Martial madness

Portland fighter Mike Brown grapples with Mass Destruction III

By Tanya Whiton

MIKE BROWN: prior to winning his match with a rear naked choke hold.

It’s Friday, August 3, the eve of Mass Destruction III.

Sounds like a Jerry Bruckheimer production, no? Something involving explosions, skyscrapers falling, muscular Hollywood types exceeding the bounds of human capacity. And it all takes place in Springfield, Massachusetts.

Wait a second. Springfield?

What’s this, a monster truck rally?

Nope.

Though it certainly contains muscular Hollywood types exceeding the bounds of human capacity, Mass Destruction III is actually a mixed martial arts tourney; an event and a sport that combines elements of numerous Eastern forms, classic Olympian-styled wrestling, and the bloodlust of the Coliseum. It is a sport in which buff men wearing tight shorts wrestle, kick, and slap each other to the ground. It’s fascinating to watch (if a bit unnerving). And Portlander Mike Brown gets a rush out of participating.

I’m sitting in Coffee By Design on Congress Street, talking with Brown, a Portland fighter who trains at Choi’s Institute of Martial Arts and Science — he’s slated to battle in tomorrow night’s show. He explains that “mixed martial arts” is a politically correct term, currently in use because organizers are trying to get the sport sanctioned.

Banned until recently from cable TV and frowned upon by sports regulators, “no-holds-barred” events like Mass Destruction III nevertheless have a big draw. Perhaps because of a certain cinematic quality?

The bare-knuckles intensity and renegade atmosphere of the Vale Tudo — a Brazilian fighting form meaning “anything goes,” predecessor to events like Mass Destruction — is rarely found in mainstream sports. In the Mass Destruction version of Vale Tudo, the thrill of vicarious violence most often found today in the cineplex is brought to the sweaty local community center, and brought several steps closer to the viewer. So close, in fact, that one observer got hit with someone’s spit-covered mouth guard.

“No Holds Barred does get the biggest crowd,” Brown says. But going for the mainstream means cleaning up the show. Literally.

Ironically, less actual bloodshed equals more corporate backing. Mass Destruction III is sponsored by Budweiser, and though the fighters only have to wear a cup and mouth guard, there are more rules in place than ever before. Brown seems a bit disappointed when he tells me the no-nos: no biting, no fish hooking (reaching into your opponents mouth and tearing at their cheeks), no closed fists, no eye gouging, and no head butting. “You take away the head butt because it’s a bloody mess,” he says.

Brown, a twenty-five-year-old ball of muscle, clean cut, close shaven and low to the ground, trains for more than 20 hours a week; wrestling, boxing, grappling, lifting and running his way to being a contender.

Schooled as a biologist in the civilian program at Norwich University in Vermont, he works as a merchandiser for National Distributors — because he can get time off to fight.

“It’s my life,” he says. “I don’t want to get into biology if I won’t have time to train.”

A high school wrestler, Brown was spurred back into the ring after seeing 1993’s first-ever Ultimate Fighting Championship: the big, bad-ass granddaddy of events like Mass Destruction III, and Brown’s ultimate goal as a contestant.

“[The UFC] brought martial artists from all different directions: sumo wrestlers, boxers, karate — all thrown into this cage, with a six-foot chain link fence. I thought that was the greatest thing in the world. It seemed so pure. Fighting has been around since the beginning of time.”

The upshot of the UFC mixed bouts was the discovery that many of the martial arts were pretty one dimensional: you could kick and karate chop all you wanted, but if you got into a fracas with a jujitsu fighter or grappler, they’d take you down to the ground, and all your defenses would disappear. “It’s tough when you’re on bottom to hit back,” says Brown.

What has emerged in the last eight years is a hybrid fighting form that begins in standard boxing style: two guys standing in separate corners with their dukes up. But they’re not on their feet for long. In a fight scheduled for seven minutes with no rounds, it’s usually only a matter of moments before the opponents are locked in an oddly intimate embrace on the mat, their bodies intertwined, each fighter struggling for domination. In this game, domination means getting your adversary to submit, “tap out,” give in before a bone snaps or a tendon pulls. Any number of holds, chokes, and joint locks can accomplish this goal.

Sounds kind of homoerotic, I say. Barely dressed guys rolling around on the floor?

“I’m used to that,” Brown replies, dismissing the question. “I was a wrestler in high school, I got that all that time. This is painful, it hurts. You get twisted and torqued.”

Hmm. Pretty violent. I say.

Brown disagrees.

“I don’t think of it as violent at all. It’s all skill — these are great athletes. It’s no more violent than football, and it’s closer and more controlled. Its not as violent as boxing — you can hit a lot harder on your feet than on the ground. And it’s not a bunch of weird rules made up about a ball.”

Point taken.

