Issue 068

October 2010

He’s the first MMA megastar, adored by millions. So how does Chuck Liddell stay so chilled? Gareth A Davies squares up to a legend, and discovers ‘The Iceman’s origin among his cold war-stories.

Charles David ‘Chuck’ Liddell: mixed martial arts’ most magnificent icon. From finishing fights to partying hard, he’s the first modern warrior to grace the front cover of ESPN The Magazine, trip the light fantastic on household-name primetime TV shows and have his likeness forged in wax for Madame Tussauds. Even these plaudits undersell Chuck Liddell’s cultural significance: were Andy Warhol still alive he’d surely have immortalized ‘The Iceman’ in one of his trademark homages to the power of individual fame, in the same way the pop artist painted Liz Taylor and Muhammad Ali. Liddell’s was the face that launched a thousand faux-hawks, dragging mixed martial arts, yelling and kicking, into mainstream American culture. Global TV audiences watched awestruck when Liddell bellowed his primal victory scream. His ‘epic wars’ and ‘highlight-reel finishes’ set their own benchmarks. Once dubbed ‘the scariest fighter on the planet’ his career record reads like a Who’s Who of MMA’s leading lights from the decade past: Randy Couture, Vitor Belfort, Wanderlei Silva, Tito Ortiz, Alistair Overeem, ‘Rampage’ Jackson. As far as I’m concerned he’s mixed martial arts’ greatest light heavyweight ever. At his peak he was terrifying, electrifying and fearless. He carried an air of invincibility with him every time he strode quietly, yet remorselessly, to the Octagon.

Having met The Iceman away from the cage on several occasions I’ve always found him the same: mellow, but equally the taciturn hard man who you’d mess with at your peril, the grizzled sheriff who’d fight lawless gunslingers out of town when the time is right. There’s good reason for this, which I’ll explain in time. He’s the only athlete I’ve ever invited to the offices of The Daily Telegraph, in London’s swanky Buckingham Palace Road, who announced himself at reception wearing flip-flops with his toenails painted green. It didn’t take long before he was mobbed by autograph hunters from the building. The pulling power of the man is genuinely amazing. He possesses clear star quality, without ever trying to project an image. Maybe this is the key to The Iceman’s charisma. 

 DeWayne Zinkin has worked as Liddell’s publicist for seven years. Liddell stands out, he says. Always has. “Everyone who knows Chuck, loves Chuck. I can vouch for that in all my dealings with him. His demeanor has never changed. There’s no question that he is the icon and the face of the sport, and of the UFC. There isn’t anyone who represents MMA in every way like he does. His fighting style; the excitement he brings to the Octagon – the way he carries himself outside it, in that manner of being a complete gentleman. Chuck’s a practical joker; you may not know about them, but I guarantee you that he got Dana White back many times over after the episode of Punk’d.” Then DeWayne veers from his eulogy to reveal the lesser-known, human, side of The Iceman. “If Chuck gets it, he’ll give it back, but that goes for everything else in life: he’ll put more back in than he takes out. And the real secret with Chuck is that he never judges a book by its cover.”

 Heidi Seibert, who also works very closely with Liddell, insists he understands his wider responsibility, as a mixed martial artist, in society. “He’s definitely a celebrity outside of the sport, he has the rock star vibe. I love Randy Couture but Chuck is the rock star and grabs the attention. Everyone wants to be with him, and hang around him, go out with him. The great thing is that he is always the same to everyone, and you see that in the way he is. He’s always in flip-flops, sometimes in tennis shoes and more often than not in jeans and a T-shirt. That’s Chuck.”

 But effortless, nonchalant celebrity chic didn’t always come so easily. Ten years ago, for example, Liddell was one of the yellow-vested security guards at the Super Bowl checking IDs. The last time he attended America’s most-watched television event he took his rightful place in the VIP box, and was announced to the crowd to rapturous applause. As boxing impresario Don King is wont to say: “From the streets to the suites.” It’s been a journey of epic proportions for Liddell. “He’s exactly the same person as he was when I first met him, only even more aware,” adds Seibert. “He takes care of his children, and if you’re one of his close friends there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for you. He likes to take care of his loved ones.” 

The man himself is on the move when we catch up with him. He has childcare duties he’s keen to take care of. The interview takes place over three days across California. As he gradually opens up, the final conversation I have with him for this article reveals the background to the creation of the quiet man, the man who wants to put the record straight, who will not take any messing – from anyone. It stems perhaps from an absent father and the heavy influence of Charles Liddell, his maternal grandfather. Liddell admits it was his grandfather’s influence when he was growing up which changed his life forever. 

