12 thursday, april 7, 2011 www.thegatewayonline.caFeature

No Holds Barred

The voice booms from the centre of the ring and the sold-out crowd of 2,000 fans roars at the River Cree Resort & Casino. Thousands of lights illuminate the stage as the man in the tuxedo, in his perfect announcer voice, calls the next fight of the night for MFC 28: Supremacy.

The first fighter out is Thomas “Wildman” Denny, a veteran of the sport who runs out from the backstage area and down the stairs. The boos echo from across the crowd. “You suck!” yells one man as Denny strides towards the ring. His opponent that night, Sheldon Westcott, garners a different reaction when he rushes out and jumps down the colourfully lit stairs. The crowd screams in approval for the hometown Edmonton boy.

The fighters step into the ring. The crowd erupts. They want blood. They want sweat. They’re going to get it tonight. But it makes you wonder: why do people like this?

The Fighters

Two days before the Maximum Fighting Championship holds their fight night at the River Cree, just outside the city on the west side of Edmonton, the fighters gather for a press conference.

They all sit at long tables behind their micro-phones calmly, laughing and joking with the guys who they’ll be trying to beat into submis-sion in just a few days. Denny is seated at the end of the table, laughing and flashing a toothy grin in an almost unhinged way as he chats with the others. Covered in tattoos, he’s wearing a ball cap that proudly states “Punching people in the face since 1999,” which, when removed, reveals a pink mohawk that matches his pink finger-nails with black polka dots. Despite his 5’10” stature, he’s still an imposing figure, living up to his Wildman nickname.

There are thousands of fighters like Denny across North America now, an impressive feat for a sport that didn’t even exist on the conti-nent just two decades ago. To say that mixed martial arts (MMA) is rapidly growing would be a massive understatement. It’s widely been called the “fastest growing sport in the world,” given that it only got its start as a business in 1993 and is now a billion-dollar industry.

Pitting fighters of different disciplines against each other goes back hundreds of years, but the heart of today’s MMA competitions lies in Brazil, in a style of fighting event called Vale Tudo — which translates to “anything goes.” These bare-knuckled, no-holds-barred matches were brutal, typically underground, and not sanctioned by any sports regulatory body.

These characteristics followed the sport to the U.S., where Art Davie, an ad executive from California, proposed the idea of a tournament to his friend Rorion Gracie, a member of the famous Gracie family who pioneered Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu (BJJ), a popular fighting style in Vale Tudo matches. The tournament would pit fight-ers of different styles against each other to see which martial art was the most effective. Billed as having “no rules” (though a few rules such as no eye gouging did exist) and no decisions (meaning matches were won only by submis-sion, knockout, or one side quitting), the tour-nament was christened the Ultimate Fighting Championship, and Rorion chose his brother Royce to represent their family and the BJJ style in the event.

The now-legendary tournament, held on November 11, 1993, in Denver, Colorado, was won by Royce Gracie, one of the sport’s first legends, who went on to win UFC 2 and UFC 4, in turn inspiring thousands of current amateur and professional fighters. The event also started what would become the largest MMA organiza-tion in the world.

At the time, Denny was working a day job. Having started boxing at the age of 10 and adding kickboxing to his repertoire when he was 17, Denny seemed destined to enter a sport which hadn’t really come into its own yet, and wasn’t even considered a sport by many. At the time in the mid-’90s, the UFC was still relatively small and not accepted in the mainstream. It was also somewhat intimidating, Denny recalls.

“I had pulled myself out of all martial arts all together, started a family, worked a real job, was kind of a slave to the man,” he says. “I was working 60-70 hours a week and the UFC was getting really big. All my friends were con-stantly calling me and saying, ‘Man, this is the sport for you.’ And I was like, ‘Do you see how big these guys are? I’m 170 pounds — some of

“Ladies and Gentlemen, the next match will be three rounds!”

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No Holds Barred

these guys are like 300 pounds. I can’t get in to this!’ ”

This lack of regulations hampered the UFC in the beginning, keeping it relatively low-key and causing many people to perceive MMA in general as a fringe bloodsport rather than a legitimate competition between highly skilled martial artists. But as its popularity increased, the UFC began to attract attention, particularly from U.S. legislators who considered it danger-ous and uninhibited.

