This Saturday, the UFC puts its best foot forward the way only they can, presenting a 15-fight mega-card highlighted by three compelling title bouts. On paper that sounds absolutely amazing and fans have been praying to the MMA gods for months that it all comes together, salivating in anticipation of a glorious night of martial arts action.
We’re worried that a fight could drop into oblivion, of course. Thanks to the dual scourge of weight cutting and COVID looming ever large, it’s smart not to get too emotionally attached to any bout until the fighters begin their walk to the Octagon.
But every long-time fan has a different set of concerns—after all, we lived through UFC 33.
At the dawn of the new century, the sport was in a very different place. Most current fans have never experienced a UFC that wasn’t firmly part of the mainstream sports discourse, discussed on national television by bloviating talking heads and broadcast around the world to an audience of millions.
In the 1990’s, however, that was most assuredly not the case. While Pride FC took off like a rocket ship in Japan, demonstrating the potential for a well-promoted sport powered by national television, the American originals had fallen on rough times. An extended political attack from conservative politicians had made MMA impossible to promote in most of the country and, making matters worse, the pressure extended to the pay-per-view industry, leaving the UFC unable to offer its wares even to customers more than happy to pay for the pleasure.
By 1999, even the home video market dried up, leaving fans of the promotion without access to satellite television scrambling just to see the sport they’d come to love. The UFC’s main act, a brash, young Tito Ortiz, could walk down the street almost anywhere in the world unnoticed save for his bleach-blonde hair.
That was the state of the business when Zuffa came into the picture, gently lifting the battered body of a genius idea and bringing hope to a fanbase that hadn’t known that feeling for years.
Before the controversies surrounding fighter compensation and accusations of brutal abuse of power and monopsony control of the entire industry, Dana White and the Fertitta brothers were the good guys. They entered an MMA space that felt like it was on life support in America and provided a shock to the system that turned it into a four billion dollar industry.
Within months, the new owners had removed the two biggest limiters preventing the promotion from getting into fifth gear. They convinced the state of Nevada to allow them to bring their show to the Las Vegas strip and cable companies to put the event back on pay-per-view.
On September 28, 2001, the UFC seemed back on the fast track to being the sport of tomorrow—right up until the world changed forever 17 days earlier. With air travel questionable and the nation emotionally devastated, the event itself, so long in the making, seemed likely to be delayed.
“It was up in the air,” Dave Menne, who competed for the UFC middleweight title that night, said. “We didn't know if the show was going to happen. We didn't know if we were going to have to drive there. The airports didn't open back up immediately. I was sleeping on Jens Pulver's couch, I remember, and he woke me up and said 'Oh my God, you've got to see this.' You're thinking 'Oh my God. What's going to happen to the country, what's going to happen to the world after this.' Then a few days later you think 'Well, are we fighting?' It was a big question mark. It changed the mood a little bit. You want to concentrate completely on your fight, but you can't ignore what just happened. We're all part of a nation. It happened to every one of us.”
Having seen White’s approach to the COVID crisis, you can imagine UFC’s response to the terrorist attacks that rocked the country. All but wrapped in the giant flag Tito Ortiz carried out with him for the main event, the promotion opened with a rendition of America the Beautiful and a very American fireworks display, all but inventing “America, Fuck Yeah” long before the South Park guys got around to it.
In an open letter on The Underground forum, then the online home to most of UFC’s remaining fans, White all but begged the community to help him make the event a success:
Attention UFC fans,
I have had a rough month. I feel like I have been out of touch with the fans. So, I just wanted to thank you all for the support.
Our day is finally here!
Friday, September 28th will be a history-making event when UFC: Victory in Vegas takes place at the Mandalay Bay Events Center in fabulous Las Vegas, Nevada. Not only will this be the first event sanctioned in the state of Nevada, but Friday will also mark the return to cable television.
For the first time in over three years, iN DEMAND will be broadcasting the UFC, live on pay per view, along with DirecTV and Dish Network.
This is a critical juncture for the sport. If you have ever supported Mixed
Martial Arts, the time is now. Tell your friends. Tell your family. Tell total strangers.The UFC is back, and stronger than ever! Spread the word. You have already shown tremendous support in helping us sell out the Mandalay Bay for the first event in Las Vegas.
We at the UFC thank you all for your continued support.
Sincerely,
Dana White
UFC President
The action that night at the Mandalay Bay Events Centre, unfortunately for the new audience of fans being reintroduced to a sport most people hadn’t seen in years, was mush less explosive than the pyrotechnics that preceded it. Every fight on the main card, back then the only fights broadcast on television, went to a decision, including all three 25-minute title fights.
Two of those fights, the lightweight showdown between Jens Pulver and Dennis Hallman and the light heavyweight scrap between the promotion’s ace Tito Ortiz and wrestler Vladimir Matyushenko still stand up today as among the worst title bouts in UFC history. Tito and Vlad deserve a pass of sorts—Matyushenko was a late replacement for striker Vitor Belfort and neither man was quite prepared for the fight he got.
Pulver and Hallman, however, deserve no such forgiveness. The two men had been high school rivals and Hallman’s pair of wins over Pulver’s teammate Matt Hughes only added kindle to the fire. At the weigh in, the two had to be separated. Pulver and his team nicknamed Hallman “Denise.” Hallman derisively referred to the smaller Pulver as “big guy.” Both promised a show when the bell rang.
“It wasn't a job yet. It's how we were. 'Oh, this guy's talking stuff about Matt?' Okay. We'll see,” Pulver said. “That's how (Miletich Fighting Systems athletes) were. We were like a pack of wolves. Come fight time, we were wolves. And all the other wolves were in your corner.”
The hype fizzled almost as soon as Mario Yamazaki started the festivities. Pulver and Hallman spent much of the bouts five five-minute rounds on the mat in a stalemate of sorts, neither able to achieve much in the way of sustained success. The crowd, so excited as Din Thomas made the walk down for the first undercard bout of the evening, had lost anything resembling patience by this point, letting the boos rain down.
“That fight changed the rules of MMA,” Hallman said. “After that, the referee was allowed to stand fighters up from the ground. The boos were warranted. He couldn't do anything to me on top, I couldn't do anything to him on the bottom. We nullified each others games, and it made for a real boring fight.”
At the end of the night, many in the crowd were uncertain about whether or not cage fighting was the sport for them. Ironically, after years of media hysteria about the carnage associated with the sport, the main problem at UFC 33 was a decided lack of violence.
Making matters worse, the promotion hadn’t anticipated every bout going the distance and they went over their allotted time. Many watching on pay-per-view missed the second half of the main event (not that they missed much).
“UFC 33 is the only one I can remember,” White would say years later, “where every fight sucked."
Past, of course, isn’t always prologue. Although UFC 33 scared the promotion off of promoting three title fights in a single night for years, it isn’t always a disaster. Last year, for example, UFC 251 had three championship bouts on Fight Island without being a disaster—and I expect the best for UFC 259 as well.
But it’s a cautious optimism—after all, I was there for UFC 33 too and know just how ugly things can get when the best laid plans are turned completely upside down.