Fighters Only

Issue 178

May 2019

Going from a dirt-poor childhood to being UFC Flyweight champion, Henry Cejudo has much to shout about, but he has too much empathy to crow about his success. MMA journalist Gareth A. Davies went to meet him.

The chip on the shoulder of Henry Cejudo, the UFC flyweight champion, is huge. He’s 5ft 4ins tall, is 32-year-old Cejudo, and that chip is adorable. It’s packed full of honesty, life experience, emotion, pain, and success. Success which has come hard fought, but never forgotten. We start with Cejudo at Chick-fil-A, whose competitive sobriquet in the world of fast food is ‘Home of the chicken burger’. It’s cheat food of course for a fighter. Cejudo is ordering his preset meal – his sandwich, no soda, but wants water. Bear with me, there is a reason for this story. He is ordering from his car, drive-thru style. When the water comes, it’s in a plastic cup. But he wants a bottle. “That’s tap water, I could have just got that for free,” he explains to the restaurant’s server. He gets the bottle he requested.

Why? Because Cejudo never had anything growing up, and in the course of the interview, a deep conversation, that chip of arrogance that allows him to be an elite fighter transforms into the glowing essence of a person finding himself, and never forgetting how it came about. To the extent that at one point – and he is not proud of this – he covered himself in mud to go begging at a gas station when he was a kid. Water, by the way, was all he had some days. Many, it emerges, in the multiple homes he lived in with his single mom, whom he clearly adores, and his six siblings. More of this later...

Chicken burger, eaten, beaten, and demolished, we tuck into an intriguing conversation which was scheduled for twenty minutes, but which proceeds to go over an hour, set up by his head coach Eric Albarracin. “Wow, that took a while to get through there,” he explains on leaving the fast food joint in Phoenix. “I’m a recognized guy now, it kind of sucks. It’s too much sometimes.” We talk about that fame. Is it from being a UFC champion, one who also beat the incumbent bantamweight champion TJ Dillashaw (at flyweight, TJ came down ten pounds) and also the former MMA pound-for-pound No 1 Demetrious Johnson August 2018, to claim the crown at 125 pounds. Or does the recognition come from being an Olympic gold medalist as a freestyle wrestler at 55kgs, who claimed a gold medal for the good old United States of America at the Beijing Olympic Games in 2008?

“It’s actually a mixture of both, ironically. There was a kid who came up to me five seconds ago who recognized me from wrestling and two others kids afterwards recognized me from MMA. Sometimes they make a big scene and it draws people. The fans are excited.”

He adds: “That’s all I want to be is a messenger. I don’t want to be everybody’s entertainment. You get to the point where you stop caring. You’re never going to make the world happy as much as you want. That’s just the reality. People are going to dislike me just because of my race or because I’m short or because I beat TJ. For me, I’ve always been somebody who loves being loved. If somebody doesn’t like me I always want to understand why. What is the reason? What did I do?

“I don’t know what’s not to love,” he continues with a smile. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out. But now I’m at the point where I just don’t care. I want to be more of a showman now, even if that’s bending the rules or going below the belt.”

A little on this man’s fascinating history. He was raised “in over 50 homes in several US states” by a single mother who adored her children. His father was deported from the USA. Cejudo’s parents were both illegal immigrants from Mexico. I’m number six (of seven). My parents did come to this country undocumented. My mother came to America to escape a war zone and my father came to America to cause trouble. My dad was deported back to Mexico by the time I was five years old, and rightfully so. I want everyone to understand because my story is a lot more powerful than people know.”

“He was pushed to drugs and was harming people, he was abusive to my mom. On the other hand my mom came to this country, she paid her fine and received amnesty in 1987. The luck of the draw, my mom was able to stay. When I went to the Olympics my mom wasn’t able to go because of her citizenship status. Once I won the Olympics and people heard my story, I paid fines and did all I could. My mom was already a resident since ‘87 and the Ronald Reagan Amnesty Act. Mom couldn’t go to the Olympics due to that, but she paid her dues. She did things right, she acknowledged what she did and paid her fines. Now she can call herself an American. She went through that process and that process took a long time. My mom lived in fear for a lot of her life. She was afraid of being in this country and not knowing what could happen. Now she’s American.”

Cejudo outlines the extraordinary, and difficult life he endured which led him to live in over fifty homes and dwellings, and attend thirteen schools in New Mexico, Arizona, and California. “We we’re moving a lot because we suffered as a family. Just because you’re American doesn’t mean poverty doesn’t exist. Poverty is everywhere. I believe at one point we were the poorest family in all of America.”

