Fighters Only

Issue 062

May 2010

Cain Velasquez consciously breathes through his mouth as he walks through the corridors of the Acer Arena to his locker room while the pay-per-view broadcast gets underway, doing his best to close out the camera and bright light shining in his eyes, and keeps walking forward, straight ahead. Velasquez’s coaches Javier Mendez, Dave Camarillo and Bob Cook follow behind him, all with the same determination.

Hours later, after an entire day of exciting bouts, the main event is on. The excited Australian crowd settles to a hush, once-feverishly dancing fans stand completely still as Vicente Fernandez’s voice fills the Acer Arena. As Cain Velasquez marches out to ‘Los Mandados’, the Aussie fans freeze, eyes following the spotlight on the former Arizona State wrestler walking toward the Octagon. Lights scanning the crowd show sharp, upright bodies, and a muted cheer rises as Velasquez passes inspection and walks through the door of the cage. Even as Antonio Rodrigo ‘Minotauro’ Nogueira approaches the cage, ‘Gimme Shelter’ blaring its iconic opening notes, the crowd does not move their gaze. The tension thickens in the afternoon air. It’s time.

Cain Velasquez did his job on that Sunday afternoon in Sydney. After only two minutes and 20 seconds into the first round, Velasquez could no longer be denied a position as a contender for the heavyweight belt. While critics of the American Kickboxing Academy (AKA) standout cover themselves by proclaiming Minotauro to be feeling the effects of aging (the UFC and Pride legend is only 33), they ought to take caution to not undermine the importance of Velasquez’s dominant victory.

Straight to practice after returning from Sydney, coaches Dave Camarillo and Bob Cook have several fighters on the upcoming Strikeforce card and get directly to work. Velasquez remained in Australia for a few extra days but upon his proud return to San Jose he too returned straight to the gym. On Cain’s win, Camarillo beams: “Cain shows he has power and is the number one contender for the title.” Manager and trainer Bob Cook agreed, “Whoever it is, Carwin, Mir, or Lesnar, interim or not, Cain should get to fight for that title.” Cook laughs, “We’d be happy to welcome Lesnar back.”

Coming off such an impressive win over a former UFC and Pride champion, it’s no wonder that his trainers are asking for a shot at the belt, even though Velasquez surprised them by finishing so rapidly. “The win was quicker than anticipated and we were ready to fight everywhere, we even tailored his wrestling for Nogueira.” Everyone was shocked at the speed at which Velasquez disposed of the legend. “Cain got hit once, kept his composure, and out-struck Nogueira. He shouldn't have been able to do that with his level of experience,” Camarillo smiled, shaking his head. What is the secret to Velasquez’s amazing ascent and rapid acquisition of skill after only three years at AKA? “He listens,” Camarillo states, plainly. “Not only does he listen but he does what you ask. He hears you, learns, and executes.”

The week of the fight, Camarillo told Velasquez that were he to drop Nogueira, not to run straight at the downed fighter, but to come around to side control and pound from there to avoid being caught in Minotauro’s wicked ground game. Velasquez remembered. As Nogueira fell to the canvas, he smartly passed to the Brazilian’s right and fired his closing shots from there. In this biggest fight of Velasquez’s young career, he fought like an expert and came through despite the enormous pressure upon his shoulders.

Before UFC 110 in Australia, analysts weren’t sold on Velasquez – many claimed he was overrated. At the sportsbooks, the fight was nearly even. Even Velasquez thought so – he said it’d be a war. The young heavyweight said in every interview and even in the UFC countdown show that he was preparing to fight hard for three rounds in the main event of UFC's inaugural show in Australia.

But at 2:20 of the first round, referee Herb Dean dived under Velasquez’s fists to stop the blows that rained down on Nogueira. Velasquez walked away, throwing a proud pitchfork gesture representing Arizona State University (where he honed his wrestling skills), nodding and tasting the blood that streamed out of a cut atop his nose. He lowered his brow and stared into the throng of fans, his eyes focused on the future.

The focus in Cain Velasquez’s eyes was the same four weeks earlier in San Jose when I went to see him. As we spoke about the heavyweight division, the title, fighting a legend, Velasquez seemed to stare through the camera in my hand, past its lens, already working the fight in his mind.

The first day I spent at AKA, Velasquez grappled aggressively and smartly against increasingly reluctant training partners. Up-and-comer Luke Rockhold rested a round after rolling with Velasquez, calling it his ‘Cain Break’ (because grappling with the heavyweight wrestler was exhausting beyond any other opponent). At evening practice, Velasquez said he always trains in order to constantly improve – he knows he must always evolve or be left behind.