 “Charles died the year before I got into the UFC, although he did see me kickbox a couple of times. And he always told me I would be the best in the world. We lived with my grandfather because my father was never around for me. I’ve never seen him up to today – he tried to find me when I was 20 years old, but my family had the same number, same address, for years and years, and after I show up on television all of a sudden, he wants to show up. For me, it was 20 years too late. I spoke to him on the phone and said, ‘Don’t bother,’ that I’d talk to him some other time.”

The recollection noticeably angers Liddell. “So I get to 20 years old and you want me to hear your side of the story when my mom has brought us up? Forget it. Don’t get me wrong, I had a great childhood, great mom, great grandparents. We didn’t have much money, but we were very happy and the adults in our lives were very involved and supported us in everything we did. I really couldn’t complain about my childhood.” It’s also colored the way the big man is with his two children – he’s there for them. “Charles taught me to fight from eight years old – how to throw straight punches. He was a real tough old guy, who was always willing to fight for what he believed in, what he stood for. He was the Deputy Sheriff in San Obispo [Southern California, where Liddell grew up]. He was used to sorting out the bad guys.”

These principles started to rub off on young Chuck, named after his grandfather. “I had a lot of fights growing up as a kid – anyone wanted to fight me, I’d fight them. I’ve always said, I never started fights but if you wanted to fight me, I would. I liked testing myself. I’ll fight the best guy here, sure. I never started a fight growing up, you always started a fight with me. But if it did start, I’d make sure the fight was worth it.” 

Liddell returns to reminiscing about his late mentor. “That’s how my grandfather was. He’d shoot people straight up. He had no ego about it. If people didn’t like something he said, it didn’t make a whole lot of difference. He meant it. The one thing you would never have done is called him a liar. You could argue your position, but don’t ever call him a liar. He had such strong principles and ethics, but don’t ever call pops a liar. He would never lie about anything. If he said he was going to do something, he’d do it.

“As I got older there were a couple of times when I was getting his back. He was a tough old man. He would not take shit from anybody. I remember one time there was an old boy running the baseball team I was playing in. I think I was 15 at the time. A couple of kids were too old for the team, and a bunch of parents were complaining. They didn’t agree with him and were screaming at him. Here the old boy was, volunteering his time to run a team in the Little League, and Charles saw this. Charles came over and said he didn’t like the way this group of parents were picking on him. He grabbed a bat and started poking a couple of guys in the chest; here we go, I thought… Now he’s taking on 20 or 30 parents screaming at this old man. My grandfather told them to back off, that they shouldn’t disrespect the old boy, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. To be honest, he was so brazen, people were a little scared of him. He didn’t care if it was one person or 50 people. He had very, very, strong ethics.”

Court McGee, The Ultimate Fighter season 11 winner and former heroin addict, reveals elsewhere in this issue how Liddell billeted him at his own house in Los Angeles while the up-and-comer prepared for his finale fight. “Charles definitely passed on a lot of his principles to me,” continues Liddell about his grandfather. “In my way, I try and pass them on too to my kids, and to other fighters. I just want the principles he had to live on in others.”

But grandfather Charles also features in Chuck’s most embarrassing memory of growing up. “You know, I didn’t really get embarrassed easily but I can remember one of my very first dates. I took a girl to the cinema and having to call my grandfather to pay for it, because I hadn’t brought my wallet.” Even The Iceman faced the odd cringe-worthy teenage moment. An entire generation of men would still certainly swap their existences for Chuck Liddell’s lifestyle, status and experiences. Is there anything really missing in his life? “I wish my grandfather had seen me fight at elite level. He died a year before I really got there, but he always told me I could beat anyone.” His only other desire? “That my children are healthy, and that there are always good people around them and that they stay happy for the rest of their lives.” 

So, to that Octagon sobriquet: The Iceman. “You know, I didn’t really like it very much at first,” Liddell confesses. “I got used to it. Now I like it. It’s more a reflection on how people see me rather than how I behave. For me, once a fight starts I relax. Weirdly, it reminds me of taking tests at high school. I had done everything a week before a fight to get used to it, like I would prepare for exams. Once you are in there, you know what to do, you’ve done the preparation, so just enjoy it.”

