the mountain, but if you want the fame and glory and the money, then you gotta sell, with a capital S.
“It’s not enough to win,” Dana tells fighters. “You’ve gotta make an impact.”
Translation #1: Build your brand.
Translation #2: Study the writings of Carl Jung.
In the book The Hero and the Outlaw: Building Extraordinary Brands Through the Power of Archetypes, authors Margaret Mark and Carol Pearson profile companies as diverse as Nike and Marlboro to illustrate the importance of leveraging ancient archetypes in order to pierce the white noise of mass culture and thus “make an impact.”
Sure, you must win, but ever wonder why some fighters get numerous title shots while others don’t?
Answer: Archetypes.
Consider: GSP, the white knight. Anderson Silva, the wizard. Nick Diaz, the anti-hero. Chael Sonnen, the trickster. Ronda Rousey, the huntress.
If I were a fighter I’d leave nothing to chance. I’d study the interviews and videos of break-out fighters, and note how each reinforces their archetype: GSP trains harder than any mortal. Anderson Silva’s style defies convention, and he moves (as per Stephan Bonnar) like someone from The Matrix. Nick Diaz misses press conferences and flips the bird at cameras. Chael Sonnen calls out an entire nation, then on television licks Rashad Evans’s shoe.
UFC ambassador Chuck Liddell, at a regional Orange County MMA bout; Dana White in studio.
Arianny Celeste at the TUF Wall of Fame.
But aligning with that archetype is only the first step; next, for each and every fight you must build the rivalry.
RIVALRIES
Fight fans incessantly debate the GOAT (Greatest Of All Time). Not even a question, Sugar Ray Robinson … bullshit, Roy Jones Jr. in his prime was untouchable … are you crazy, what about Willie Pep?!
It’s an ageless argument without answer. But there’s no disputing the all-time fight salesman was Muhammad Ali. The Greatest sold a fight like none other. It’s sheer genius how he turned every opponent, even close friend Joe Frazier, into an arch-enemy because he knew that nothing sells tickets like the prospect of a fierce rivalry.
Few MMA rivalries compare with Ali versus Frazier, Madison Square Garden, March 1971. Imagine the nerves, the excitement, in witnessing Ali’s first fight after being stripped of the belt for protesting the Vietnam draft. Christened “Fight of the Century,” what’s most tragic is that no matter what we do, rewatch the tapes, interview eyewitnesses, we’ll never truly appreciate the energy of this, or any, all-time rivalry unfolding in real-time. The verbal jousts. The put-downs. If I could power up my time machine, I’d first zap back to 1954 and watch Helio Gracie versus Masahiko Kimura, at Maracanã Stadium, Rio de Janeiro, October 1951 … then I’d zap to Ali versus Frazier … then to Chuck Liddell versus Tito Ortiz, Mandalay Events Center, Las Vegas, April 2004.
Thankfully I was there for every moment of Anderson Silva versus Chael Sonnen, MGM Garden Arena, July 2012.
During the hoopla, I sat with Chael and we talked about the game.
Tell me about promoting a fight. [Chael is the greatest fight promoter in the UFC.]
“I don’t know much about promotion. I don’t have an interest in promotion. I am purely an athlete.”
As a kid, were you introverted or extroverted?
“I don’t know … where I lived, in the middle of nowhere [West Linn, Oregon], nobody had cable TV, cell phones. There was no such thing as the internet. You spent a lot of time alone, playing and finding ways to occupy the time. So I guess that qualifies as an introvert.”
When you started dealing with the media, promoting your MMA fights, was it difficult, or did you just jump right in?
“The sport grew around me—it’s still growing. I don’t do a whole lot of interviews. I’ll do one, and it gets picked up and recycled on every site, often my quotes changed.”
Does that aspect of the MMA media—the same questions, and the “tweak and reposts”—frustrate you?
“I find it comical. It’s certainly bizarre and unique to this industry.”
At what point in your career did you decide to say whatever it takes to get under your opponent’s skin?
“I never had thoughts like that. But there was a point when I decided to just answer things honestly. I went through the whole fake thing for a while—every fighter does—where you answer the questions according to protocol. But then I realized, you can’t be afraid to pick a fight when you’re in the fight business. I’m glad I did it, it was refreshing. I tell others, don’t say something about a guy just to say it. I was very angry at Koscheck after his fight with GSP. Kos built this fight up for a couple of months, in the ring [after the fight] he said, hey I didn’t mean any of that, I was just promoting this fight. Well, that’s called fraud. You can’t say anything to sell something that is not true. Tyson did it after the Lennox Lewis fight, after losing he says, ‘Oh, this is a great guy.’ People accuse me of
the same thing, but I would never ever manufacture conflict. I don’t talk trash, I talk truth.”
You ran for political office [State Representative in Oregon’s House District 37]. What’s the parallel with fighting?
“They are both campaigns—it’s all about getting your message out there. Why would someone tune into my fight if there is another fight out there? That’s my job, to campaign for their attention. Politics sucks, and so does fighting.”
Why do you say fighting sucks?
“It’s difficult and grueling. There is only a small percent of the population that will raise their hand and sign up for this. It takes a unique person.”
Do you find it ironic that in the fight game they deal with a simple scenario, X versus Y, and try and complicate the issues; while in the political game they take very complex issues, and try and oversimplify them?
“I completely agree. So funny. Guys go off to camp to prepare for a fight, and they act like they are leaving for university to study nuclear science. Why you need a camp to learn how to punch is beyond me. Why you need seclusion to know you have to run three miles in under fifteen minutes is beyond me. It’s the strangest thing. I love boxing guys that sit around with their gold teeth and try to break down a fight—look at this guy’s footwork, his range and movement. All of that is made up. There is no such thing as footwork, range and movement. It’s just two guys fighting. Yeah, they move their feet, and yeah, there’s a range—but in the end, it’s just two guys in a cage. Doesn’t get any simpler.”