Velasquez might envision himself as the UFC heavyweight champion, but he never thinks past his own efforts – the climb to the top of the mountain takes many steps. He shied away from all my inquiries into his aspirations for the crown, saying that he could only concentrate on Nogueira, for the Brazilian was the immediate and only task at hand.

He worked the bag room with a ferocity that seemed bottled, a fire that flared with the wind, showing the same relentless attack I saw him lay upon Ben Rothwell at UFC 104. Recalling the little roar, the pride that streamed in his blood after pounding Nogueira out, the unignorable violence of mixed martial arts contradicts Cain Velasquez the father, the student and quietly serious training partner.

Velasquez admits his personality opposes his fierceness in the cage. He does not think of it purely as competition and he does have to feel a certain dislike for his opponent – this is still fighting, after all. “He wants to do the same, he wants to hurt me as much as I’d like to hurt him,” he says. “And in a way, [my opponent] is trying to take away everything I’ve worked so hard for.”

Seeing the sanctioned brutality Velasquez is capable of, it would seem that such a devastating fighter would be short-fused, but not so. Cain says, “It takes a lot to get me riled up, normally, but I am a different person when I step into the cage.” It is a calmness that defines him, his notorious stoicism not entirely different from the seemingly aloof Fedor in the sense that his personal world is small, and encompasses only his family, friends, training partners, and his goals. His demeanor attempts to keep the larger world and the bright lights of the media at bay.

Behind the rain-fogged windows of the AKA, fighters convene for sparring. Two-time Olympic wrestler Daniel Cormier, Jason ‘Mayhem’ Miller, and Luke Rockhold take their turns against Velasquez as part of his preparations for Minotauro. Mayhem jokes in reference to Cain’s intimidating stature: “I’m about to spar with the scariest Mexican I’ve ever seen!”

Last year, when Velasquez was training for Ben Rothwell, he was having an off day in the gym, struggling and visibly frustrated in sparring. Javier Mendez lectured the contender while helping remove his gloves – the coaches circled Velasquez, as he sat on a supine punching bag, and fired off critiques of his technique. The heavyweight listened intently and even listened as his sparring partner Luke Rockhold, decidedly lower on the totem pole, analyzed their session – not once did he roll his eyes or raise a retort.

Velasquez took stock of all that he’d learned that day, sitting on the mat watching other fighters taking to the ring to spar, surveying the main room at the AKA. Inherent in his personal philosophy, Velasquez will never know when he's the best or at the top, since even as a champion he will strive to improve, but he rested at that moment, completely focused and ready.

After weeks of gray skies, the sun peeks through a chilly Friday afternoon and into a busy barbershop. Premium Cutz is bustling with boys and men getting neat for the weekend. During this short break in the seemingly endless soft rain, Cain Velasquez pops in with teammate Daniel Cormier and visiting fighter Jason Miller for a trim in preparation for an anniversary dinner with his girlfriend Michelle. Cormier is happy Velasquez finally came to the shop – he spent the last week chastising the UFC heavyweight over his messy hairline.

Barber Rob lists sure-fire romantic restaurants to the reticent fighter while skillfully working a trim blade. Cain quietly smiles as suggestions are thrown out from all over the shop and Cormier continues to make fun – Velasquez doesn’t join in the conversation until an ultrasound of the barber’s forthcoming child appears. The barber sees Cain light up and asks, while passing the photo, “Do you have children?” All of a sudden the stony Velasquez animates: “Yes, I have a daughter.” From there he is lively, describing the feeling of seeing the image of his daughter in the womb as training partner Cormier marvels over the advancements in ultrasound technology since his own family's passage through childbirth.

“Does she look like the mother or you?” the barber asks.

“Me,” Cain smiles, proud but reluctant. His daughter Coral also takes after Cain’s energy and penchant for trouble, by having unending forward momentum and an equally unique name. Velasquez said when he and Michelle came across the name Coral, they knew it was the right name – it was extraordinary and the whole word, the sound and the shape of it, was beautiful.