“There were days we didn’t eat. Malnutrition, no furniture, no air conditioning on a hot summer day in Phoenix. We’re talking about a kid that suffered. A kid that had a lot of love because of family but also suffered.” We are back to the water moment at the fast food restaurant. Tap, or bottled. “I don’t waste anything. The thing is I’m a giver too, but I don’t like people overextending me. I’m a very patriotic American to the highest level. When it comes to people like Donald Trump, I don’t agree with his voice but I do kind of agree with his philosophy. Again, his job is to protect our country. I’m an example of both. Father was deported and mum was granted citizenship. She got Woman of the Year, a prestigious award in Washington. I know that’s not what people expect to hear.”

It draws tears to your eyes in empathy when Cejudo relates some of the experiences of his life. “My first bed and pillow was when I was on the Olympic wrestling team. I slept with two other people on the floor or couch until I was 17. I slept on my couch for years. I slept in living rooms, we slept with families, 15 people in a two-bed apartment.”

That time formed Cejudo, made him realize what he could be, and that he was, an indomitable spirit. “In many ways, I wasn’t a child when I was a child. Even as a child, I was a competitor. As a kid, I wasn’t a bad kid, but I would do certain things just to know I could do it. Test myself. It was weird. An example, I was a little small little kid. I remember I would go into a pizza place and we lived right across the street. I had no money. I had nothing. I would find ways to play all these video games. I would throw water into the little holes, depending on what the video game was. I would find a way to play, I would do something to the side. If I wanted a certain prize, I would climb up a giant fence and get that prize because I wanted it. I know it’s morally wrong, but it’s an ambition I had. I would do anything at any cost and this was an eight, nine-year-old kid. Nobody taught me that.”

He pauses. He is thinking. “OK. Another story. I remember being about eight years old and I remember seeing this commercial on TV. I remember seeing a race track with these two little cars. I never wanted any toys, but when I saw this commercial and the way it sold to me, I wanted that damn race track. I’m eight years old, I couldn’t ask my mom for that. We don’t even have money for dogs or cats. I never asked for anything. But I knew at that age I could get it.”

We lived in the ghetto, the super ghetto. I lived in an apartment for the majority of my life and a lot of my friends were immigrants. We’re in Arizona, Phoenix. We’re on 35th Avenue. I remember saying to myself, ‘I’ll receive this race track, I’ve got to come up with something to obtain it. I went up to my friend who lived upstairs and asked if he’d seen the commercial for that race track. He did and I told him ‘We’re going to get that race track, but I’m going to need your help’. So we’re eight years old. What we’re going to do is put mud and dirt all over our bodies and we’re going to go across the street and ask for money. Morally it’s wrong, but it’s ambition. We’re out there for hours and hours and hours asking people for money. We were poor and we really did need money but we went to that extent as an eight-year-old kid because I wanted it. The next day I was able to buy the race track. I forget how much money it was, but the store across the street had it and we bought it. Once I played with it for a day, I gave it to my friend. I didn’t want it. I wanted it because it was a desire I was given even though it was wrong what I was doing.”

That kind of desire can move mountains. It pains Cejudo to have told the tale. But it shows how strong his will is. As an objective observer on these things, there is a sense of admiration for him. Even though it shames him to recall it in a public interview. What a difficult start in life, and yet you would never know with Cejudo. Yes, he’s a fighter with rough edges. But he’s a gentleman too, and knows right from wrong.

“My mom was always about good principles,” he reflects. “The reason why we suffered was maybe because of my mom’s pride. She was a very proud person and never asked for help.”

Cejudo took a break from sports after the Olympics, beginning MMA in 2011. He wrote a book – with a ghostwriter – about his life. “The book is real, it’s about the kid who won the Olympics, it’s what he went through to win that. The reality and the truth is when you write you leave things out and now, that book is just a chapter. There’s so many things we can add on but you only have a certain amount of time to do the book. Then you have a ghostwriter that decides what goes in or gives you an idea of what goes in. A lot of people were actually mad. A lot of my family were mad because they wanted a different viewpoint, even though it’s a good book. Even with its success, it caused a lot of problems. A lot of problems.”

There’s the man, the history, now we turn to the fighter. The victory over Johnson, considered by many the best all-around MMA fighter on the planet when Cejudo earned a deserved (split) points decision over him last year, will always be a special moment. He had been beaten by DJ as a novice in 2016. The second time around was destined to be different. As special as winning gold in Beijing to him. How he learned from the first (brief) encounter with DJ.

