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The Ultimate Fight(Columbian, The (Vancouver, WA) (KRT) Via Thomson Dialog NewsEdge) Dec. 3--PORTLAND -- The scene contains all the flavor of a major boxing match. Chris Wilson holds his gloved hands high on a Memorial Coliseum stage, a spotlight illuminating him while more than 7,000 fans roar. Two jumbo-sized screens make the 29-year-old Mountain View graduate appear larger than life as a tuxedo-clad announcer barks the arrival of Chris "The Professor" Wilson and cameras broadcast his arrival in the ring to a national TV audience. But this fight isn't just about throwing punches. There will be kicks and takedowns, wrestling on the mat and submission holds. It's a growing sport called mixed martial arts, and it's barrelling toward sports' mainstream with major sponsors, TV contracts and established athletes. It's a sport still fighting for credibility while shedding the images of street fighting and brawling that led to bans in numerous states during the 1990s. Now governed by commissions and supported by two competing organizations, the sport's audience is mushrooming and supporters believe widespread acceptance is close at hand. Wilson hopes to be among its latest wave of pioneers. He has already gained a reputation as a rising talent, winning 13 of his first 17 events and earning a spot on the Wolfpack, a Portland-based team that competes in the International Fight League. He has sacrificed for years to experience moments like this Nov. 2 night, taking lower-paying jobs to clear time for his training while searching for a break. He thinks he's found it. Wilson's IFL contract allows him to train full-time. Wolfpack coaches are dedicated to his development. Teammates have helped him prepare for his opponent. The lights go up, the ring is cleared. Wilson approaches his opponent, Jay Hieron, about to battle for a spot in the IFL World Team Championship while helping the fledgling sport overcome its stigmas and prove it deserves a legitimate place in athletics. No place to dream The league and its fights were far from childhood dreams for Wilson. The IFL wasn't even a concept when he started in martial arts at age 11, and the forms that mixed martial arts took during his high school days were often viewed as barbaric street fighting. So there were no tangible dreams of stardom driving Wilson to improve and expand his training. But there was frustration. Wilson's early experiences were in low-contact sparring tournaments -- events where fighters score points for striking opponents with light, tag-type contact. He experienced some success, but grew frustrated with the tournaments as he graduated to higher-level competitions. He didn't feel the matches favored good technique or smart strategies. Instead, Wilson felt the emphasis was on who struck quickest, even if their approach showed poor judgement. And he saw bureaucracy as ever present. Wilson remembers fighters making lunging, out-of-control moves and getting knocked back, but still being awarded points because they landed their strike first. In one fight, he landed a roundhouse kick that resulted in an excessive-contact ruling. Turned out the ref was the uncle of Wilson's opponent. Those experiences left a bad taste in Wilson's mouth, so he left point sparring and sought out higher levels of competition. He entered semi-contact events, and eventually moved up to full-contact. The competitions felt more substantial as the contact level increased. Technique became favored, and strategy crucial. The wild, out-of-control moves that beat Wilson in point sparring disappeared from higher-contact fights -- they simply wouldn't work. And with the shackles of point sparring removed, Wilson became more successful. "It was always more interesting to make it more real," Wilson said. "And then we went into full contact, and we're trying to knock each other out. ... And I started winning." By high school, Wilson was expanding his skills. He started kickboxing in ninth grade, and eventually experimented and trained in other martial arts, such as Jiu-Jitzu, Aikido and Muay Thai, rounding out his overall skills. But martial arts largely remained an exercise and self defense activity while Wilson worked through college and developed his career. He traveled to Brazil to teach English and aspired to work in international diplomacy. But martial arts held a stronger grip on his passion than other goals, and he failed in every attempt at quitting the sport to make room for other activities. Then, while searching for a competitive kickboxing gym five years ago, Wilson discovered Team Quest -- a gym in East Portland that provided training for a sport that offered the level of realism he craved: mixed martial arts. In that sport, fighters could wrestle, box or use any combination of martial arts disciplines. Fights could be conducted on two feet or on their backs. Matches could go through all-rounds with little damage evident, or end in a split-second with a choking submission hold or a crushing kick or punch. "It's more like a real fight," Wilson said. "And the other thing is, in kickboxing, you use bigger gloves. When you take away the gloves, and you either punch with small gloves, or no gloves, it changes a lot of things. It changes the person's comfort level at being punched. It changes how you can punch somebody, and how hard, how many times, and where. "It's a different kind of fight. There's a different feel. There's a different sense of urgency." But even with Wilson's extensive background, his skill set didn't prepare him for this diverse form of fighting. He was a striker in a sport that allowed close contact on the ground. He had to learn wrestling moves, new strategies, and meld his martial arts skills into a new combat sport. Wilson spent more than a year of training before participating in his first fight -- a local show at Portland's Roseland Theater three years ago. It ended in 11 seconds