Born to Fight (28 page)
Stipe Miočić beat my ass like a
taiko
drum. I wasn’t in that fight, not for a moment. I spent most of it on the ground eating punch after punch, and on the scant occasions that I did manage an escape and stood back up, Stipe would just pick my ass back up and dump me on the ground again.
I’ve never taken a beating like that in the ring. I’m not sure there are many people who ever have. It’s no fun, being on the floor getting punched over and over again, but it’s not that bad either. If things really turn to shit, the ref will stop it, and until then you’re in with a chance. If you’re still in a fight, things are never that bad.
I was ready to take that beating. I’m always ready, actually, any time I get in the ring. I’ll never like it, especially if I end up losing, but if it goes down like that, then so be it. People starting out in MMA need to know that this isn’t a game for those who aren’t ready for the worst. You’d better not give a beating unless you’re willing to take one too.
After that fight I was taken straight to hospital. While I didn’t look too pretty, there wasn’t any permanent damage. This big coconut head of mine isn’t easy to crack.
Some people reckon Lolo should have thrown in the towel. Even more people think the ref should have stepped in much earlier than he did. All those people are wrong. I kept telling the ref I was fine, and Lolo knew that if he threw in the towel he and I were done.
It was just one of those things. I fucked up in that Miočić fight. I fucked up the weight cut and I went in to the fight weak and powerless. At the top of the tree it’s a long way down to hard ground if you lose your grip like that.
I used to be able to just kind of roll into my fights. I used to be able to turn up fat or underprepared, knowing my fists would get me through. It’s not like that anymore, though. The fight game’s changed, and I’ve changed too.
I’m 41 years old. That’s pretty old for a fighter. It’s been 25 years since I first fought in the ring. When I think about that angry, wild dude in that first fight and look at the pages of this book, I can scarcely believe all that’s happened to me. I never thought any of it would have been possible as a kid. I look at this book and I know I’ve lived a life. I look at these little smiling kids of mine, full of beans and happy, and I know it’s been a good one.
I love being a dad and I love being a husband. Home is where my life happens now. I never thought I’d find a place where I could be more comfortable than in a ring, standing across from a man with his fists raised, but I’m slowly making my way to other people’s version of normal life.
I’ve had the devil in me for a lot of my life. If he’s in you, I reckon it’s dangerous to say otherwise, and to that end, I’ve got him tattooed on my left shin. The devil is most dangerous when he’s out of sight. He’s a pickpocket like that. Catch him doing his work and ninety-nine times out of a hundred that old boy is running.
Some people can pretend the devil doesn’t exist, and more power to them, but I’ve been in a room with the devil,
standing large and in full form. I’ve seen what the devil’s work can do, to both perpetrator and victim.
I have my God in me, too, tattooed on my other shin – the alpha and omega symbols – the beginning and the end of everything. God works completely differently from the devil. Call God’s name and He goes to work; open yourself up to Him and He’s with you. God’s light has burned through the darkest days of my life. The church is fallible, yeah, but God? Never.
One side of me is good, the other evil. I know I’ve got both in me. There have been times in my life I’ve fought because of my left shin, and other times because of my right shin. Perhaps it’s the conflict between the two that has brought me to where I am. That struggle to get closer to goodness has been my fire.
Noah started doing BJJ and
Muay Thai
this year. He’s a natural athlete, that kid, but I don’t know yet if he’s a fighter. If he is a fighter, he’s going to be a very different type from his old man. He’s not going to have the struggle in him that I had, neither are my beautiful girls (Julie and I have had three now). That was guaranteed when those kids first met their wonderful mother.
It’s taken four decades, but my struggle might be over soon, too. That’ll probably nicely coincide with the end
of my fighting career. I’ll be surfing that wave right onto the beach.
When I do finish fighting, I’m not going to be one of those guys still in the gym, pounding protein shakes and beating up the twenty-something tough guys. When I’m done, I’m going to be
done
.
I’m going to be a dad. I’m going to eat what my kids eat. I’m going to be large, unfit and with a smile on my face that you can’t budge with a jackhammer. Yeah, my days of making 120 kilograms are numbered.
I remember when I was a little kid I used to cry sometimes when Mum and Dad were out in the car eating their dinner, because that meant there wasn’t any for us. Victoria would sometimes console me by telling me that one day there would be a time in my life when I would eat as much as I wanted, and different things every day. I couldn’t quite believe her then, but I used to fantasise about her being right. Now I live that fantasy.
If my UFC career finishes because I can’t make weight anymore, that’d be a happy ending. I still reckon I’ve got a few weight cuts left in me, though. I’ll learn from that Adelaide fight. There’s still some fight left in this old warhorse.
I just saw Fab beat up and then submit Cain in Mexico City. Things are pretty open at the top of the heavyweight
division. He’s the new champ, Fab – two for two at altitude. He beat me fair and square, but on another day …
I look at Werdum and I know I could take him out. It’d require a little work to get into the kind of shape I’d need to be in for one last run, but I feel like, at the end of the race, I still have a bit of a sprint in me.
People have counted me out before so there’s no reason they wouldn’t count me out now, but if the UFC sends me a bloke with two arms and two legs, I’ll back myself.
I know I have a long, happy life ahead of me after fighting, so I reckon I’m good for a little bit more hard work, a little bit more pain.
I’m almost done, but not yet. Let’s see what you’ve got for me, Dana.
Gummon.
Gummon.
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My father and mother moved from Samoa to Auckland in 1965. This is one of the only family photos I have and if you’ve read the book you will understand why. When I was born in 1974 I had an older sister, Victoria (
far right
) and two older brothers, Steve (
bottom left
) and John (
bottom right
). That’s me on my mother’s lap. The photo looks serene but ours was a house of hunger and abuse. As I grew up, I didn’t love school but I did like playing rugby league for the Mangere East Hawks 1989 under-sixteen team (
I am third row
,
second from left
). Any chance of making the Junior Kiwi team disappeared when they found out I’d been in prison.
I won my first K-1 Oceania title in Melbourne in 2000. Lucy Tui (
bottom left
), my first manager, was the most ecstatic at the result. Alex Tui (
bottom, second from right
) and Tokoa Mervin were also there. It was only a few years since I’d unknowingly turned professional (
top left
) and started mixing with fighters like Peter Graham (
top right
) and now I was heading off to fight in Japan. (Courtesy of Lucy Tui)
Sometime in 2001 the Japanese adopted me as one of their dudes. It all started after a fight with Ray Sefo, the undisputed king of the region, and the love affair hasn’t ended yet. My 2001 K-1 Grand Prix win led to McDonald’s commercials and presenting at the Japanese MTV Music Awards.
Getty Images
