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  CHAPTER 41

  REVENGE IS PRETTY DARN SWEET

  I’VE RARELY ASKED DANA TO SET UP A FIGHT FOR ME. He tells me whom I’m going to fight and I say fine. But that doesn’t keep me from dropping hints about whom I’d really like to face in the cage if I had my choice. Now that I was the champ, I wanted to avenge all the losses on my record because, let’s face it, revenge is pretty damn sweet. I had taken care of one L when I beat Randy. Now I wanted to fight Jeremy Horn.

  Hard-core UFC fans, the ones who had been with us from the beginning, had wanted to see a rematch of this fight for a while. Fighters respected Jeremy because he was a pro, and fans appreciated him because he was so skilled on the ground. Losing to him was nothing to be ashamed of. But I hadn’t had a chance to get at him again because he hadn’t fought in the UFC since 2001; instead he was working a bunch of minor league circuits mixed in with an occasional Pride fight. With my newfound clout and the fans clamoring to see the matchup, Dana anted up to get Jeremy into the cage.

  We faced off in UFC 54 on August 20, 2005, at the MGM Grand Garden Arena in front of more than 13,500 people. My confidence was sky-high. I didn’t recognize myself in the fighter Jeremy had beaten six years earlier. Back then I was a raw talent who had the urge to knock people out but was still figuring out how to do it. I was undisciplined on my feet and unskilled on the ground. Now I was a professional. No situation in the cage made me feel anxious—I could pass every guard, escape every hold, or take every punch. Going into the fight with Jeremy, I had won six straight by stoppage, and I expected to take people out early in every fight. I even said before the bout that I was going to knock him out in the first round, but if I didn’t, he was going to wish I had.

  Jeremy didn’t back down. He promised he wasn’t going to dance around trying to avoid my punches. I knew he wasn’t that kind of fighter. He was a pro. No way he was going to be nervous, no matter how much I talked about testing his chin. In ninety-four career fights over nearly ten years of fighting, the guy had never been knocked out. I think a lot of fans started believing he had a shot, too, because the money in Vegas was coming in his way late. Too bad they didn’t bet on me.

  Midway through the first round I threw a powerful right that split his defense. I’ve got such a rep for throwing punches from all different angles, I’m not sure he expected one to come straight at him like that. But that is what was open, and he crumbled to the mat like three-day-old cake.

  I pounced and pummeled and was being a tough guy, but Jeremy was protecting himself on pure instinct, finding a way to get his hands and his guard up that kept me from doing any serious damage. Finally I stood back up and told him to get up, too. Big John was reffing that night. He always gives a little more leeway to guys who look as if they are in trouble during title fights. But when we had spoken in the locker room before, I told him not to stop this thing. I wanted to fight.

  After the match a couple reporters asked why I let Jeremy off the mat. Well, besides the fact I wanted to keep going, there’s no reason for me to ever be down there. I’m not going to win down there. The best way for me to finish fights is standing up. I can hit harder when I am on my feet. So when I know I’ve hurt a guy, as I did Jeremy that night, I get up and say, “Let’s go.”

  Jeremy is a survivor. He stood up, although he looked unsteady, and I eased back. I knew this fight was over. When the round ended and his corner put out his chair, Jeremy told his guys, “I can’t see. Everything’s blurred. I can’t see.”

  His vision didn’t clear during the minute between rounds, and I took him down again with another straight right. I knew the guy couldn’t see, so there was no need to bring my punches from anywhere except straight ahead. But he knew enough about fighting to protect himself when he was down. I was throwing and connecting on a lot of punches. His nose was bleeding badly. For the rest of the fight he’d use one of his gloved hands to helplessly wipe at it. But he was doing just enough fighting back, even if he was swinging blindly, to keep Big John from stopping it, and me from getting him to tap out. When he got up again, his legs were shaking. He went for some takedowns, but it seemed like he did it more for a rest than for any real advantage.

  Between the second and third rounds Jeremy told his corner that he was still having a hard time seeing. Not that it stopped him from coming out for a third round. He kept his distance this time and even connected on a few hard kicks. But even if he won that round—one judge scored it that way—he’d need a knockout to win the fight. And that wasn’t going to happen.

  When we came out for the fourth round, Jeremy’s face was in bad shape. He had a cut above his eye and his nose was still bleeding. I know they were just trying to wait me out, hoping I’d get tired and run out of punching power. I had been sick for a few weeks before the match, and some prefight stories said it might affect my strength in late rounds. But that wasn’t going to happen, not tonight. It was time for me to end it. I wouldn’t go into a fifth round and wait for the judges to decide it, even if I knew I was dominating the fight.

  I threw one more straight right punch—something we had been working on a lot in the weeks leading up to the fight—and Jeremy went down again.

  He reached for his eyes and, as he tried to stand up, told Big John he couldn’t see. That was it. Big John called it. I earned $80,000 for fighting and another $80,000 for winning. But I’d done something better than win a big payday. I’d avenged my first mixed martial arts loss. Now, between Jeremy and Randy, that was two down. Which mean only Quentin “Rampage” Jackson was left.

