In the first round, I sent him to the floor with a body throw. I got on him and started punching, but he managed to get me off. We were on the floor and the referee told us, ‘Stand up.’ I took my eyes off him for one second and felt a breeze go past my face. His kick had just missed my head. If it had been two inches closer, he would have taken it off.
In the second round, I thought, Fuck this, I can’t last the fight. I came out and caught him with a right uppercut. I wanted to fight on but I knew I wasn’t fit enough. I just wanted to get it over and done with. I think I caught him with a left hook and sent the guy breakdancing. Usually, I’d jump on him and start pounding him, but I just stood there and watched him try to get up. He tried to pull himself up on the ropes but fell down. I thought, You fucking cunt! What have you got to say for yourself now? I took my gum shield out and started playing to the crowd: ‘Who’s number one now? I just took your number one!’
Before the fight most of the crowd had been cheering for him. When the ref put my hand up, I walked around the ring shouting, ‘I’m number one! I’m number one!’ The feeling was unbelievable, especially as I didn’t train for the fight and I wasn’t fit. I’d caught him with a combination and, with a little luck, put him to sleep.
When I’d hit him with that combination, I’d thought, Please don’t get up. Please do not fucking get up! I knew that I was lucky and not fit enough to last two or three rounds. When I fight, I block out the crowd; all I can hear are my coaches and trainers, but it was time to get back to the drawing board.
The referee put my hand in the air and said, ‘The winner, Barrington “Zulu” Patterson!’ I thought, Yeah, that’s fucking me! and all this tinsel came falling from the sky. It took me 15 minutes to get to my changing room because I got mobbed when I came out of the ring. I was signing autographs and having pictures taken.
When I got back to the changing room, Dev had a right go at me, because I could have got knocked out. We all had a laugh about it. I had a shower and then we all sat down to talk about the fight: if I’d have trained, how different would it have been? But at the end of the day I won, and that’s the most important thing.
With hand on heart, I can say that was the only fight that I didn’t do any training for. I went out there, did my best and beat a legend. I knew there would be more fights to come and more money, because I was winning. I’m a good fighter and a crowd pleaser, so they would want me to come back. I play up to the crowd and put bums on seats, I give them their money’s worth. How many English guys have been to Holland and done what I did? I came, I saw, I conquered.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
In 2002, new promoters came in and I got offers from Cage Rage, but I wasn’t going to fight for just two or three grand. I told Dev I wouldn’t get out of bed for that. I was used to getting 6,000–7,000 Euros so why should I bother, considering the crowds I got in Holland? Dev was ringing me every day, saying the promoters were offering me a fight here and a fight there. ‘How much, Dev?’ It could be a few hundred or a couple of grand. ‘I ain’t fighting for that shit!’
As I said earlier, I should have taken those fights. A couple of months later, the promoters rang me and asked if I wanted to fight a guy called Joop Kasteel.
‘Yeah I’ll fight him. Send me the DVDs of his fights.’ They sent me three DVDs and I thought, Look at the size of that bastard! I did a bit of homework on him and it turned out he’d been a bodybuilder. People look at me and think I’m big, but this guy was huge! He’s got the height to go with it, whereas I’m only five foot eleven. He’s six foot plus and massive. I watched the DVDs and thought, He’s still human, I’m gonna try and take this fucker. I trained really hard for this fight. The promoter told me to go to Holland if I wanted proper training, so I would go over on Friday and come back on Sundays most weekends. They put me up in hotels and I trained, trained, trained!
DEV
Joop Kasteel was a monster. Somebody’s got the photo: Barrington and the guys, one of them’s Mattie, and Kasteel is standing behind us. He dwarfs all of us, even Barrington. That’s how big he is, he’s huge. I’m not sure if Kasteel’s his real name, because ‘Kasteel’ means ‘castle’ and he is like a castle.
He’s not as tall as the Klitschkos, he’s only about six three, six four, but he’s massive.
