Is This Legal?

By Art Davie and Sean Wheelock

On November 12, 1993, a new sport was unleashed on an unsuspecting viewing public—one that was unlike any other, and a phenomenon that would come to redefine combat sports for a new generation. The sport was mixed martial arts (MMA)—and the event was the Ultimate Fighting Championship (UFC). The creation of ad man and entrepreneur Art Davie... the UFC entered nearly 90,000 US households that night through pay-per-view television with an explosion as Dutch karate champion Gerard Gordeau kicked Sumo wrestler Teila Tuli in the face during the first minute of the opening fight. This shocking scene was only a prelude of what was to come that winter night in Denver, and worldwide over the next 25 years. IS THIS LEGAL? is the true story of how the UFC and the sport of MMA came into existence—told by the man who started it all: Art Davie.

In this vivid and fast-moving, first-person account, Davie tells the story of his creation, which has become a four-billion-dollar company. Davie’s tale is about perseverance and against-all-odds determination, as he worked for four years to see his idea come to fruition, meeting resistance at every single turn.
It is also a mash-up of martial arts, celebrity and business culture, involving a highly improbable cast of characters, ranging from Academy Award nominee John Milius, NFL Hall of Fame running back Jim Brown, action star Chuck Norris, Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu Godfather Rorion Gracie and pay-per-view pioneer Bob Meyrowitz.

Davie’s story of how he created the Ultimate Fighting Championship and the new sport mixed martial arts it spawned, is one for fight fans and admirers of mavericks in business and life. Whether you are a fan of MMA, or have never watched a bout in your life, you will be fascinated by Davie’s story of triumph over disaster. This became the sport of the 21st Century, which arrived with virtually no fanfare or warning. Davie started a revolution, and the revolution was televised.

Here is what has been said about IS THIS LEGAL?:

John Milius, Academy Award Nominated Screenwriter & Director of Conan the Barbarian
“This is the real inside story of how the UFC came together. Would make a great movie.”

Randy Couture, Hall-of-Fame MMA Champion & Film Star
“An honest, shocking, enthralling and nostalgic look back at the creation of the modern age of mixed martial arts in the United States. This is all the real stuff that no one gets to see or hear about when the newest combative sport of MMA was forged and Art Davie was one of its founding fathers! Thanks goes out to Art for persevering and giving all professional martial artists a place to ply our wares and test our skills.”

Kevin Kay, President, SPIKE-TV
“I thought I knew just about everything there was to know on the birth of MMA in this country. What I found out in “Is This Legal?” is that I knew barely anything... Art and Sean have masterfully crafted a fascinating and compelling must-read for anyone who prides themselves on being a combat sports fan.”

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Caution: IS THIS LEGAL? is a work of non-fiction about the creation of a contact sport. It does contain some explicit language. Recommended for mature young adults.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Art Davie
• Release date: Apr 29, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463442227

Art Davie

ART DAVIE Davie comes to the entertainment business from the advertising agency world. He was an account executive and copywriter in California ad agencies for many years, specializing in package goods and politics. Spectacle and creativity was always a theme in Davie’s work. For example: a campaign for the Honda Dealer Associations featured a giant zucchini, lemon, and tomato on wheels, and was featured in the May 3-9, 1980 issue of TV Guide (“Nice - But do you have something in a ’77 Eggplant?”). Davie even performed stunts in TV commercials (for his own San Diego car dealership –Toyack Motors) where he jumped from a 10-story building onto an airbag, was set on fire, shot with a .357 magnum, catapulted over a car and suspended from a helicopter. But that was before he had an epiphany in 1993 and created the television tournament that pitted boxers, wrestlers, and martial artists against each other. This became The Ultimate Fighting Championship®, the franchise that exploded on Pay-Per-View TV and became a multi-billion dollar business. In addition to being the UFC’s creator, Davie produced, wrote rule the initial books, booked and matched fighters as well as serving as the UFC Commissioner. In 1998, Art brought K-1: The New Fighting Sport from Fuji TV in Japan to American television with a show at the Mirage Hotel & Casino in Las Vegas. Creating new TV shows brought him to Mandalay Sports Entertainment in 2003 where he developed pilots, including King of the Streets, a drag-racing reality show; Fight Quest, a mixed-martial arts reality show; and MAGIC (Making a Great Inner City), with Earvin “Magic” Johnson. In 2008 Art developed a new combat sports, XARM®, a combination of arm wrestling, kick boxing and martial arts with Seattle based Piranha Productions; and formed XARM Inc. He secured a partnership with Endemol USA for an XARM iPhone/Android game; and 495 Productions for an XARM based reality show. In 2014, with co-author Sean Wheelock, Davie wrote Is This Legal? The inside story of the First UFC from the man who created it. This was published as a print book by Ascend Books in 2014 9thru March 2018). Davie attended New York Military Academy (where Donald Trump was his roommate), St. John’s University, and Pace College in New York City. As a Marine Corp Sergeant, Art had a Top Secret clearance and served as a computer operator at the Communications Center for the Commandant of the Marine Corps Center in the Pentagon. Davie was later awarded the Navy Achievement Medal with combat “V” for his service in the Republic of Vietnam in 1969/1970. After military service, Art worked with youth gangs in New York City as a member of the Youth Services Agency - Crisis Task Force. In 2018, Davie was inducted into the UFC Hall of Fame.