  Jeremy Horn took a beating that night. Then I knocked him out.

  CHAPTER 42

  YOU CAN’T WAIT TO FINISH A GUY

  WITH RAMPAGE STILL UNDER CONTRACT TO PRIDE, it would take a while for Dana to set up that fight. No worries, though. Plenty of big-money fights were waiting for me in the UFC. Beginning with Randy Couture, who wanted a rubber match.

  My feelings about how to fight Randy hadn’t changed: If I kept moving, stayed in good position, and made him pay every time he moved in for a takedown, I was confident I could win. Hack also had me working on a new punch, called a fishhook, that people hadn’t seen from me, and which we both thought could stymie a grappler who liked to get close, the way Randy did.

  The fight with Randy was scheduled for February 4, 2006. I had been an MMA fighter for seven years, and a professional fighter longer than that, yet I could still learn something new. That discovery is still a draw for me, in the same way it made me want to keep going in karate when I was a teenager. Fighting is as much about the internal challenge as it is the external battle.

  Hack suggested the fishhook while we were goofing around during a sparring session. This short uppercut hits someone on the side of the chin, rather than coming straight up underneath it with a good, hard, clean punch. It was more of an annoying blow that surprised people than one that could really cause a lot of damage or knock someone out. But if he rushed in and tried to tie me up, it would knock an opponent off balance and make him think twice about coming in again.

  I was hoping to use the move against Randy. It’s always nice to debut something in front of a big crowd. And every Ultimate Fighting Championship card seemed to be setting a new record for attendance. When Randy and I fought in UFC 57 at the Mandalay Bay Events Center, the gate was $3.3 million, the largest ever, with tickets scalping for as much as $3,600. Once, Dana and the Fertittas had a goal of two hundred thousand pay-per-view buys. The total for my rubber match with Randy was estimated to be more than four hundred thousand. The numbers—and hunger—for UFC cage matches seemed boundless.

  * * *

  MY FAVORITE LOCALES FOR FIGHTS:

  Mandalay Bay

  MGM

  The Palms

  The Hard Rock Hotel

  * * *

  When we walked into the cage and the fight began, the eruption from the crowd was deafening as I circled to my left and threw a few jabs. He had his hands up and I wanted to wear h
im down a bit, even if my punches didn’t make it through his guard. Meanwhile my hands were down a bit. Randy is a good striker, but I wasn’t worried about his power as much as I was his takedowns. That’s why I was just feeling him out at first, never standing in front of him for too long, never giving him a clean target to aim for. That first minute of the fight was actually some great hand-to-hand combat: I jabbed, he defended. I threw a left hook to knock his hands down, he got them back up. He came back at me with a right-left combo. I faked, he countered with a right and then a cross that I blocked. I tried to land a big right, but he deftly took a step back to avoid the blow. Neither of us had an advantage, we were just looking for an opening.

  We battled back and forth like this for most of the first round. But I could tell that my jabs, while not bringing any knockout power, were definitely starting to have an effect. A little more than two minutes into the round Randy was getting red around his right eye. Thirty seconds later I landed a pretty big left. About forty seconds after that Randy came at me with a right, then tried to move in for the takedown. But I caught him with a left, a big right, and an uppercut. He was stung. I could tell that the right I threw was especially painful. He was bleeding pretty heavily from his nose, and smaller cuts were opening up above his eyes.

  I got too excited after the right and went after him. That impulse cost me a bit, because when I got close, it gave him an opportunity to take me down. And he did. But I kept working to get up. I got against the cage and got back to my feet. But he was still locked onto me. I thought Big John would separate us, but he didn’t make a move. Instead I kept working to release myself. That’s all you can do when you are locked up like that, work and work, so the other guy has to worry about tying you down instead of hitting you. It’s one of the hardest, least glamorous, least rewarding acts you can do in a fight. But if you don’t, you’ll leave yourself vulnerable.

  We were moving across the cage, as if we were dancing partners, as Randy tried to take me down again and I worked to keep myself up. I remember a lot of blood as the round ended. And I was glad it was his, not mine.

  Before the second round began, Randy’s nose was still bleeding pretty badly, so much that he had to keep wiping it. But it wasn’t stopping him from taking the fight to me. He had to; I had won the first round and he was hurt. Plus, when blood is pouring from your nose, it impacts the judges. You’ve got to work that much harder to win points. So while I was able to keep jabbing away at his face and making it sting and bleed a little more, he had to take some shots. He threw a big left, and I responded with a combination. Then he tried to throw another big left and slipped a little. I countered with a big punch, and already off balance, Randy just dropped to the floor.

  I’d taken the title from Randy in our last fight, but it felt just as good to knock him out a second time.

  For a moment, I hesitated. In this instant, I didn’t try to finish Randy. I wanted to calculate, is he out or should I finish him? I didn’t want to hurt him if he was done because sometimes, even in the cage, you try to be human. Then I remembered something. In the split second between Randy’s falling and my jumping to finish him, a scene from The Ultimate Fighter played in my head. I remembered telling one of the kids that you can’t wait to finish a guy. You have to go get him, otherwise you’re giving him a chance to recover. With that flashing through my memory, I pounced. After a few punches Big John jumped in and ended it.