Cain’s main aim outside becoming the best fighter in the world is to provide for his family. Coral is the light of his life, even if it was difficult at first to juggle training for Cheick Kongo and caring for his newborn daughter. “We were really happy and excited. It was fun to go shopping for the things the baby would need, painting her room pink and brown.” He admits, “It took a toll on me. At times, I was falling asleep right before sparring; I’d be waiting to get into the ring and doze off.” Eight months into Coral’s life, the new father is ecstatic for the changes in his daughter as she’s expressing more emotions and trying to walk. She’s even a fearless infant, leaping off furniture headlong: A little troublemaker. Velasquez’s mother told her son she could already see the similarities between her granddaughter and son, reminding him of his boundless drive and childhood habit of deconstructing anything he got his hands on.

While the taciturn fighter suddenly brightened and became verbose at the thought of his infant daughter, Velasquez concisely explained his focus on Nogueira, his ascent through the ranks and his new status as a representative of Latino culture. Questions probing his desire for a title shot and his place in the heavyweight rankings were met with the right answer: “I put all my attention on Nogueira. When the UFC wants to give me [a title shot] I will take it. I know my time will come.” Velasquez has answered similar questions many times today, this week and this month, and he will continue to answer them until the day he holds the heavyweight belt.

Cain does not see himself as the Latino representative, but fully understands that working with the media – especially the Spanish-language media – is part of his occupation as a fighter. Velasquez’s childhood home sat only a few miles from the Mexico-United States border and his family visited friends and relatives south of the border often. Most of the Southwest is intertwined in Mexican culture - after all, most of the land used to belong to Mexico. Growing up in the border town of Yuma, Arizona, Cain felt at home during his media tour in Mexico, though he was astounded by the popularity of MMA and especially overwhelmed by his own apparent fame.

There was no such frenzy during his college wrestling days, and for the humble heavyweight the attention is outside of what he used to see as his job of training and fighting. Cain (and his brother before him) joined the wrestling teams in junior high because it was free and because the regimented instruction suited his personality. After all, at its core, there’s only headgear and a singlet – wrestling is simple but endless in its challenges. Schoolwork was much harder and, even at such a young age, “I knew right away I wanted to do this for the rest of my life.

“As long as I’m not behind a desk I’m fine,” Cain smiles, recalling his previous jobs. “I’ve worked in the fields, pitching watermelons – I’d rather train and teach.”

And that’s Cain, yet everyone always wants to talk about his ‘Brown Pride’ tattoo, wants to delve into its symbolism. But it is not a symbol – it is spelled out. The tattoo is a part of Velasquez marked to honor the determination of his father, who fought so hard to raise his family in America (its explanation more fluid when hearing it in a Spanish-language interview featured on ESPN). Yes, it is a polarizing mark, but it is his body and his story, and those who dislike the suggestion it raises in their own minds can simply choose not to support Velasquez. Fighter tattoos run the gamut from the simply aesthetic or tribal styles to personal portraits or declarations of culture and heritage. Many tattoos are terrible and many are artistic, but all are for the person bearing the ink. For Velasquez, it’s a crest on his chest plate, a coat of arms on display.

When a pair of shoes from Lugz, a sponsor of Velasquez, is delivered to AKA with Brown Pride embroidered on them, Velasquez is more than a little embarrassed while the other fighters hoot, passing the shoes around. Admittedly, the tan-leather boots are outside of Velasquez’s toned-down style (which is usually made up of sweaty gilded shirts from his main apparel sponsor, Dethrone, and whichever shorts are clean that day). The declaration of Brown Pride, while flattering to have been made into footwear, strays from the very personal tribute to his father. Daniel Cormier picks up a boot, posing with a wide grin by Cain’s face.

Each day, despite the growing world around this young contender, Velasquez maintains his priorities are the same: “Taking care of my family and always evolving with the sport.” Velasquez’s degree in education fits perfectly with his continuous pursuit of knowledge in the field of combat sport.

I look down at my notes from the editor, other interviews, and feel abashed as I ask Velasquez directly what it is like to represent and be the face of all Latino fighters. I can see he tires of explaining, defining, discussing; he wants to declare, “I just am.” As a woman of color, I too tire of defining, expounding who I am through this window of my culture. I look to Velasquez for the answer but I already know. “That’s me, that’s how I was raised.”

He is of Mexican heritage and he is also a great fighter. There’s no extra consideration of how to best represent his culture. While our roots determine what we look like, what culture we are associated with, our framework, how we approach life, comes from all of it, and, most deeply, our motivations come from our animal desire for survival entwined with our pursuit as human beings. Cain Velasquez is a sum of his entire life: His culture, his parents, his love, his daughter and his persistence to train and evolve and become a better fighter. “I gotta do it in here,” he says, looking around the gym. “I know what my job is: It is to come in here every day and get better; go out to fight and win impressively.”