I had three wins from three fights; I can’t remember his record but I think it was touching double figures at the time. He was a big bastard but I heard his stamina was shit. So I upped my training, my food and my running. I upped everything. I’m a big, muscular guy, so I was mainly working on my fitness. Most of my sparring was done in Holland but my fitness training was at Dev’s gym. I went to Holland because there weren’t many guys that I could spar with. It was the best training I’ve ever had. The promoters paid for everything and I didn’t spend a penny. I had six weeks of hard training and it was a buzz being out in Amsterdam with about 30 of my mates. Andre and Dev were there. Andre has been at most of my fights and he pushes me hard. He’ll say, ‘Come on, Baz, come on, Baz, you gotta do it!’ He encourages me to go further.
This fight got a big build-up because we were two big lumps. He’s about half a stone heavier than me and, when we stood together at the weigh-in, he said something that I didn’t like. I went for him and he went for me. The coaches and trainers had to jump in and separate us. The TV cameras were there so it made for even more hype. That was on live Saturday-morning TV, so all the people who had seen this scuffle turned up for the show.
When I got to the stadium, oh my gosh, man! There were 20-odd thousand people but there were still queues and the last tickets were running out. On Sundays, you got everyone from families to top footballers and Dutch singers there. It was a big place and the layout was unbelievable.
I was walking around the stadium, mingling with people and doing my same old routine. Dutch people were coming up to me, wishing me luck. A lot of Dutch people didn’t like my opponent, who I believe was a doorman, and they were saying, ‘I hope you knock him out.’ On the day of the fight, I was thinking, as I always do, Yeah, I can do this. I can beat him with my stamina.
I came out to the ring first: strutting my stuff, music playing, feeling sweet. He came out and I thought, Yeah. He was staring at me and I was staring at him. The ref told us to come together and touch gloves. I don’t think we did, I just turned around and walked back to my corner. The crowd were going, ‘Ooh!’
Then I came out and started beating fuck out of the guy. Within the first minute of the first round, I gave him a cut across his eye. The referee stopped the fight for about two minutes just to attend to this one fucking cut! I thought, Why stop the fight? Just wipe the blood away! The crowd were going mad and it was all action till the end of the first round. There was blood streaming down his face.
I think I just about pinched the round.
In the second round, we were on the floor, till the ref stood us up. I threw a right hand at him and Kasteel moved out of the way. He turned and caught me right in the temple. My legs buckled and I dropped to the floor. I managed to crawl to the ropes and pull myself up. When the ref asked if I was all right, I shook my head, but I still said, ‘Yeah.’
He gave me a standing count and asked if I still wanted to fight. ‘Yeah!’ I could hear Dev and everyone shouting, ‘Come on, Barrington, come on, Barrington!’
I took one step forward and we were at it again. We were both on the floor and he had me in a scarf hold. No one taps out of a scarf hold but my head was still fucked with dizziness. I was dizzy, dizzy, dizzy! I was lying there and I couldn’t do anything. I was fucked, man!
So I tapped out and that was it. I lost the fight; he put his hands up and we embraced each other. The crowd were going fucking wild!
But I’d been banging him till the ref stopped the fight to attend to his cut. It gave him two full minutes to recuperate. Still, it was a great fight all the way, with two great big lumps having it off. But when I got back to the changing room I just buried my head in
my hands. I thought, The ref’s a wanker, they’re all fucking wankers! I’d put on such a good show.
The promoter said, ‘The crowd want you to fight again.’ It was nice for me, having come from England to fight someone on their own manor. I wish I’d been around in Roman days because I would have been a gladiator. I’d have boxed some people up.
I’d fought my heart out and lost, but still – I’d fought my heart out. The promoter said I’d always entertained the crowd and they came first. So, if the promoter was happy, I was happy.
But it felt horrible to lose that fight. I felt cheated and frustrated with the ref for stopping the fight for two minutes to attend to a fucking cut! He shouldn’t have stopped it; he should have put some Vaseline on the cut and carried on. The break gave the guy a chance to get his oxygen back. At the end of the day, I wasn’t badly injured and I moved on to the next fight. Kasteel and me had a little chat at the after party. He was another Dutch guy, and all of my fights had been with guys from the same camp so far.