Book preview

IS THIS LEGAL?

The inside story of the first UFC from the man who created it.

By Art Davie

With Sean Wheelock

Published by Davie Communications

Is This Legal?

Copyright 2014

All Rights Reserved

ISBN 9780463442227

This eBook is licensed for personal use only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to free to others. If you would like to share this eBook, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electrical, mechanical or otherwise, without the express written permission of the author.

INTRODUCTION—by Big John McCarthy

This has taken me 20 years, so this is no doubt coming later than it should have. But there is something that I need to say. Art Davie—thank you for providing me a chance at a life I only dreamed of. I have had such a rich life, seen so many things, gone to so many places and been part of the growth of the sport that I love, all made possible because of a dream you fought for. You took big chances, rolled the dice and created a legacy not only for you, but also for others. Some from the past, some from our present and many more who will be part of the future of MMA.

What is it about people who change the world, push evolution forward or make an impact that positively affects millions of people’s lives? The real question is how do you even realize when you cross paths with one of those special few? I have always said I needed a crystal ball. Not just one that sits on your desk at work or a mantel at home. But a true to life, get all cloudy, dark and scary, and then blazes out beams of light showing the future crystal ball. At least the crystal ball would have been able to answer the questions of my future. It would have told me about a family from Brazil that would have a great impact in my life. And it would have also told me that the loud, smartass ad man who I first met at the Gracie Jiu-Jitsu Academy would be someone who was going to help change my life in ways I never thought possible!

Simply put, Art Davie changed my life. That’s a bold statement to make, and one that more than years ago I never would have made. But he absolutely did, and I have always known I needed to thank him for it. Not that my life before the Ultimate Fighting Championship was bad; it absolutely was not. However, as you get older and have the ability to look back at the road traveled, you can see where the road forked, and get a very good indication of who and what helped make those changes possible.

The first time I met Art, I really didn’t know what to think of the Brooklyn raised salesman who seemed like he could out talk everyone in the place, and probably sell ice to Eskimos. Art is a fast talker who can capture your attention with bold statements and slick lines, but there is no denying that he is smart. Maybe not MIT smart, but definitely smart at what he does, and street smart as hell. He can read people well, and knows how to use what I call Verbal Jiu-jitsu as well as anyone. He is a black belt with words. He possesses the qualities that you find in very successful people. Art doesn’t take no for an answer, and works tirelessly to get to where he wants to go before anyone else can get there.

Over the years I came to know Art well. In one way or another we worked together debating about fighters, writing rules, giving nicknames or just kicking back in his office talking about fights. Art gave me the nickname Big John. He wasn’t the first to say it—that would be my mom. But, he was the first to push it in every introduction he made, and eventually had announcers following his lead.

Many people take credit for starting the Ultimate Fighting Championship, or are given credit for it by other misinformed individuals. Even more say they were there, or were part of the circus that finally came to fruition on November 12, 1993. Well I can tell you that I was there, I was part of that circus and I can emphatically state that I had nothing to do with the beginning of the UFC. But, I know who did, and the man at the top of that list is Art Davie.