Can anything thaw The Iceman’s heart? Outside of the fight game, of course. “I get nervous like everyone else when my friends fight. But if there was one thing… My kids, for sure. The family.” Very telling. Heidi Seibert, his day-to-day publicist, concurs. “His children do melt him, yes. He plays with them all the time. In a crowd they know they are the most important person in that room. He is amazing with them. He tries to shut out the world when he’s with his children. He has a great relationship with both his kids. He’s quite strict. He knows his priorities.” It appears that his children, Trista (14) and Cade (12), have a doting dad. Something Liddell did not. “In a similar way, he’s a father figure to lots of young fighters,” adds Seibert, resonating with Liddell’s support for Court McGee.

 In 2009, shocking the grizzled MMA community, Liddell appeared as a contestant on the runaway ABC primetime TV series Dancing With The Stars. Other sporting icons who’ve taken part include the boxers Floyd Mayweather Jr and Evander Holyfield. Liddell, partnered by striking Russian Anna Trebunskaya, garnered public recognition more widespread than 

any other mixed martial artist ever. UFC President Dana White, a close friend and former manager, sat in the front row for episode one, dumbstruck but clearly enjoying himself on a number of levels.

“It’s a whole different crowd of people in many ways; an opposite demographic to the one mixed martial arts is in. I think it’s definitely important that we have representatives from the sport in the mainstream as MMA moves forward.” The right ones, too.

Discipline in the Octagon, Liddell says, remains vital if MMA’s truly to be considered a bona fide sport. At UFC 113 in Montreal, during May this year, British welterweight fighter Paul Daley struck Josh Koscheck, blatantly and deliberately, after the fight was over. Daley was sacked from the promotion within the hour; Dana White had taken the decision, but not lightly.

Liddell pauses for thought when reminded of the incident. “I would say the Daley decision was the right one. He just got beat by the other guy over 15 minutes and then cold-clocked him, as if from behind. If you can’t beat your opponent during the fight, don’t take your retribution afterwards. If people do that, we can’t call it ‘sport’. That’s crazy what he did, regardless of what might have been said to him by his opponent. Same goes for jumping in the ring, fighting for your friend, brawls after the fight is over – no good for the sport.

 “You have got to see the stuff as a sport in those heated situations. There are high emotions in play but they should be kept apart. It is all about controlling those sensations, and those tough situations are about controlling yourself. That is part of mixed martial arts. We are responsible. We have responsibility to the sport, and its future. I don’t know what the deal was with Daley and Koscheck, maybe it got real personal, and perhaps way too much on Koscheck’s part. I’m a fan of Daley’s way of fighting, but that was not a clever move.”

Liddell the striker came with action guaranteed: a thrilling fighter with his sprawl ‘n’ brawl, spectacular KO finishes, and head kicks administered to the likes of Tito Ortiz, was a fan’s fantasy. But do experienced wrestlers, and competitors excelling in jiu-jitsu, have more security in the cage? And how important is it that strikers have a solid ground game? 

“It has always been very important,” says Liddell. “I have a background as a kickboxer and did karate, but when I first came out people said I was a wrestler. I was a college wrestler. It’s so important to have wrestling and takedown defense because a grappler can nullify, with one sweep in each round, all that a striker has achieved through his scoring. When you stop the takedown, when you make it harder for your opponent to put you on the ground, it makes the wrestler tired. And then you can start to dominate in the stand-up.”

I come here to praise Chuck Liddell, not to bury him. But a heart-to-heart without approaching the subject of retirement would seem inappropriate. 

“It was Dana White who talked about my retirement,” Liddell points out. “He started this cheap talk. I just gave my body a rest. I've being fighting for many years and needed a little time off.”

But that was before his main event against Rich Franklin at UFC 115 in Vancouver this summer. Liddell was caught flush by the former math teacher, having dominated until he took a blow to the jaw. Liddell folded up like a FedEx package, and there must be questions asked about the great man’s processes. It is now four KOs, on the receiving end this time, from his last six fights. “He’s going out exactly the same way he went in,” said long-time trainer John Hackleman in reverential and affectionate tones.

It was indeed White who famously first spoke about Liddell’s possible retirement in public after The Iceman’s loss to Rashad Evans. “We have definitely seen the last of Chuck Liddell,” the UFC president confirmed exclusively on international sports channel Setanta after the UFC 88 bout. “That was his last fight. Obviously Chuck Liddell is a great competitor, he loves the sport, he loves to fight, so this has been a very tough decision for him. He has nothing else to prove. He is the most famous mixed martial artist on the planet, he’s made more money than God, he’s a champion and he’s got nothing else to fight for.” 