 

The evening’s organizer is Kipp Kollar, president of the United States Mixed Martial Arts Association. He’s a six-foot something, cue ball-bald Adonis who looks like a Bond-flick villain and sounds like a math teacher. Sweat shining on his skull, Kollar introduces the third Mass Destruction beat-up fest in a surprisingly collegiate manner.

“All these fighters have worked really hard,” he says into the microphone. “I know that most of you out there are family and friends. So it’s really important to support everybody, and not boo. Don’t boo anybody.”

Kollar then hands the microphone over to the emcee, an aspiring local actor sporting gelled hair and fancy pants. (It is later revealed that the emcee debuted in one of the crowd scenes in The Thomas Crowne Affair, starring Pierce Brosnan).

The air in the Southside Community Center is palpable, drippingly humid. Hundreds of fans sit demurely in folding chairs around the ring, most of them young men, most of them in very, very good shape. Tight, fight club t-shirts abound, with slogans like “Tap Out” and “Bad to the Bone.” There is a particularly large contingent of beefy Latino guys from Dragon’s Lair Martial Arts Studio. Pigeon feathers drift through the mesh hung from the high, metal-vaulted ceiling, and fans chew greasy slabs of pizza and drink plastic cups of Bud.

My friend Kris Kramer, another Portlander who trains at Choi’s, gives me the low down on the sweet-faced guy sitting behind us: Jeremy Horn, a UFC superstar, veteran of over seventy fights, and the grand finale contender of tonight’s show. Horn flips placidly through a paper back novel.

The first three rounds are dizzying, difficult to follow, with a perplexing number of interruptions from the referee. Kramer explains that though the fight really takes place on the ground, the crowd gets impatient when they can’t see any action.

Brown had said during our interview that mixed martial arts is less about action and more about science and physics, about how to get control of your opponent’s body. After witnessing a few bouts, I can see what he means. For a sport with such a bloody reputation, it’s surprisingly subtle, surprisingly psychological — more complex and physically intricate than boxing or other popular modes of combat. And, unlike other full-contact sports, the fighters don’t wear headgear, gloves, or even shoes, for the most part. They are exposed, revealed, their bodies vivid in contest. Soberingly, though, the referee wears rubber gloves. Somebody is going to bleed.

Brown’s is the fourth match on the card, and he’s up against Vinny Brightman, a handsome Italian kid from Brooklyn. Brightman is unprepared for Brown’s wrestling techinique, and submits quickly, tapping out at about two minutes, caught in a rear naked choke hold.

Next up is Kipp Kollar himself, in the first superfight of the evening, against Nick Crooks. Shirt off, Kollar looks even more the part of the Aryan malefactor — an appearance that is only somewhat undermined by the emcee’s announcement that it is his birthday. As he climbs into the ring, his expression is an odd combination of jovial host and home-team hero. It’s clear that putting on the show gives him pleasure, but his real passion is kicking ass.

And he does. Within seconds of the ref’s sign to begin fighting, Kollar has Crooks spread-eagled under the ropes, one hand outstretched and tapping on the mat.

As the night wears on, and the bouts get more heated, the Southside Community Center feels increasingly like a film set. The Heavyweight Title Fight between George Rivera and Elias Rivera (unrelated) takes on overtones of West Side Story, with each fighter’s posse of muscle-bound friends arrayed on opposite sides of the ring. George Rivera visibly goads his opponent, shaking his head disdainfully at Elias’ feints, kicking him repeatedly in the calf for a take down. When the bout is over, though, the two men hug like brothers and confer over their differing strategies — a strange, gentlemanly end to a vicious battle.

Overall, there is a code of sportsmanship implicitly followed by Mass Destruction participants that belies both the name and the supposed nature of the show.

Brown says he doesn’t think of himself as a confrontational person; “I don’t ever get in fights or anything on the street,” he says. “I’ve been in some submission events where I had the opportunity to hurt somebody bad, and I didn’t.”

As for his next move, Brown is preparing for a possible match in the September 15 Hook and Shoot in Indiana, a step up from Mass Destruction on the ladder to the UFC. He feels like his career is taking hold, at a point when his chosen sport is just beginning to verge into a more widely accepted and publicized format. (The UFC even has a main event in Vegas this year.)

Will Brown miss the scrappy anonymity of the early days of Ultimate Fighting? The free-for-all? The bloodshed?

Not really. When I ask him who his heroes are, he mentions wrestler Mark Coleman. “He’s a great wrestler,” Brown says, “but nobody would know who he was. The changes [from unregulated melee to a more mainstream sport] mean you’ll be able to get familiar with the fighters — they’ll be like characters.”

Like Jeremy Horn — unknown by the standards of say, boxing, whose casual lounging against the ropes at the start of his match betrayed the kind of confidence and physical prowess of a great athlete — paging calmly through a book. Boy, would Jerry Bruckheimer hate that.

Tanya Whiton can be reached at twhiton@ime.net.