The story you are about to read is true. None of the names were changed to protect the innocent, and fortunately none of the names were changed to protect the clueless. You will learn the exact involvement of key players, because Art needed them all to pull off one of the most amazing feats in modern day sports. Though a dream by any standard, Art was able to create a sport that in 20 years has become common around the world. And, the very company that he created is now worth approximately $4.4 billion! Think about every other major sport on the planet, and they all have a long history dating back decades and even centuries.

Twenty years ago I was listening to Art talk about the fighters who were going to be part of the very first UFC. He compared them to guys like Chuck Yeager, stepping into the X-15 rocket plane, and attempting to break the speed of sound. Art dramatically labeled them as guys testing the outer boundaries of the martial arts, and said that they would someday be remembered for changing the martial arts in a way that was never seen before. Art was right. If not for guys like Teila Tuli, Gerard Gordeau, Kevin Rosier, Zane Frazier, Trent Jenkins, Jason DeLucia, Ken Shamrock, Pat Smith, Art Jimmerson and Royce Gracie taking that first step, we never would have heard of George St. Pierre, Randy Couture, Anderson Silva, BJ Penn and Chuck Liddell.

As we get older, we hopefully get wiser. And, we probably get a little more sentimental about life, and what part we have taken in the grand scheme of things. I know that in the end, my hope is that I did enough to make my children proud. I hope that I went about doing things the right way, even if that meant that there was going to be a lot of hard work involved in getting things to their rightful place. One of the best and truest statements I have ever heard spoken about Art and the UFC was actually said by Art himself. When he was interviewed about the 20th anniversary of the UFC, he said, Long after I’m gone, MMA will still be around.

Yes it will, Art. Oh, yes, it will!

PREFACE

There is a tide in the affairs of men, which, when taken at the flood, leads on to fortune... —William Shakespeare

This is the inside, behind-the-scenes, no bullshit story of the most important Ultimate Fighting Championship event in history: the first UFC. Yes, the very first one—held in Denver, on Nov. 12, 1993. When finally unleashed on an unsuspecting public, it gave birth to the sport that became known as mixed martial arts (MMA). It was of course the most significant event in UFC and MMA history because it was the first. If it had failed, there would be no UFC today. Moreover, having been the first, it still stands as the most difficult and unlikely to have ever been staged. Without a doubt, if it had flopped, the entire genre would never have been born, not as we know it anyway.

Despite being just a loose cannon advertising executive, I truly believed that I could pull this off. As you’ll discover in this book, I enlisted those who gave me the credibility and the money that I knew I lacked, and so desperately needed to make my dream a reality.

Now I’m not going to tell you that I invented mixed match fighting—taking different styles from the various martial arts and combat sports and throwing them together. Far from it.

I was simply the guy who knew that it would consistently work on a major scale, and then went about trying to prove it.

How the UFC was created, and who really built it will be disclosed in this book; nothing will be held back. You will see what part I played, and what parts were played by the talented people who joined this circus.

As I said, all true.

The creation of the first Ultimate Fighting Championship evolved over four years, from a modest idea that I had for an advertising client, into a quest that consumed my entire life. The UFC was not pre-destined to be a success, nor even happen and the rejections and roadblocks seemed endless. I knew where I wanted to go—I just had no road map on how to get there, or even if it was possible to reach my destination.

Now, when anyone writes history, either from a personal viewpoint—or more objectively as a journalist or historian—they write through the prism of their perspective. This may include any number of small biases as well as major axes they want to grind (certainly journalists and historians can be accused of this as well). So, it’s important for you as the reader to get a handle on this writer’s angle—my perspective. In this case, who am I, and where am I coming from in writing this account of the creation of the Ultimate Fighting Championship.

I can answer this by stating at the outset that, first and foremost, I was a true believer. There was no doubt in my mind that people wanted to have the eternal question answered: Who was really the world’s greatest fighter? Making money was very important to me, but secondary. I felt that the UFC would become a hugely successful franchise, but only if we followed this vision, and kept in search of this answer. Some of the people simply saw the UFC as a means to an end, not as an end in itself—which it always was to me.