But Liddell has come back since then. He’s been knocked out again. And White said the same. Perhaps it is a subject the two friends just have to agree to disagree about.

So if Chuck is chilled like ice, does he believe Dana White to be too passionate? The two are extremely close. White’s stated more than once that MMA wouldn't have reached its tipping point without Liddell. “Is Dana emotional? ‘Course he is. He has done and is doing a very good job for the sport. He’s very emotional. But the thing is about Dana White is this: he says what he feels, but he goes back on things, he cools off, he admits he’s wrong when he is. He’s one of those guys – you know what he thinks about you – he’s not saying one thing to your face and another thing behind your back. He’ll say he was wrong. That’s what I like about him. He doesn’t lie to me. I know how he thinks. I can respect that.”

Who does Liddell see as the future of the sport? Cain Velasquez? Jon Jones? 21-year-old Rory MacDonald even? He will not be drawn. “There are a lot of dangerous guys, a lot of tough fighters, out there right now. A major star? I’m not sure. Some are exciting but not consistent. You need a few wins, to finish fights, and make them interesting. That’s what the fans want.”

There are a few matters which Liddell believes need looking into as the sport moves forward. Like proper schooling for judges, and the level of punishment meted out for transgressions. “The regulations are fine. But when they catch people doing things wrong, the penalties are hard. If you get a year out, that’s pretty stiff. Imagine getting fired for a year. That’s tough. That’s a hard penalty.”

And officiating? “For me, the judging just needs to be better. It’s a diverse sport, and with submission and ground work I think we need to be clear that the judges do actually know what’s going on. Is a guy just holding the other down and not really attempting anything? Should I win the round after being taken down, when I’ve landed many strikes? I’d like to sit with a few judges at close fights, watch the fight with them, and then ask them why they gave the round to one guy or the other. I think we need to get them into a classroom, review fights, go through the scoring, discussing ‘the why and the what’ of details in fights. I think it could lead to better decisions from judges, because MMA is a complex sport to judge if you are from a different background – if you’re not rounded. I think it could be really good for the sport. Some of the judging I see doesn’t make sense. If they score badly, I say get rid of ‘em. If they do it well, give them more responsibility.”

I rattle through a few more questions, as we have been speaking over a series of days, and time is running short. Liddell doesn’t think ex-fighters should become officials: too much shared history. He raves over Iron Man 2 and Robert Downey Junior’s performance. He says an evening theorizing with Bruce Lee would have been fantastic: “I feel like I’d like to speak to him about history and MMA theories.” We compare top-level mixed martial artists to ancient gladiators (Liddell made an almost subliminal cameo in 2006’s swords ‘n’ sandals epic 300, of course). What would his weapon of choice in the Colosseum have been? “A shield and a threshing sword.” Liddell to a tee. Uncannily, he also appeared as a cub scout, recognizable even aged ten, in the 1981 production of suburban drama The Postman Always Rings Twice with Jack Nicholson.

I ask Liddell about his dreams. “Y’know, I don’t know if I can talk about those in an article.” Intriguing. In fact, Liddell is really, I conclude, something of an enigma. Still waters do indeed run deep. He lives on the surface. His personality is perfectly suited to public attention. He likes it, but his ego doesn’t feed on it. The dude is truly unflappable. 

Then I suddenly realize where his phlegmatic approach may originate – and I remember something Dana White said, about Liddell sitting in complex financial meetings, looking half-asleep, and then just coming out with the figures the others had been discussing off the top of his head. It’s often said that Liddell’s secret weapon is his brain but even more so he’s a figures man, an accountant. A shrewd and impassive analyst of the realities before him. He studied Business and Accounting, of course, graduating from California Polytechnic State University in 1995, yet soon afterwards eschewed that route to take up a career as a fighter. A Mohawk and suit? Sounds appealing, but unlikely.

“I never had to get a real job. I was good at accounting and figures because it came easy to me,” explains Liddell when pressed. “But thank God I never had to work for a living. Fighting’s never been tough because I love it so much. My secret is: I don’t have a real job in the real world.” 

Gareth A Davies is Boxing and MMA Correspondent for The Daily Telegraph, London.