with a right shovel hook to his opponent's chin. His second fight finished in a second-round technical knockout, while the third was won with a submission hold. And Wilson's fourth opponent lasted just 40 seconds after a kick to his face opened a cut. Then came his big break: Two investors had a unique plan to start a mixed martial arts league. Matt Lindland -- an Olympic silver medalist in Greco-Roman wrestling at the Sydney Olympics who later developed a successful career in mixed martial arts -- was asked to coach a franchise based out of Team Quest. Wilson was invited to join as a welterweight. His passion was now a career. He was a full-time fighter. A league grows up The images of early mixed martial arts have stubbornly persisted as the sport has evolved. Bare-fist punches, elbow strikes and head butts were standard fare, with bloody battles the calling card of the sport's first American organization, Ultimate Fighting Championship. Comparisons have been made to ancient Roman gladiators or human cockfighting, with fighters placed in an enclosed octagon-shaped ring and allowed to do virtually anything necessary to win. Controversy steadily increased until the late 1990s, when political pressure caused UFC's pay-per-view revenue streams to dry up, choking its profitability and forcing a reformation. When UFC resurfaced six years ago, it had evolved considerably. Commissions were formed to sanction events. Weight classes were introduced, as were time limits and a lengthy list of penalties and limitations that eliminated previously accepted techniques, including hair pulling and groin strikes. The rules helped control the violence and elevated the sport above its brawling background. The fan base has been growing ever since. Kurt Otto believes the International Fight League will produce the next major evolution. Otto, an IFL co-founder, developed the league concept after watching a documentary on mixed martial artist Mark Kerr titled "The Smashing Machine," which chronicled the vicious cycle of injuries and pain-killer addictions that followed one of the sport's stars. Otto saw a sport in need of more stability and support for its athletes. So Otto and Wizard magazine founder Gareb Shamus partnered last January to form the IFL to compete directly with Ultimate Fighting Championship. The goal was to provide a stable platform for fighters, a regular paycheck and a healthier environment. They established a team concept -- separating their league from UFC's individual formula that functions similar to boxing -- to pit teams against each other in a best-of-five fight format. The publicly traded IFL provided medical insurance, offered its athletes a base salary and bonuses, and prohibited some damaging techniques such as head butts, elbows and soccer kicks. And the team concept also provided for athletes a future outside of fighting, with opportunities to coach an IFL franchise available as a career move. "It's a lot of stability, a huge foundation," Otto said. "And we're going to change the sport to actually become a sport." Viewer interest certainly hasn't been an issue. Both major MMA organizations have significant television deals -- UFC airs "The Ultimate Fighter" on cable channel Spike TV; the IFL airs its events on Fox Sports Net. According to Sports Business Journal, one September episode of "The Ultimate Fighter" drew 168,000 more viewers in the coveted 18-34 age demographic than the combined broadcasts of the Virginia-Georgia Tech football game on ESPN and the Minnesota Twins-Boston Red Sox matchup on ESPN2. The leagues have signed major sponsors, such as XBox 360, New Line Cinema and Scion, and corporate interest continues to grow. And the IFL's team concept is gaining steam: Eight franchises -- several based overseas -- will join the league over the next two years, raising the total to 16. Eleven events in seven different states have already been scheduled for next year, which is being billed as the league's world premiere season. Interest in the sport also appears to be reaching the grass roots level. Team Quest now has nearly 400 members, with classes available for kids as young as 3 years old -- a trend that news reports suggest is spreading nationally. But the sport hasn't yet gained mainstream acceptance. Images of brutality still cloud the public's expectations, but MMA supporters argue that while it's still a violent competition, MMA is safer than other sports. Team Quest head coach Robert Follis argues that boxing matches -- which stretch up to 12 rounds -- can potentially send fighters to the hospital. But he contends that three-round IFL matches are often stopped before fighters can be severely hurt. Also in defense, Wilson points to his two friends that race in motocross events. One cracked his skull during a wreck. Another landed on the bike's peg, cracking his ribs and puncturing a lung. "Now that's dangerous," Wilson quips. Supporters believe increased exposure will raise the public's familiarity with the style of fighting, help break the stigmas and draw more fans. And Otto is banking on the IFL's format to lift the sport to a higher level. He believes better working arrangements, more consistency and a healthier environment will in turn produce a more inviting product. His expectations are lofty: "We're going to be the NFL of mixed martial arts when we're done." Wilson knows that if the public accepts the new concept, he'll be part of a revolution in the sport. "Now we're seeing the second (popularity) explosion," Wilson said. "Soon we're also going to be remembered as the starters of this second wave." Fight for the finals The activity in Memorial Coliseum's back halls illustrates how mixed martial arts has worked to rise up from its brawling past to today's big business. Oregon Boxing and Wrestling Commission officials sit in the Wolfpack's locker room, overseeing preparations for the night's fights. A television crew from FSN sets up in the locker