Also, let me again be clear that this is a tell-all book. That means I am going to let you know what really happened, especially my fuck-ups and the fuck-ups of those who rode with me. When you go this route, you are bound to step on toes and paint some of the major players in a less-than-favorable light. So be it.

I have done my best to give credit where credit is due, even in the case of some people who I thought were jerks, thieves and assholes.

And, as you read this book, you’ll discover that some previously unknown people played a major role in contributing to and ultimately helping launch the UFC. It is my hope that their anonymity will now fade, just as the exaggerated and false claims of others will be exposed. But, that is for you to decide. All that I can do is reveal the true story of what really happened—as I lived it.

But, let me say it again clearly: I did not do it alone. It took the sweat, labor and outright love of many people to make it all happen. I was the chef, who working without a recipe, combined all of the necessary ingredients to turn them into a finished meal. Without these ingredients, nothing would have happened. But, without the chef, the ingredients never would have combined into something great. This book is everything you wanted to know about how the first Ultimate Fighting Championship came to be, told by the only person who was there from the very beginning: Me.— Art Davie, 2014

PROLOGUE

The people are a many-headed beast—Horace, Epistles, Bk I, epistle i, L, 76

A peroxide blonde with tits the size of grapefruits corrals me.

Hey, honey, she says to me in a voice that sounds like she mail ordered it from Yazoo City, Miss., and seems jarringly out of place here in Colorado.

Honey, are you with the show?

I look over at her and her boyfriend, who is missing more than a few teeth, and say, Uh...I’m...uh...just a salesman.

She looks confused by this. And the fact that I’m wearing a monkey suit flusters her big time—like I’m the ring announcer or something.

Are we gonna see some ass kickin’ tonight?

She’s now grabbing at the sleeve of my tuxedo jacket with her pudgy fingers, and continues on.

I hope somebody gets fucked up.

Her joy-boy grins at me in a slack-jawed, dumb-ass sort of way.

I want to get as far away from these two, as quickly possible. Without making eye contact, I say tersely, with pursed lips, I just hope no one dies tonight.

This stops her cold, and the idiot grin evaporates from the boyfriend’s face.

I keep moving—continually circling our specially constructed eight-sided fighting area, which is enclosed by chain-link fence, and elevated off the arena floor. I’m obsessively double- and triple-checking for exactly what, I’m not sure.

Everyone keeps calling it a ring, but it’s not a ring, it’s a cage. I just do not want to refer to this thing as a cage, and make the brutality that I’m certain is about to unfold seem, well, even more brutal to the critics that no doubt will be coming our way. I still have no idea what to call this beautiful monstrosity, but that is the least of my concerns right now. I do not even know what to call the sport that we are about to unleash tonight.

Standing on the floor, in the center of McNichols Sports Arena in Denver, I can’t believe that my four years of hard work and big dreams are about to become a reality. I also can’t believe that I was able to rent the home of the Denver Nuggets for $4,000. Tonight’s world premiere requires a big stage, and while this isn’t Madison Square Garden or Caesar’s Palace, it’s a very respectable, if slightly worn, NBA building.

The first two fighters in the tournament are introduced, and the fans, mostly white, young and rowdy, immediately heat up. One of our pay-per-view TV commentators, football Hall of Famer Jim Brown, says, I’m kind of worried about the crowd. No shit. They’re on the verge of becoming the world’s biggest mosh pit—minus the rhythm and civility. These people have come to see blood, as well as a few broken bones and major concussions for good measure.

Standing here, despite all of the worries and chaos, I feel like I’ve climbed to base camp on Mt. Everest. I’m juiced on adrenaline, but I know that I have another 9,000 feet to go. It’s been a wild ride for my partners and me. We’re a motley collection of heroes, villains, fools and crazies. And now all of us are poised and waiting.

Ravenous wolves eyeing a feast of meat and blood have nothing on this crowd. They’re staring intently at these two monsters who are standing opposite each other, and waiting to be unleashed in our opening fight. Absolutely none of us—the fighters included—are quite sure exactly what is about to occur.