“I’ll be honest with you, I respect DJ a lot. The first time I fought him I respected my skills more. That was the problem. I wasn’t ready for him yet,” he explains. Again, the insight into his mindset is fascinating. “I did respect him, but I don’t think I respected him enough. I respected my skills a little too much and it bit me in the ass. It gave me humble pie. It gave me a life lesson. I was talking to my mentor Dave Zowine the other day and I said I would not have it any other way. I would not have it any other way that Demetrious Johnson beat me in two minutes and 32 seconds, put a chip on my shoulder, wait two and a half years to fight him again, and then defeat him by winning a split decision. I would not change a fucking thing. That loss right there put a chip on my shoulder. It gave me a life lesson and a bigger purpose to show the world what I could do.”

“I said it before, the key to beating Demetrious Johnson is the philosophy. The key to beating him is composure. I’ve watched this guy fight, I studied him like you would not believe. I knew everything. I did the same with TJ.” I suggest to him that – like his own life – reaching the summit of success is the most rewarding thing, not being in possession of the belt itself.

“It let me know everything I know and do and say in my head is right,” he replies. “It’s the satisfaction. It’s not the world title, it’s not the gold, it’s the pleasure and emotion I feel after beating him. It’s walking the talking, it’s being no bullshit. It becomes a reality. Everything I’ve acknowledged since I was five, I knew since then I was a different kid. My greatest power is not my ability, it’s my mind. Since I was a kid I was different. I’ve always had this ambition and desire that I could get anywhere.”

The TJ Dillashaw victory in January this year cemented Cejudo’s standing. Even though there were complaints from many quarters that it was stopped prematurely. “When people ask me if they took anything away from me by complaining about the stoppage, I say, ‘Not one tiny bit’. Not one tiny bit. I was in there and saw him. The reason I pressed him so fast was that the first body kick and elbow caught him, I saw fear in his eye. I saw him go, ‘Oh shit’, he knew I meant business.

“Fighting is like poker,” he continues. “When someone shows you their cards and you’re a good poker player, you’re going to call their bluff. That’s exactly what I do. I knew this man was in trouble. Once he came in and I shoved him over and threw that right kick, which caught him – even though he blocked it – I saw it come in and that’s what hurt him. I put that overhand on him and I knew he was done. I saw defeat in the first five seconds of that fight. I knew he wasn’t going to make it out. I wasn’t sure it was going to be 32 seconds, but I knew he wouldn’t make it out of the first round.”

Cejudo expects to be out again “around July” but would love a crack at Dillashaw’s bantamweight crown. “Absolutely. I’m not sure if it will happen. They just took a picture of TJ and it looks like he ate himself. He looks about 185 pounds. He’s huge. I don’t know if after this loss he’s fallen into depression or whatever.”

But then there is sympathy, an empathy even for a fellow fighter. “That’s what happens. What happens with fighters is every fucking fighter has a spirit. Whether they believe in it or not. It happened when Demetrious beat me the first time. Remember, I was undefeated. He shot my spirit. Your spirit is your dream, your livelihood, your self-esteem. He hurt me.”

“It wasn’t just physically, it was a spiritual unfolding. My soul was hurt, he hurt my fucking soul DJ did. I didn’t come out of my room for two weeks. I knew I would become better. But after a loss, fighters fall into another life. TJ needed some humble pie but the way he received it was awful. He was the champ. I bet he felt he could walk on water. When that doesn’t happen, when your spirit gets shot, it’ll bleed into your life. You see it happen with all these boxers. They don’t have a purpose, they believe their purpose is being a champion.”

More ambition burns in him, too. “Personally I hope TJ can come out of that because it sucks. I want to take his bantamweight crown. The competitor in me, the sinister side of me, wants to finish the job. But I’m not sure at this point. July isn’t too long away. Maybe it could be on the Vegas card. The UFC and all parties have to be on the same page. International Fight Week would be ideal for me. I don’t have to be the main event.”

Chairing the direction of the discussion, there is the question of whether Cejudo’s life experience has truly taught him a deeper meaning within fighting, winning and losing, and growing. “It’s giving in to these experiences whether you’ve won or lost. Give those stories to the next generation. Sometimes you go through hard times even with success. Your purpose should be much more than just being a fighting champion. Be a champion in life.” Amen to that. Long may we witness the growth of Henry Cejudo, fighter and man.