My next fight was a big one and he was a cunt! He was a doorman and this fight was hyped up to the fucking max. There were massive posters on billboards in Amsterdam, in surrounding areas and at the airport too.
Now I was actually one of the top fighters. My training was spot on and everything was going great for me, but none of the other Dutch fighters wanted to know. It was only the ones from MMA trainer Chris Dolman’s gym who all wanted a pop at me.
The fight was with a guy called Dick Vrij (pronounced ‘Vry’). He was from the same camp and he was a hard fucker too, a real lunatic. I trained for six solid weeks with a couple of boxers, one of whom was Rob M. Norton from Stourbridge. I worked with the boxers to get my hands working again. My grappling and my stand-up were second to none, and my kicking was unbelievable! Everything was worked to a ‘T’.
I left on the Friday as usual with Andre, Dev and Mattie Evans. Everyone was in a good mood when we arrived in Holland. But at the Saturday press conferences and weigh-in, I looked at Vrij and he looked fucking evil! He was only about two or three inches taller than me but he was an evil motherfucker. I think we weighed about the same, as I weighed 17 stone, 5 pounds – my fighting weight. (When I wasn’t fighting, I weighed about 18 stone.)
DEV
They wouldn’t let Barrington and him weigh-in in the same room. They were hostile. Dick Vrij is one of these characters who takes everything really seriously. It gets him in a lot of fights. Barrington was showboating and he took it funny. They said there probably would have been a fight before the fight, so they made sure they didn’t meet until they got in the ring.
That was a big fight. I think it’s probably one of the biggest they’ve ever held, 20- to 30-odd thousand people were there. It was held at the Amsterdam Arena. He was fighting in memory of his dad who died from cancer, and I was just fighting because it was a fight.
On the day, when I came out of the changing room, I thought, I’ve got a fucking hard fight on my hands, three five-minute rounds. I came out and did all the normal stuff I do. He came out and the crowd went fucking wild – I mean wild, wild, wild! I was standing in the ring and there was fucking tinsel coming out of the sky – even though, before the fight, not a lot of people liked him because they said he’s a doorman, he’s a bully. So people were going beforehand, ‘I hope you beat him!’ ‘Kick his arse!’ and things like that. But when it came to the reception, when he came out it was unbelievable.
We came out in the centre of the ring and squared up to each other. I was staring at him and thinking, Yeah, we’re gonna have a right tear-up! He was a standing fighter like me. He didn’t want to go to the ground and nor did I. In the first round, he had me on the back foot a couple of times, up against the ropes. He was kicking the shit out of me and I just stood there.
I’m sure the referee ended that fight because, even though I was up for it, Vrij was better than me. So I was there giving it my all, I was fighting, but he had me up against the ropes for 30 seconds, kicking, punching. I wasn’t throwing anything back. I just couldn’t – I probably put too much into the first round. It was one of those fights where somebody had to go down.
It only lasted two rounds. But it was a proper tear-up, a punishing fight. I came back from Holland in a wheelchair. I couldn’t walk for two or three days.
* * *
Then the promoter set me up with a guy called Dave Dalgliesh. I never change my tactics; I carry on with the same thing. Like Dev said, ‘Just do what you normally do.’
Dalgliesh was about a stone and a half lighter than me. He’s another Dutch guy and had even more experience than the last fighter, but I watched the DVDs of him fighting and thought, I’ll fucking eat this cunt! He was younger than me, in his twenties, and his stand-up wasn’t that good – but he was brilliant on the floor. I thought I’d carry on doing the same old things, but this was a big fight and I needed a win to get myself back up there again. I was a big scalp for opponents and with two losses under my belt I needed this one. I wanted to get back up there again. I watched the DVDs and I trained, trained, trained fucking hard!
I got to Holland and it was the same shit as usual: I stood with him at press conferences and had pictures taken. We were talking to each other and everything was nice. He even said, ‘Thanks for giving me the opportunity,’ and I answered, ‘Yeah, no problem at all.’