  For the second time, I had knocked out the most decorated champion in UFC history. And I earned $250,000 for the pleasure.

  CHAPTER 43

  SCREW IT. RETAKE IT.

  THE SHOCKER OF UFC 57 WASN’T THAT I HAD PUT Randy on the ground. He had bigger news than that. With tears in his eyes, he retired from the UFC. Not only had I punished him twice, but I had actually knocked him out of the sport. “This is the last time you’ll see these gloves and these trunks in the Octagon,” Randy said. “I’m going to retire them tonight.”

  Of course, every jock has a hard time avoiding a comeback, especially when the public is clamoring to see you again and big money is on the table. So why should the guys in the UFC be any different? Within a year Randy had announced he was coming back, then went out and reclaimed the UFC heavyweight title. I’m glad. The guy was forty-three years old and became champion of the world, again. If he can fight at that age, it makes me think maybe I can, too.

  At the time, however, I wasn’t thinking about retirement or comebacks. I was just enjoying being the champ. The sport’s popularity grew every day. I was on the road making appearances to promote the UFC. There were TV shows and radio shows and interviews with fan Web sites that covered us and mainstream media who were finally catching on to what so many others knew: We weren’t going away anytime soon.

  One day soon after the fight with Randy, I was on the phone with Dana. We were just bullshitting and I mentioned to him how much I liked the show Entourage. I knew he was friendly with Mark Wahlberg, so I started giving Dana a hard time, telling him to call his buddy and get me a cameo on the show. I had done some acting when I was younger. As a ten-year-old I played a bit part as a Cub Scout in the Jack Nicholson movie The Postman Always Rings Twice. That’s what I was thinking for Entourage. I just thought it would be fun to do something small, like the guys would pass me at a party and say, “Hey, Chuck, good luck in the fight,” or, “Nice fight last night.” By the way, this was another sign of how far the UFC had come. A couple years earlier the notion that some of us were becoming so recognizable that we could joke with Dana about cameos on a hot show was laughable. Now I had reason to think it could happen.

  Like everything else in the UFC, it turned into something bigger than we expected. I have a manager in Hollywood named Brad Marks (yeah, I know, also inconceivable just a few years earlier). He’s buddies with a guy who writes for the show, who is a big UFC fan. Once Brad heard I wanted to be on, he hounded his guy to write me into an episode. He did, and the writers came up with a great idea. I played myself and I wanted to kick Drama’s ass for cutting me off for a parking space and swearing in front of my daughter. On the show, this was all a setup. Drama, played by Kevin Dillon, was acting tough because he thought he was being filmed on a new candid-camera show with Pauly Shore. But I didn’t let on. In fact I got so angry I threatened to knock his teeth out right there. Suddenly Drama thought I wasn’t part of the show and that he had just pissed me off. Later that day I left him a message telling him I was coming after him. He showed up at one of my fights that night trying to apologize, but I made him come down into the cage and get on his knees to beg me not to kill him. That’s when I told him he was basically being punked.

  Doing the show was a lot of fun, although taping was hurry-up-and-wait. So Dillon, Jerry Ferrara, the guy who plays Drama’s buddy Turtle, and I spent a lot of time hanging out and talking. They asked me about the fights, and I asked them how to act. They made it so easy. Whenever I messed up, which was plenty, whoever was running the show would say, “Screw it. Let’s retake it.” It’s a good policy for most things: Screw it. Retake it.

  It takes a long time to put those scenes together. I’d say my dialogue a dozen different times so they could set up cameras and shoot it from several different angles. Then I’d say my lines with no camera so they could film an actor’s reaction. It was a lot of standing around for a show that’s less than thirty minutes, even if it probably is the best show on TV.

  I taped the show in August of 2006, and this was a big month for me. Soon after shooting, I had a rematch with Renato Sobral, the Brazilian jujitsu master they called Babalu. When we had fought nearly four years earlier in UFC 40, Dana begged me not to take the fight. I was the number-one contender. On that same card, Tito was fighting Ken Shamrock, then was supposed to take me on, as long as I beat Babalu. Dana thought I was an idiot for demanding the fight because Babalu is so tough. Then I knocked Babalu out with a kick to the head.

  Now I was the champ, and I still expected to get my hands on him
and knock him out in the first round. Some people saw this as a bridge fight, something to keep me in shape between Randy and a bigger match with Tito or Rampage or the Pride champ, Wanderlei Silva. But that wasn’t the case. I wanted to fight, and Babalu was the toughest opponent out there for me. Definitely tougher than Tito, as far as I was concerned. I knew to take this match seriously. Babalu had only gotten better during the four years since our first fight. He had filled in a lot of the holes in his game. And I had been battling a foot injury, too. My workouts were good and I had a lot of energy, but just before training I weighed 233 pounds. At the weigh-in I was still six pounds over the 205-pound limit and had to cut weight. Sure, I planned on winning, I just didn’t expect it to be easy.