Fighters Only

Issue 148

December 2016

The UFC's only previous visit to the state of New York proved how MMA wasn't just a sport for grapplers.

The Memorial Auditorium in Buffalo was a far cry from the prestige of New York City’s Madison Square Garden, but to this day, it’s still the only venue in the Empire State to have hosted the Octagon.

The Ultimate Fighting Championship that came to New York for its seventh show on September 8th 1995 was far less celebrated than the modern-day iteration.

It still sold itself using the tagline “there are no rules” – apart from no biting, eye-gouging and fishhooking, of course – and it wasn’t even known as mixed martial arts yet.

This was still a spectacle, struggling for acceptance in a world wary of the ‘extreme’ no-holds-barred violence.

But UFC 7: The Brawl in Buffalo, still attracted a then-record crowd of 9,000 perhaps mostly curious spectators.

They came to see the first-ever defense of the superfight championship (see Not so super) and a new, one-night, eight-man elimination tournament that would crown a brand new UFC champion.

Until this event, this new style of combat competition had been dominated by grappling. Royce Gracie, Ken Shamrock and Dan Severn were the standout performers from the first six UFC events, and they all excelled on the ground.

But all that would change in the Nickel City. For the first time, a well-rounded martial artist with real striking prowess would show that punches and kicks could be tournament-winning weapons.

Marco Ruas first became known to fans eight weeks earlier at UFC 6.

Dressed in an ill-fitting suit, accompanied by a pony-tailed translator looking like the villain of every action movie ever made in the early ’90s and introduced as ‘Marcus’ Ruas by color commentator Jeff Blatnick, he was recruited to bring back the Brazilian mystique that had been absent since Gracie’s departure after UFC 4.

It was the first time a fighters’ inclusion in a future tournament had been teased in that way. Even though most people hadn’t seen him fight, Ruas would be favored to win. “Brazil has been competing in this type of competition for more than 60 years,” he told fans, “so we feel we have an advantage over the Americans.”

It was a highly-anticipated tournament, as Blatnick explained by quoting UFC 3 finalist Harold Howard: “It’s a great rush, eh? It makes your sphincter get real tight.”

It really was an intriguing proposition.

Joining Ruas were a few more familiar faces. First, there was ‘The Polar Bear’. At six-foot-eight and 300lb, Paul Varelans had impressed at UFC 6 when he made it to the semi-finals and was one to watch – even if purely for his size. He made it count in his first match when he elbowed the back of poor Gerry Harris’ head until he tapped out.

That man, Harold “if you’re coming on, come on” Howard was also back. He’d lost his beard, but he still had his magnificent mullet.

"Unfortunately, under the primitive rule-set of the time, Mark Hall was permitted to pull on the country cut to control him on the ground.

From there, he was able to use his black belt skills in the martial art of moo yea do – a discipline that is still a mystery – to batter the Canadian until he submitted by making an ‘X’ with his arms. Maybe he was a pro wrestling fan.

He wasn’t the only former finalist in the competition. UFC 2’s Remco Pardoel was out to take advantage of Royce’s absence and quickly cruised through his first fight.

But the highly-fancied newcomer would be just as difficult to overcome.

Ruas didn’t come from a jiu-jitsu background like the three-time champion from the sport’s most famous family. ‘The King of the Streets’ was from the luta livre background, which is based in catch wrestling and judo. And he had a wealth of striking experience to go with that grappling nous.

Billed as a Brazilian Muay Thai champion, state heavyweight boxing champion, the reigning Brazilian vale tudo champion and undefeated in bare-knuckle matches, Ruas was an imposing prospect.

His aura was amplified by the air of mystery around him. As well as being presented as the new South American force in the UFC, nobody seemed to know his age.

Billed as “???” on the broadcast, perhaps he was some kind of cyborg soldier built specifically to win the toughest fighting competition in the world? Or maybe no one bothered to ask.

He was actually an unremarkable 34 years old. You couldn’t deny he looked the part, though – very important when this was more of a much a toughman competition than a sport. Bronzed, six-foot-one and 210lb with a steely gaze, he cut an imposing figure.

He soon acted the part too, to the detriment of UFC 5 veteran Larry Cureton. Commentator Bruce Beck warned viewers at home not to blink because Ruas’ first fight could be quick “if he was as good as they say.”

He was. Within seconds he’d picked up the 238lb kickboxer, slammed him on the mat and slid into side control.

Even when Cureton reversed the position and got on top, Ruas looked comfortable. He’d fought Rickson Gracie to a draw in an unsanctioned match, which earned him reverence from the commentary table. “If you’ve fought the Gracies, you’ve learned about the guard,” mused Blatnick.

It wasn’t long before he locked on a heel hook – only the second in UFC history – to ease into the semis, where he would meet Pardoel.

Once again, Ruas’ grappling enabled him to prevail.

When the Dutchman was mounted, he was done. He gave up before a submission could even be applied and earned the dubious distinction of being only the second man after Art ‘One Glove’ Jimmerson to tap out due to a disadvantageous position.

Varelans would be the Brazilian’s opponent in that final after he’d smothered Hall into submission in the semis. He was big and had an understanding of how to use his size, so the smart way to win was to pick him apart.

Unlike the wild swinging that had come before, Ruas actually put punches and kicks together in combination.

Color commentator and kickboxing world champion, Don ‘The Dragon’ Wilson remarked from underneath an impossibly bad haircut that he was the “best puncher-kicker” he’d seen in the UFC so far.

Aside from a few minutes spent glued to Varelans’ back against the cage like a combat koala, almost all of Ruas’ success came when he countered with the jab and, most notably, leg kicks.

Beck added it was also the most effective use of leg kicking seen in the UFC. And of that, there was no argument. Like an axe, Ruas’ right leg swung repeatedly to chop the redwood, Varelans, down.

Black-and-blue bruising engulfed his left thigh. “As you can see, it is effective. You can see a strike to the thigh does some damage,” Wilson said, stating the obvious.

The accumulated damage took its toll and Varelans toppled over, where he lay prone to be finished by the instinctive Ruas.

Like Royce before him, a Brazilian David had slain a Goliath with technique. But this time, it wasn’t mysterious holds, chokes and locks that no one had seen before. It was technical striking.

Ruas didn’t go on to achieve much more in the UFC. He only won one more fight. Despite the way he won UFC 7, his blueprint wasn’t copied by many years that followed. Wrestlers dominated.

Maurice Smith was the only man to have strategic striking success against a grappler at championship level for years, when he won the heavyweight title from Mark Coleman at UFC 14 in 1997.

Though no one followed his lead for some time, ‘The King of the Streets’ was still first to show the value of a full striking arsenal inside the Octagon.

NOT SO SUPER

A clash of big-name competitors was an embarrassing anti-climax.

The less said about UFC 7’s headline attraction, the better. The first ever defense of the organization’s superfight championship pitted the champion, Ken Shamrock against UFC 6 winner, Oleg Taktarov. The two had trained together, and it showed.

Neither man looked like he really wanted to try and cause the other any harm. Most of the first 15 minutes were spent with Shamrock in Taktarov’s guard, where he inflicted virtually no damage.

‘Big’ John McCarthy finally stood both men up, but they were straight back down again, seconds after the restart.

The same process was rinsed and repeated twice more until the 30 minutes were mercifully up. An impromptu, three-minute overtime round was added in a vain attempt to find a resolution to the contest, but it ended in exactly the same way.

Both fighters’ hands were raised, the contest was declared a draw and a chorus of boos echoed around the arena. Now, let’s never speak of this again.

THE GAUNTLET