One of its fiercest opponents in the mid-90s was Arizona Senator John McCain, who famously referred to the UFC as “human cock-fighting.” It was a description which wasn’t entirely unmerited in the early days, when groin strikes were allowed and the lack of weight classes could result in weight differ-ences of over 100 pounds between fighters. The majority of states banned MMA competitions, driving the league further underground in the late ‘90s, despite the fact that they had began slowly introducing reforms such as adding dif-ferent weight classes and having fighters wear gloves, rather than battle bare-knuckled.

It was during this time that Denny began training in jiu-jitsu at the Joe Moreira school in Newport Beach, California, an experience that led to his career, even though he entered with no expectations and the occasional risk to his legal and personal safety.

“Joe came to me and said, in his little Portuguese accent, ‘I see something in your blood, man; fighting is going to be good for you,’ ” Denny remembers fondly. “I trained for six weeks and he put me in my first tournament. I ended up choking out three guys; got a gold in my first tournament. It was kind of crazy. Then Joe showed me an old IVC tape, with Pele vs. Macaco, Wanderlei Silva, all these guys in Brazil with no gloves, headbutts — full-on, no-rules fighting. I was like, ‘Wow, how do I get into this?’ He’s like, ‘There’s going to be a show in Torrance, [California]. It’s all underground, all illegal, there’s no sanctions, no nothing.’ I was like, ‘Sign me up — let’s go have some fun.’ ”

In order to pursue what was quickly becom-ing his passion, Denny began fighting in illegal underground matches, where safety wasn’t a question and the police would

occasionally threaten fighters.“In America, it was all illegal [at the time].

It was all in nightclubs,” Denny says. “I had where cops would come in and take a picture of me, and be like, ‘If you fight tonight, you’ll be arrested!’ And I’d still fight. I never got arrested.”

The fight in Torrance proved personally fruit-ful for Denny, if not financially.

“I ended up winning all three fights, all by knockout, in a total time of two minutes. I made $100. The best $100 I ever made,” Denny says, laughing out loud. “I went back to my wife at the time and said, I think I want to give this sport a try.”

Thirteen years later, the 39-year-old Denny is a veteran in the ring, with a personal record of 27-18-1. The sport became his life and he now owns a 10,000-square-foot training center in Centennial, Colorado, where he helps train more than 25 fighters.

As Denny talked, it was clear how friendly and down-to-earth he was for a guy who had been punching people in the face for the last 13 years. And judging by that day, it seemed like most of the fighters there were just as friendly, even with each other. Denny says the camaraderie between fighters is one of the reasons he loves the sport. It’s based on an admiration from both oppo-nents who respect their rival for putting it all on the line.

“We beat the crap out of each other. Winner takes all. Then we get up and hug. And we go out to dinner or go hang out, or I go stay at their house for a week. What other sport has that? It’s awesome.”

A proud family man, the idea that Denny’s hair and nails are done solely for intimidation purposes evaporates when he explains the sen-timental reason for his colourful aesthetic.

“I have two daughters and they can’t get in to spar with me, they can’t come in and hold pads. So they get to paint my nails or do my hair,” he says somewhat bashfully. “When they watch me fight on TV or watch me in a fight—how cool is it to say, ‘Hey, wait until you see my dad’s nails—I did them pink with black polka dots.’ ”

Perhaps that’s why it felt so unfortunate to see such a nice guy getting his ass kicked.

Jonn Kmech explores the cultural phenomenon of Mixed Martial Artsphotos by Jonn kmech and jacob bos

“Ladies and Gentlemen, the next match will be three rounds!”

14 thursday, april 7, 2011 www.thegatewayonline.caFeature

Round One

In the fight, the much younger Westcott comes out energetically and gets on top of Denny, proceeding to pound the hell out of him. The crowd cheers emphatically as Westcott rains haymakers down on Denny’s head, who des-perately tries to improve his position. At one point, Westcott has Denny in a brutal choke that almost looks like it’s going to snap his neck. It would make anyone wince. But admira-bly, Denny doesn’t give, and survives to the end of the round, going back to the corner as the crowd shouts praise for Westcott. As hard rock blares and ads for energy drinks flash on the giant screens hanging overhead, a well-dressed man moves through the crowd, shaking hands, laughing with people, and always looking back towards the ring with a determination in his eyes.