Depending on your vantage point Teila Tuli is either wearing a kilt, a plaid skirt or some kind of native costume from the Pacific Islands. This big, fat Hawaiian is so massive at 420 pounds, that regular fighting shorts aren’t an option. I should know, because we searched Denver in vain trying to find a pair.

Excuse me, ma’am, do you have size 60 waist boxing trunks?

He has a neck on him that rivals one of those Tosa fighting dogs from Japan. Tuli is so heavy, he walks bowlegged, and with his feet jutting outwards from carrying his massive girth.

I was told that he had been kicked out of sumo in Japan for tossing a reporter through a glass wall or some such hooliganism. When I heard that, I immediately thought, I like this guy already.

I had planned to open up this tournament to every single motherfucker who could fight, whether they had a black belt or a black record. Guys exactly like Tuli. One of my confidants in all of this craziness, the Academy Award nominated screenwriter John Milius, said it to me best, This is the search for the real Superman.

Well, perhaps Superman can come in all shapes and sizes, and maybe wears a Polynesian-looking sarong around his enormous waist, instead of a red cape around his neck.

Before the fight, Tuli had asked me if he could pick up his opponents, and throw them over the top of the fence and onto the concrete arena floor. He claimed that he’d tossed loads of guys in street brawls back in Hawaii. If someone were stupid enough to get into it with him, Tuli would just pick the dude up, and lob him like a missile. Fight over. The traditional martial arts bozos would never have booked a sumo guy. But this isn’t a traditional martial arts event, not even close. This is the Ultimate Fighting Championship.

As Tuli waits for the bell, I can see that he’s licking his lips, nervously and sweating like a barnyard pig. Whatever confidence Tuli had now seems to be leaking out of his pores, under the hot, white lights overhead.

Opposite him, Gerard Gordeau is standing calmly, like a professional assassin. The only thing now missing from this stone-cold Dutchman is his trademark cigarette, dangling from the corner of his mouth. Reminiscent of classic Humphrey Bogart, but with a level of iciness and menace that Bogey could never hope to muster.

No problem, Art Davie, is the emotionless mantra that I always get from him—no matter what I ask.

In scruffy, well-worn karate pants and no top, Gordeau is a lanky, skinhead-looking Savate champion with badly inked tats. He’s rumored to carry a pistol in his belt, and a razor in his sock back home. I’ve been told by my contacts in the Netherlands that he’s the King of the Streets in Amsterdam—a muscle man for the brothels and the porn show owners. At 6-foot-5 and 216 pounds, Gordeau is all bone and gristle. He’s lean, with razor sharp elbows, and long, ropy muscles. When he enters the fighting area (ring, cage, whatever), Gordeau rapidly thrusts stiff-arm salutes to the four corners of the arena. Fuck! Bob Meyrowitz, the owner of my pay-per-view partner, Semaphore Entertainment Group, who is helping to finance this fun, is very proudly Jewish. What can Meyrowitz be thinking now as he watches from his home in New York, after seeing this seeming display of white power, Aryan superiority or whatever the fuck this is—and in our very first bout?

Our Brazilian referee, Joao Alberto Barreto, gives the two men the signal to fight, and the bell rings. Gordeau immediately claims the center, poised to strike, while Tuli circles to his left, cautiously and seemingly without a real plan. After about 15 seconds, Tuli finally rushes in, head down, like a bull. Gordeau backpedals and pumps jabs that graze Tuli’s massive skull. Then in a flash, Gordeau catches Tuli with a short right uppercut that viciously snaps the Hawaiian’s head back, throws him off balance, and sends him careening into the fence. The crowd noise is a solid wall of sound. I can’t hear my own thoughts.

