Issue 032

December 2007

“Pride Never Die”. Except, of course, when the current American owners telephone the head office in Tokyo and fire everybody, as they did in October. That would pretty much do it. With that sombre thought in mind, I felt it was time to reminisce about some of my most enjoyable experiences with the greatest MMA promotion of all time.

First, my real introduction to the world of Japanese MMA: Pride 10. I had heard only rumours about this far-off promotion in Japan, having been raised on bootlegged copies of the UFC at college. I decided to seek out a DVD, and after much virtual-rummaging on the internet, ordered a second-hand copy of Pride 10. I'd psyched myself up to watch it, and when it finally arrived, I think I remember tearing the plastic wrapper off with my teeth as it was still in the postman's hand. The event didn't disappoint.

I sat open-mouthed, heart beating, and I was hooked. I saw Wanderlei Silva savage Guy Mezger, watched Gilbert Yvel KO Gary Goodridge with the first strike of the fight, and witnessed Enson Inoue get turned into a human hamburger patty by the relentless Igor Vovchanchyn. Sakuraba bending Renzo Gracie's arm completely the wrong direction was just the icing on the cake.

The next stage on my journey was discovering Video Japan, a local Japanese video rental shop. The shop had an entire shelf stuffed with classic Pride tapes, as well as what looked like the latest events recorded onto DVD. Vibrating with nervous energy, I asked if I could become a member, much to the puzzlement of the Japanese lady at the counter. A few fumbled application forms later, I now had access to a very respectable collection of MMA goodness. I steadily worked my way through it.

Work and relationships suffered severely. I was struck by mysterious, 24-hour illnesses that would leave me bedridden and unable to do anything except rent huge amounts of Pride tapes and scream at the TV. Finally, I had exhausted the collection, finishing off, and bringing myself up to date, with the opening round of the 2004 heavyweight Grand Prix. I saw Randleman knock out Cro Cop, Nogueira battle with Yokoi, and Fedor dismantle Coleman. The next round couldn't come soon enough. When it finally did, I was elated. I watched Nogueira work his magic on Herring, and Fedor recover from a spine-breaking slam to spin around and submit Randleman. The final round, despite its anticlimactic ending (which, in the end, was a boon as it led to an even more anticipated rematch at Pride's New Year's Eve spectacular) cemented 2004 for me as the greatest year ever for heavyweight mixed martial arts action.

During this period, I really felt there was something magical about mixed martial arts, and especially about Pride. It had an aura of drama and spectacle that couldn't be matched. I was living in Australia at the time, and I was the only person I knew watching this stuff. I felt somehow privileged, as if I had my own secret window on this world of giants.

This brings me to the apex of my Pride experience: Seeing the opening round of the 2005 middleweight Grand Prix live at the Osaka Dome. To say I was "pretty excited" would be like saying "Carol Vorderman is pretty good at maths". I was pumped.

Stepping into the arena and seeing the Pride ring, brightly illuminated in the centre of tens of thousands of seats, I knew the expensive tickets had been worth it. The lights went down. 30,000 fans waited in silence. Suddenly, those famous sounds erupted from the speakers – Dun, dun dun-dun. Dun dun dun-dun. Yes, you know what I mean. Pulled by the music, the crowd was on its feet, roaring. The fighters were introduced, and with every warble of that crazy Canadian lady's voice, our cheering intensified. By the time all the fighters had been called out, I was so pumped I could hardly speak.

The fights started. I have never experienced anything like the feeling when Sakuraba made his entrance. I was deafened by the roar of the crowd and brought to my feet by an electricity that crawled over my skin and made my hair stand on end. After Wanderlei Silva won a closely contested match against Yoshida, the crowd collectively collapsed, utterly spent. I couldn't quite believe who I had seen that night, the concentration of talent was ludicrous. Ricardo Arona. Igor Vovchanchyn. Yuki Kondo. Vitor Belfort. Antonio Rodrigo Nogueira. Kazushi Sakuraba. Quinton Jackson. Mauricio ‘Shogun’ Rua. Wanderlei Silva. Hidehiko Yoshida. 

In a world where fans Stateside boo boring rematches, I'll leave you with the words of Bas Rutten as way of evoking the very special feeling you only got with Pride. After that, let's have a minute of silence in remembrance. If you prefer, you may whisper "dun dun dun-dun" under your breath very quietly.

"The people are standing... Screaming... Everybody is on their feet... It is unbelievable...!"