The Promoters

“It’s easy for people to go, they’re good at this or they’re good at that. I’m not. I’m just good at this. But I’m really good at this.”

Mark Pavelich was born to be a promoter. You can see it in the confident way he carries him-self, like the world is his for the taking. With his gelled black hair and smooth-talking charisma, it wouldn’t take much to convince anyone that this truly was Pavelich’s calling. As he talks, he keeps getting interrupted by people needing his opinion, his advice, or even his signature. Although he seems to be signing an autograph, Pavelich quickly corrects the assumption.

“No, he’s an agent,” he explains with a smile. “I was making a deal.”

Having owned an entertainment business before getting into mixed martial arts, Pavelich is currently the CEO of MFC. Started in 2000 and based out of Edmonton, MFC was the first organization of its kind to be legally sanctioned in Canada outside Quebec. A family-owned business, with his wife Manon and son Dave both working as Vice Presidents, MFC is a labour of love for Pavelich.

“I wake up every day going, ‘I want to do this.’ My daughter who’s 14 asked me, ‘If you won $50 million tomorrow, what would you do?’ And I said, ‘Exactly what I’m doing now.’ ”

Around the time Pavelich started his orga-nization, the UFC in the U.S. was beginning a renaissance of sorts. The reforms that were being adopted began to take hold, and both lawmakers and the public were starting to accept MMA as a legitimate sport rather than a free-for-all cagefight. The fights were eventually sanctioned in the U.S., as state regulatory com-missions slowly began to come on board.

But years in the underground and difficulty attracting television deals had the UFC teetering on bankruptcy at a point. Even as that growth was beginning, the sport still wasn’t making money. The first sign of improvement came when the league was sold to a new company, who installed Dana White as UFC President, arguably the most influential person in the sport, who was integral to launching MMA into the mainstream. But even under the guidance of the new management and despite securing TV deals and promotions, the UFC struggled in the early 2000s. The sport still couldn’t seem to find a way to appeal to the masses.

That problem was solved thanks to White and the creation of The Ultimate Fighter. A real-ity show produced by the UFC that first aired on Spike TV in 2005, where fighters competed against each other for the chance of getting signed to a six-figure UFC contract. Initially a last-ditch attempt by the organization to garner a broader audience, the show is now in its 13th season, which premiered on March 30. Along the way, it’s spawned numerous champions and was instrumental in propelling MMA into the cultural consciousness, finally giving the sport the air of mainstream legitimacy that had long eluded it.

Although the MFC is still smaller than the UFC, Pavelich has been instrumental in pro-moting the sport within Canada and has seen similar growth in the mid-2000s within his own organization, which is now the biggest in the country. And Pavelich asserts that this was all due to his own drive towards success.

“I worked for the growth. When I was doing it and started getting bigger, I was getting excited, like ‘Oh, this is going to get bigger.’ Now there’s no end to what I’m going to do.

[...] In the beginning, I didn’t even think about making money — I just loved it. Now, it’s about making money.”

And there’s a lot of money to make in the burgeoning enterprise. In 2006, as its popu-larity continued to skyrocket, the UFC finally broke one million viewers on pay per view and had revenue of more than $222 million US, the first year that the organization surpassed WWE and boxing in revenue. As well, in 2008, UFC fights began to consistently get more viewers than WWE on pay-per-view and now attract anywhere between 250,000 to 750,000 view-ers, along with earning several million dol-lars each from tickets at the gate, according to Mmapayout.com, a site that tracks the industry’s financial situation. In 2010, UFC pay-per-view revenue alone was around $465 million US.