The hippo drops hard and awkwardly onto his humongous ass. Gordeau, lightning-quick, steps up and throws a masterful kick to Tuli’s face. It lands flush on the Hawaiian’s mouth with the sickening sound of a melon being struck by a ball-peen hammer. The power of the blow forces Tuli’s lips back into his teeth, and shears off one of his incisors at the gums, which goes flying past our commentators and into the crowd. Tuli turns his head involuntarily, having just been hit with the equivalent of a baseball bat swung at full force by someone connecting with a fastball. Gordeau, methodical and in full control, doesn’t let his opponent get up. He re-sets his feet, waits for Tuli to turn back towards him, and at the perfectly timed moment, throws a crushing right hand with the knuckles extended, that lands smack on the Hawaiian’s right eyeball. There’s a crimson explosion, as blood streams down Tuli’s chest, and sprays the ref. His face is now a grotesque mask, and his eye is beyond swollen.

Barreto jumps in with his hands flapping, and he is signaling time out. Time Out! What the fuck is this time out? This is supposed to be a fight to the finish. Tuli tries to get to his feet, but he moves like a man caught in molasses. Gordeau now smells the kill. He leans forward, and then tries to push the ref away to get at his target again. Barreto stands his ground, and backs Gordeau off, but is not at all sure as to what to do next.

The crowd is on its feet, simultaneously bubbling with excitement and boiling with anger. Stray shrieks of horror and delight fill the sticky air. I yell for the ref to let the fight continue, but he speaks Portuguese, not English. Only the fighter or his corner can stop the fight, not the referee. My business partner Rorion Gracie and I made this perfectly clear in the rules meeting the night before. No exceptions! So what if Tuli’s eye is leaking blood like a broken faucet? This is what the people paid to see—real fighting with real consequences.

Now all hell breaks loose, and a flood of bodies quickly surrounds the outside of the fence: members of the fighter’s corners, medical personnel, Rorion, me and God knows who else. Barreto keeps talking to Tuli in Portuguese which, of course, draws no reply. I’m not sure that this fallen behemoth would understand English right now. His brains have to be scrambled. Then Rorion starts shouting at the Tuli camp, Is he ready to go? Is he ready to go? They all ignore him, avoiding eye contact and staying silent.

In this mad confusion, I find Tuli’s slightly less enormous brother, and grab him firmly by the arm. Can he go again? I bark. Does he want to keep fighting or not?

No man, he tells me flatly. He’s had enough.

It is all over in 26 seconds. Those two savage shots absolutely destroyed the sumo wrestler, and evaporated his will to fight.

Gordeau’s right hand is broken, and hangs there limply, like a sack of nuts and bolts. The swelling is just starting to occur, and it’s horrific in terms of speed and size. Trust me—hitting a man in the head with a bare fist is like punching a bowling ball. Fragments of Tuli’s shattered tooth are lodged in the pale, white flesh of Gordeau’s right foot. The rest of that displaced incisor is likely still out there, among the emptied beer cups and discarded hot dog wrappers on the McNichols Arena floor.

Gordeau is unbelievably tough, and he’d better be. His next fight starts in under an hour.

Everyone is blown away by the savagery of the moment, no one more so than me. Another one of our TV commentators Bill Wallace, a former kickboxing world champion, goes all pale and stuttering on-air at the sight of Gordeau’s vicious kick to Tuli’s face. Judging from his behavior, he’s never seen a real fight before.

The owners and execs of our main sponsor, Gold’s Gym, had flown in to Denver from Los Angeles for the event, with their wives in tow. Dressed to the nines in evening clothes, they all looked like they were going to see a Mr. Universe bodybuilding show. I put them in the front row, as close to the action as possible. When Tuli got poleaxed, the shattered ruins of his tooth flew right over their heads. I looked over and saw that they were all sick to their stomachs—green at the gills.

Two of the wives got up and left, right then and there. The entire group was gone by the third fight. Goodbye Gold’s Gym. I never saw them again. That was the end of our sponsorship. But I didn’t even care.

After that first fight, I knew. We had just spawned something truly special, and unlike anything that anyone had ever seen before. Suddenly without a single doubt or worry, I tell myself right then and there, the Ultimate Fighting Championship is going to be a monster hit. I can smell the bloodlust of young guys all over the planet. This is fucking real, and I fucking love it. And we still have the rest of the tournament to go—the night has just begun. God forgive me!

CHAPTER 1 the Very Beginning

A great flame follows a little spark. — Dante, Paradiso, Canto I, L, 34

Sometimes I’m asked if I was ever a