Issue 029

September 2007

The light heavyweight fan favourite hates the press and was almost an accidental terrorist. Hywel Teague shared a coffee with the original Ultimate Fighter and found out its not all laughs when you’re Forrest Griffin. 

“I hope I’m happy when I’m punch drunk. Just numb.” That’s the kind of thing you hear often from Forrest Griffin. He is a pretty down to earth guy and a genuinely funny character with a very self-deprecating sense of humour, but if you catch him in the wrong mood, you can meet a totally different person. 

He’ll be the first to admit that he is tired of the “press thing”. Forrest has been taken around the world and run left right and centre by the UFC’s marketing machine, and let’s be honest, it may beat sitting in an office but that doesn’t make it an easy job. “It’s not easy [to be nice] when you’re dieting and cutting weight,” he said. 

Forrest told me this while we were sat in Starbucks in Belfast, two days before his fight with Hector Ramirez. In many ways it was a make or break fight for Griffin, and it was definitely playing on his mind. He doesn’t exactly court the media like some fighters do, preferring to just get his job done and get back home to Las Vegas. He had been grouchy at the press conference that day, and was initially wary of me when I asked to take some pictures of him. When I reminded him we had met before (on a few occasions) and he remembered who I was, he was suddenly the ‘cool’ Forrest again. 

When you think of Forrest it’s hard not to think of him goofing around – that’s the side of Forrest people seem to want to see. Even when he’s being serious, people think he’s joking, but he can hard to fathom like that. Even those close to him don’t always ‘get’ him. Renowned for being surly with the press, his dark side extends further than that. “He can be a nasty bastard sometimes,” says Mark Beecher, Forrest’s Muay Thai trainer at the Xyience Training Centre in Las Vegas. “We’ll be there, doing some padwork or something. If someone he doesn’t know comes in and is watching him, he’ll just turn around and go ‘who the fuck are you?’” 

Given the pressure Griffin was under for the fight with Ramirez, you can forgive him for being a little out of sorts. There is no doubt the tough KO loss to Keith Jardine has gotten to him. He was anxious in the run up to this fight, knowing that he didn’t have an easy task ahead of him, but aware that should he lose, he could well be out on his ear from the UFC and left in no man’s land in a very competitive light heavyweight division. 

Even considering the stress, the pressure, the pre-fight slow release of adrenaline and the challenge awaiting him, our meeting held some truly classic ‘Forrest’ moments. 

When he starts coming out with wistful ruminations about his future state of mental health, you know he’s on form. It wasn’t long before we’d heard his opinion of Brazilians (“I haven’t met one who hasn’t fucked me in the ass, or tried to. And if they haven’t yet, it’s just a matter of time before they do.”), his theory of the application of boxing in MMA and the story of the time he was arrested in a US airport for trying to take a handgun onto a plane. 

That’s right. Forrest Griffin was almost an accidental terrorist. Whoops. 

Not so long ago, Forrest was flying from his home in Las Vegas to an appearance in San Diego. Not wanting to leave the gun at home, he had intended to leave the pistol at his girlfriend’s house, but as he had gotten up at 5am for an early flight he wasn’t thinking. 

“It was 5am, I was barely awake.” Griffin had accidentally left the firearm in his carry-on baggage, something generally frowned upon by the authorities. As he passed through security, a young guy at the x-ray machine quietly called him over and asked him: “Hey man, did you pack a pistol in this bag?” When Forrest re-enacted his response, it was the face of a man who had realised he had just done the dumbest thing of his life. The young guy passed him back the bag and told him “just walk away, go somewhere” but as he did so the supervisor came over and that was it. Busted. 

Hands cuffed behind his back, Forrest was led away to the airport police station, more of a small processing centre. “The cop was being a dick,” he says. “I was cuffed to a table, and I was writhing because of my shoulders. I was like ‘please, cuff me in front.’” 