Similarly, MFC’s expansion has included a contract with broadcaster HDNet, which puts MFC pay-per-view in thousands of homes all across North America as well as into Mexico. Pavelich’s organization currently has more than 200 fighters signed and at a point, MFC sold out 18 shows in a row. The sport is particularly popular in Edmonton, though Pavelich asserts that it was because he “made it that way,” and he sees his growing business as a worthy con-tender to the largest MMA organization.

“As we get bigger, we become, not a competi-tor, but a thorn,” he says, before grinning. “I want the thorn to become bigger.”

He’s currently working towards that in Ontario. One of the longest hold-outs in terms of sanctioning the sport, Premier Dalton McGuinty’s government had resisted for years, despite promoters frothing at the mouth for the chance to hold events in the province. The gov-ernment finally caved in August 2010, setting the stage for organizations like the UFC and MFC to move in.

Canada has some of the most fervent MMA supporters in the world, for reasons not entirely understood. The epicentre is Toronto, long con-sidered the MMA “mecca,” where the UFC will hold their first fight, UFC 129, on April 30. The event, widely anticipated to be the largest in the history of the sport, sold out its 55,000 tickets within minutes.

However, Pavelich beat the UFC to the punch, and will be holding the aptly titled MFC 29: Conquer in Windsor, Ontario on April 8. Pavelich eventually dreams of a worldwide audience for the franchise he’s built over the past decade.

“I want to be in Croatia. I want to be in India. I’d like to go over to those countries and watch my show there. And I want to bow. I really do,” Pavelich says confidently. “I want to bow, one day, when I’m done this. I want to say, ‘Now try to do it better than I just did.’ Good luck. The sacrifice involved in what I do — there’s no word for it.”

Round Two

Pavelich smiles from ringside as he looks up at his warriors. After taking a pummelling, Denny comes out with a new burst of energy against Westcott. The pair trade blows, rolling around and taking turns slamming each other to the matt in a much more even round, but Westcott̀ s lack of experience starts to show in his endur-ance near the end, compared to the hardened veteran. After the horn goes, the pair go to their corners and get checked over by their teams and the medical staff, a check to ensure they can keep going.

The Controversy

Despite how far MMA has evolved, a stigma remains. Though mixed martial arts is now sanctioned in 44 of 48 U.S. states and seven Canadian provinces, there’s still a resistance to the flourishing sport. Last summer, both the Canadian Medical Association (CMA) and the president of the B.C. Medical Association called for bans of the sport in the country. “It’s savage and brutal. The aim is to disable and maim your opponent […] We should not tolerate this so-called sport in a civilized society,” Dr. Victor Dirnfeld, a previous CMA president, told a CMA general council at the time, according to The Globe and Mail.

But Dr. Shelby Karpman disagrees. A sports medicine specialist at the U of A’s Glen Sather Sports Medicine Clinic, Karpman has been working ringside at boxing and MMA matches for 20 years. While he notes that MMA fights

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do result in more facial and hand injuries than other sports, he says that otherwise, the injury rate is comparable to football and hockey.

“Do you see injuries? Sure. Do you see cata-strophic injuries? Sure. But you see it in all the other sports, too,” Karpman argues. “And the people who stand up and say MMA should be outlawed — if you’re going to say that there’s a risk and you should ban a sport, then you should be banning football and potentially you should be looking at banning hockey, because concus-sion rates in football and hockey are well above anything that I see in MMA.”

A 2008 study by the British Journal of Sports Medicine found that MMA fighters experience severe concussions in about three per cent of their fights and concluded that the rate of injuries is similar to other sports. As well, a recent 2011 paper from the U of C published in the Canadian Journal of Surgery argued that doctors needed to be “evidence based, not emotion based.” On the subject and added that injuries from horseback riding, football, and hockey, “dwarf the small number of injuries among few MMA combat-ants,” based on the number of participants

“If you’re looking to ban a violent sport, you should be looking at comparing injury rates,” Karpman insists. “So when people stand up to ban MMA because it’s violent, those people have no evidence to back up what ‘violence’ is.”