room, preparing for a pre-fight interview with the Wolfpack's coach, Lindland. Wilson makes some last-minute preparations for his fight, taking advantage of the teammates and coaches the IFL's format provides. He knows his opponent, Jay Hieron of the Los Angeles-based Anacondas, has a wrestling background, so Wilson and Follis practice counter techniques for escaping takedowns -- how to angle to the side when on his back, grab his opponent's leg and use it to pull himself upright. A man with a headset pokes his head in the room, giving the sign to take the stage. "We're up! We're up!" Lindland calls out. The fighters spill out of the locker room and into Memorial Coliseum under a spotlight as the crowd of 7,632 cheers the home team's entrance. The importance of these fights is underscored by the announcer: A berth in the team championship is on the line. And the Anacondas are expected to be a tough matchup. That becomes obvious from the first match: Chris Horodecki lands a pair of kicks to Ryan Schultz's head 24 seconds into the second round, toppling him to the mat where the referee quickly stops the fight. Blood is spattered under Schultz's nose. But the greater damage is the 1-0 deficit the Wolfpack now faces. That puts extra pressure on Wilson. If he doesn't win the next fight, the Wolfpack's chances for advancing will be slim. The Anacondas' welterweight is imposing -- a former junior college national champion wrestler with a powerful 6-foot frame, shaved head, and tattoos decorating his back and right arm. It took Hieron only 26 seconds in his last fight to choke out his opponent, and he almost immediately looks for a similar start against Wilson. Hieron grabs Wilson's knee on a strike attempt 22 seconds into the round and flips him down to the mat -- the position Wilson wants to avoid. But Wilson's practices with Follis pays off: He squirms to the right, working his way out of Hieron's grip. It takes only 29 seconds to escape, and two more takedown attempts fail. Wilson lands a couple knees at the round's end, knocking Hieron into the ropes and briefly to the floor. He appears to be in control. But that can change quickly in mixed martial arts. Hieron takes Wilson to the mat once again midway through the second round, but this time slips his arm around Wilson's neck in a choke hold called a guillotine. The submission move has stopped one other match this night, and Wilson is locked in its grip for more than a minute. He works his hand under Hieron's arm and starts balling up a fist, creating enough room to slip free. Only a minute remains in the round when Wilson escapes, but he shows the effects. His movements are slower than before. Wilson appears groggy. He overextends on some punches, but he has less than 20 seconds until getting a break. That's when disaster strikes: Wilson overextends on a punch and leans in to Hieron just as his opponent's right fist smashes into Wilson's jaw. He plunges to the mat, pinned against the ropes -- prone for Hieron to finish him off. But the bell rings; the round is over. Wilson, still dazed on the mat, is saved. He breathes heavily in his corner, gasping for air while waiting for the third round to begin. Only four minutes remain -- if he can last. The battle for success The final moments of the second round have swung the match's momentum, but Wilson works quickly to take it back. He lands a lunging punch and left kick to Hieron's head, followed by a spinning kick to the gut in the round's first minute. Hieron takes Wilson down to the mat once again, but Wilson locks him up with a firm grip, keeping the wrestler from doing any damage. "Chris, you keep working!" Lindland yells from the corner. "You keep working Wilson!" Wilson does just that: a left kick to Hieron's jaw, followed by a spinning backfist. Hieron keeps trying to take Wilson down again, but Wilson keeps avoiding it. The fight is starting to favor his style. A knee to Hieron's chest and a spinning kick to the gut in the final minute put an exclamation point on Wilson's fight. He holds his arms up victoriously in the match's final seconds before the fighters gather in the middle of the ring. Each appears confident that they are victorious. But when the announcement is made that Wilson has won a unanimous decision, his arms shoot into the air as he lets out a victorious roar. Wilson is giddy as he hobbles down the hallway to the locker room, crying out whoops of excitement while limping on a foot that aches from kicking Hieron's elbow. "I think I busted my foot," Wilson tells a doctor casually. "Probably just a metacarpal or something. Wouldn't be the first time." Wilson watches on a small television as his teammates finish off the Anacondas, capturing the next two matches to advance the Wolfpack to the IFL championship in Connecticut. Wilson grins widely, still taking in his victory. "Man," he cries out. "That was a blur. What happened? Did I finish him?" His teammates look surprised. The punch Wilson took in the second round has left him dazed. He can't remember any details from his match. He can't even remember the outcome. Teammates have to fill in the gaps by repeatedly rehashing the fight. "No kidding?" Wilson asks excitedly with a comical grin. "And I won?" It takes several minutes before the details can be recalled. But Wilson understands the most important concept: His team is off to the finals on Dec. 29. They have a chance to win the IFL's first championship, and Wilson's victory -- awarded the fight of the night -- has put him in a position among the league's most recognizable fighters. It's a big step for a team seeking success, in a young league that is working to do the same. Copyright (c) 2006, The Columbian, Vancouver, Wash. Distributed by McClatchy-Tribune Business News. For reprints, email [email protected], call 800-374-7985 or 847-635-6550, send a fax to 847-635-6968, or write to The Permissions Group Inc., 1247 Milwaukee Ave., Suite 303, Glenview, IL 60025, USA. |