To make matters worse, the pistol wasn’t even registered. “That didn’t go down well. I tried to explain, I bought the pistol when I was a cop in Georgia, I didn’t need to register it back then.” 

“The sergeant took over and he was cool, he recognised me and he was OK. He was like ‘I’m gonna have to take you to the main station’. So anyway, he puts me in the car, and he drives me to the main station, but on the way he stops off at a bank so I can get $4000 for bail.” 

As much as celebrity status can be a curse, that’s the true privilege of fame right there. With the friendly policeman letting him post his own bail, Forrest was driven back to the airport, caught his flight and even made his appearance. With the money made from the showing, he even broke even after posting his bail. But even though he was moments away from being all over national headlines as the next major terrorist, he was more bummed about the fact that he had his favourite gun taken off him. “I loved that gun,” he said. I’m pretty certain that nowadays when travelling he makes sure to leave his firearms at home. 

If that day wasn’t memorable enough, it sticks out for Forrest for one more reason. “That was the first time I told my girl that I loved her.” 

Though he’s still a ‘good old boy’ from the South, Forrest has decamped to Las Vegas, fight capital of the world. With seemingly more professional MMA fighters training in the city than anywhere else, he bounces between the Xyience Training Centre, of which he is a staff member teaching MMA classes to the public, and Randy Couture’s Xtreme Couture gym, home to more pro’s than you can shake a stick at. 

The pro fighter training sessions (invitation only) can see anywhere up to 15-20 pros on the mat at the same time. Fighters from surrounding gyms travel over to Randy’s most days at 4pm to get the best sparring in town, and Forrest is one of them. The only problem with so many guys coming onto the mats is that infections get spread around all-too-easily, and Griffin was a casualty to one of the worst you can get: Staph. 

Mid-way through last March, only weeks before he was due to appear on UFC 70 in Manchester, Forrest developed a staph infection in his knee. Videos and pictures appeared on the internet showing the severity of the infection, with Griffin appearing pale and sickly. “The fighters in Las Vegas are known as the gym whores,” he explained. “Because they train everywhere, and they pass their infections around to each other.” 

You can’t avoid close contact when training, but for stars like Griffin, you can’t avoid it when you’re out and about either. Very recognisable at a lofty 6’3”, Forrest gets stopped almost everywhere he goes. Many fighters have told of the downsides of the public attention – fans imagine themselves close to high profile fighters, and behave almost as if they know them, sometimes getting a little over-friendly or even overstepping boundaries. This may seem flattering, but after the thousandth time, it can get a little testing. 

He’ll admit that he’s enjoyed the attention from the fans, but when you’re two days away from a fight and you’ve got a fan squeezing your hand and not wanting to let go, it’s not so easy to remain sociable. “I hate it when people get all close up on you and stuff. They grab you and touch you and all. Why do they hold onto your hand when they’re talking to you? I fucking hate that.” 

Saturday night and fight time was on us. Griffin fought possibly the smartest fight of his life, resisting the temptation to get in there and brawl, and instead picked apart Ramirez with some seriously improved Muay Thai skills. Ramirez looked like a padman who had forgotten to bring any pads. Since the tough loss to Jardine, Griffin’s future in an increasingly difficult weight division seemed brighter once the fight had come to a close. 

Four hours after his resounding win over the ‘Sick Dog’, Forrest was in a different mood altogether. He sashayed through the crowded hotel bar, grinning like crazy, a beer in each hand (bought for him by admirers), playfully rear naked choking one of the judges from that evening. 

“Listen,” he told me. “Everything I said to you the other day, it’s all on the record.” 

“Really?” I answered. “Are you sure?” 

“Definitely,” he answered. 

You see, Forrest Griffin may dislike the press, he may occasionally try to sneak handguns onto planes, and he may find the life of a celebrity difficult, but in reality he’s not that different from the Forrest people imagine him to be, only he’s taller, funnier, and way more grumpy.