According to Karpman, there have only been two deaths associated with MMA fights. And while there have been no studies done yet on the long-term health consequences, given the sport’s age, he believes the risks will be similar to boxing or football, given the current injury rates. Karpman, who was working ringside for MFC 28, argues that MMA is easy to condemn

due to its intended goal.“Boxing and mixed martial arts are easy tar-

gets because at the end of the day, the expressed goal is to knock the other guy out. But at the end of the day, that doesn’t happen as frequently as people think it does.”

Round ThreeAlthough it may not happen often, it’s Denny who looks close to securing a knockout at this point. Taking advantage of his young opponent’s exhaustion, Denny gets behind Westcott on the ground. The young Edmontonian looks barely lucid as the veteran batters him on the side of the head from behind, while Westcott tries to keep an arm up to prevent getting choked out. But much like Denny earlier on, he valiantly holds on until the horn goes. The crowd erupts. The fight would go to a decision.

The CultureLove it or hate it, it’s hard to deny that MMA has turned into an impressive cultural phenomenon and multibillion dollar industry. MMA action fig-ures and merchandise is sold, and the UFC is now broadcast to more than 130 countries, in more than 20 languages, worldwide. Canadian super-star Georges St. Pierre has been named Rogers Sportnet Canadian Athlete of the Year for the past three years. The sport has millions of devoted fans and shows no real signs of slowing down.

Dr. Bryan Hogeveen, a U of A associate pro-fessor of sociology who studies MMA, says that there are multiple reasons that fans are attracted to the sport aside from the violence that everyone focuses on.

“Lots of people who look at it from a surface

level are going to focus on the very visceral con-nection people have, how it’s tied to the violence. And for sure, there is that aspect of it. But if we only consider that aspect, we neglect a lot of the other reasons people enjoy it.”

Besides the excitement and unpredictabil-ity, Hogeveen says that a major element of why people like it is the storyline that unravels as they follow their favourite fighter, an aspect that was helped immensely by The Ultimate Fighter.

Another factor that weighs into the MMA fanbase, according to Hogeveen, is national-ism. Fans may follow stars like St. Pierre simply because he’s Canadian, rather than because they like MMA. As well, many love fighting simply due to the physical rigour required.

“It’s not just two guys going into the cage and swinging for the fences. These guys are very technical and very skilled. They’re very good at what they do. It takes years and years of training and dedication to become an elite level fighter.”

Finally, Hogeveen addressed a larger cultural factor that he believes allows MMA to prosper today, when it may have sunk in the past.

“I think it also ties into our postmodern or neoliberal society. Comparing MMA to boxing — which I don’t like to do — but if you look at George Foreman-Mohammad Ali, Rumble in the Jungle, and you look at that fight, that took a long time. It takes a long time for the [Ali] strategy of rope-a-dope to come out. You see the same thing with music. You take a look at Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony; it takes a lot of patience and time for that to develop,” Hogeveen explains. “When we look at our postmodern society, when you take a look at music, that hook is right at the beginning of the song, and songs are only three minutes. What we look for is that very quick payoff. It’s

the same with MMA — a lot of fights finish in the first or second round.”

This reflects in the sport’s broad appeal across various societal demographics. Although there are limited opportunities for female MMA fight-ers compared to male, an estimated 35 to 45 per cent of the UFC viewership is women. Ultimately, seeing a one-on-one fight — with two people battling to the end for glory until there is a victor — is a very primal motivator in human nature.

“Part of it is pushing people’s limits and getting to know who you are as a person,” Hogeveen said. “Are you going to tap out at the first signs of pressure, or are you going to push through that? I think that we really get to know our-selves through being pushed by another human being.”

The Decision

After such a gruelling fight, where both deter-mined athletes got pounded at various points, it’s all up to the judges. Denny and Westcott stand in the center of the ring, awaiting their fate. The cards come in. The judges score the fight 29-28, 28-29, and 28-28 — a rare draw. The boos echo across the crowd, who were as disappointed by the neutral outcome as the fighters.

But the adrenaline from watching the fight was still flowing. From cringing as Denny was being beaten in the corner, to wondering if he would choke Westcott out, it was easy to feel the palpable excitement in the air, within a young sport still trying to figure out where it fits in the world.

These fans hadn’t gotten the knockout they wanted. But there will be many more knockouts to come.