Everything had gone to plan: my coaches and trainers were there; people came over from Birmingham to watch. Everything seemed the same as usual. When I came out to the ring and we looked at each other, I thought, You’re mine, you’re mine. Then he came out, grabbed my legs and got me on the floor.
He’s tied me up and I’m thinking, Fucking hell! He’s on top of me and pounding me! How do I get out of these fucking moves? I didn’t expect this to happen at all. I’m trying to punch him off but I can’t. He’s just raining punches down on top of me and I’m thinking, What the fuck do I do now? He was lighter than me and I’d really underestimated him. Mattie is shouting ‘Do this!’ and ‘Do that!’
And I’m trying to do this and that but nothing’s fucking happening! The referee shouts, ‘Get back out there!’ Dalgliesh hits me with a combination and he’s pounding me on the floor. I’m trying to cover up and turn the guy but he’s turned me and got me back in position. He’s punching and pounding me, and then the fight is over! Good referee.
DEV
Barrington is now going into a world where these guys have been fighting a long time. It’s a totally different thing, so that’s where the struggle was. You need maturity in this sport. Those guys were top pros, they were like our pro boxers in England. They were fighting regularly, all of them. Barrington was just a guy who was having a go at it, so he was up against people that in reality he shouldn’t have been fighting. He was a fish out of water really.
The mistake I really made is that I should have taken more fights. Even fights over here. I was just relying on one fight a year: the big one in Holland. So all these guys that I fought in MMA were far more experienced than I was. If I had one fight they’d probably had eight or nine or 15 fights. So there were lots of mistakes I made: I should have got more fights behind me and got the experience, but I thought, Why fight over here and get your teeth kicked out? But that’s how I learned.
It was a foreign sport. But, like the guy says, they were all more experienced than I was, every single one of ’em. But I was just blessed with someone to fight. To actually come up against people who were better than me. Even though some of them were more experienced than me, I still took them on.
After that fight, I really started to improve my groundwork. There was no doubt that Dalgliesh was a brilliant fighter. The crowd went fucking wild, but after the fight he came up and thanked me.
So it was back to the drawing board. It’s not the end of the world, I told myself. MMA is a really short career though, and it was much too late for me to switch over to boxing.
CHAPTER TWELVE
In 2005, a
local promoter called Dean Griffiths of Cage Warriors asked me if I wanted to fight in Coventry. I thought, Well it’s my own manor, so yeah. It was against Emmanuel Marc from France, who’d had X amount of fights and was more of a grappler than me. It was a massive fight and it was the first time that it wasn’t with Showtime, which was one of the biggest organisations promoting MMA in Holland at the time.
DEV
Back at the beginning, when Barrington went down south in Holland, they all wanted him – the main promoter, Simon Rutz, later described Barrington as being the fighter that made the phrase ‘It’s Showtime!’ He got involved with Showtime and that was it. Because normally, when you get to a top organisation like that, when you lose once they won’t have you back. But they had Barrington back.
I’d had a bit of a setback and had fallen out with my missus. But at the same time I wanted to entertain the crowd and to win in Coventry. About 60 or 70 Blues lads turned up; they’d obviously heard that the Coventry Legion were going to be there, so I warned everyone and told them they’d better get their doors sorted out. I warned the doormen there would be trouble but they said, ‘Nah, it’s gonna be all right.’
I was having a big fight in Coventry and it was on my manor, so I also asked my dad, who was now living in Wisbech, Cambridgeshire, to come and watch. It was the first time he’d ever watched me fight and he came with his wife, Colleen. I got them picked up by one of my friends, Alana, who brought them from the hotel. (My mum had never come to watch since she saw me fight a couple of years ago, when I won the Midland Area Title in Wolverhampton – so this was my dad’s time.) Even when I was banged up for months in a borstal, I wouldn’t ring him and tell my dad I was in jail or anything like that. I just didn’t want to tell him. But he knew when I was fighting – he didn’t mind because he was coming from the same place as me. He’d heard about me fighting and seen DVDs – but he’d never actually seen me fight and he loved his fighting, his martial arts and boxing.
One-Eyed Baz Page 12
