A Fighter's Heart: One Man's Journey Through the World of Fighting by Sam Sheridan
Authors: Sam Sheridan
Tags: United States, General, Biography & Autobiography, Biography, Sports & Recreation, Sports, Martial Artists, Boxing, Martial Arts & Self-Defense, Sheridan; Sam, Martial Artists - United States
Ads: Link
the heavyweights and sparred the little guys and did much, much better. Because I’m tall, I would always stand with the heavyweights, but they all outweighed me by thirty or forty pounds. So instead I sparred with lighter guys and towered over them, but, hey, that made my life easy. I could survive; my nose didn’t bleed. I started keeping people on the end of my jab, where Pat wanted me to, too far away to hit me back.
Afterward, after eight three-minute rounds, we jumped rope, and I felt a little bit like I belonged, like I could stay there and train forever.
Two guys from Team Miletich were fighting in the next UFC in Las Vegas, Robbie Lawler and Tim Sylvia. Tim was making his big comeback after being stripped of the title for testing positive for steroids, and Robbie was a heavy favorite.
I flew into an overcast Vegas on a Thursday afternoon and went to the hotel and found the guys. We took the long walk down to the Events Center. People would first stop Tim, and then they’d grab Matt and Robbie as they recognized them. All of Team MFS navigated their minor celebrity with natural, unforced grace, shaking hands and taking pictures and enjoying themselves without getting too slowed down or frustrated.
The weigh-in was crowded, several hundred people around, and the ring girls and the announcer, Michael Buffer, and some rowdy fans. Over the P.A. I heard that Tim was not going to fight. He had trace elements of banned substances in his system and his most recent test hadn’t come back yet, so the Nevada Gaming Commission wouldn’t let him step on the scale. No scale means no fight. My mouth hung open. I had planned on shadowing Tim for the night, but now that was out. Luckily, I still had Robbie Lawler, a welterweight (170 pounds) contender and one of Pat’s prodigies, twenty-two years old, explosive, heavy-handed, and a heavy favorite (5–2) over Nick Diaz. Robbie was a UFC fan favorite, because he threw bombs—heavy, knockout punches—which makes fights exciting. Robbie looked good at the weigh-in, muscular and heavier than his taller and slimmer opponent.
Tim was disappointed about not being able to fight but not crushed. I asked him if he was coming out for a few beers and he shook his head, “I’m in great shape. Why would I come drinking now?” He’d be able to fight again in two months. In a way, it was as though he hadn’t quite accepted the fact that he wasn’t fighting, or his body hadn’t. His body and spirit had been bent toward that fight for so long that it would take them some time to disengage, even if his mind acceped it. Tim is intelligent and remarkably sensitive—not that he cries at sad movies, but he is aware of his surroundings and the people around him and how they are feeling. During training he can be a bully and will punish you if you stand up to him, but outside of the gym he’s friendly and open.
As for his steroid use, he must have gotten some bad advice. In his statement to the press, he said he wanted to look better on TV, and I believe him; it’s the kind of thing that would secretly bother him. The night after the weigh-in, the night of the fight, his test results came back negative, but it was too late.
Afterward I found Pat and the boys and we jumped in an SUV limo to go to break Robbie’s weigh-in fast at Olive Garden, creeping through Vegas rush hour. Any UFC fight fan would have given his arm to ride in that limo, with Pat Miletich, Jeremy Horn, Matt Hughes, Tony Fryklund, and Robbie Lawler. It was fun being with those guys and seeing them recognized for the stars they are, by fans in the know. In Vegas, around fight night, they were mobbed for autographs and photos just about everywhere, and they dealt with it well, smiling and shaking hands and taking photos. Their patience seemed endless, and they had fun with it. A drunk kid accosted Pat and said, “I’m coming to live and train in Iowa with you guys. I’ve got twenty grand and six months.”
Afterward, after eight three-minute rounds, we jumped rope, and I felt a little bit like I belonged, like I could stay there and train forever.
Two guys from Team Miletich were fighting in the next UFC in Las Vegas, Robbie Lawler and Tim Sylvia. Tim was making his big comeback after being stripped of the title for testing positive for steroids, and Robbie was a heavy favorite.
I flew into an overcast Vegas on a Thursday afternoon and went to the hotel and found the guys. We took the long walk down to the Events Center. People would first stop Tim, and then they’d grab Matt and Robbie as they recognized them. All of Team MFS navigated their minor celebrity with natural, unforced grace, shaking hands and taking pictures and enjoying themselves without getting too slowed down or frustrated.
The weigh-in was crowded, several hundred people around, and the ring girls and the announcer, Michael Buffer, and some rowdy fans. Over the P.A. I heard that Tim was not going to fight. He had trace elements of banned substances in his system and his most recent test hadn’t come back yet, so the Nevada Gaming Commission wouldn’t let him step on the scale. No scale means no fight. My mouth hung open. I had planned on shadowing Tim for the night, but now that was out. Luckily, I still had Robbie Lawler, a welterweight (170 pounds) contender and one of Pat’s prodigies, twenty-two years old, explosive, heavy-handed, and a heavy favorite (5–2) over Nick Diaz. Robbie was a UFC fan favorite, because he threw bombs—heavy, knockout punches—which makes fights exciting. Robbie looked good at the weigh-in, muscular and heavier than his taller and slimmer opponent.
Tim was disappointed about not being able to fight but not crushed. I asked him if he was coming out for a few beers and he shook his head, “I’m in great shape. Why would I come drinking now?” He’d be able to fight again in two months. In a way, it was as though he hadn’t quite accepted the fact that he wasn’t fighting, or his body hadn’t. His body and spirit had been bent toward that fight for so long that it would take them some time to disengage, even if his mind acceped it. Tim is intelligent and remarkably sensitive—not that he cries at sad movies, but he is aware of his surroundings and the people around him and how they are feeling. During training he can be a bully and will punish you if you stand up to him, but outside of the gym he’s friendly and open.
As for his steroid use, he must have gotten some bad advice. In his statement to the press, he said he wanted to look better on TV, and I believe him; it’s the kind of thing that would secretly bother him. The night after the weigh-in, the night of the fight, his test results came back negative, but it was too late.
Afterward I found Pat and the boys and we jumped in an SUV limo to go to break Robbie’s weigh-in fast at Olive Garden, creeping through Vegas rush hour. Any UFC fight fan would have given his arm to ride in that limo, with Pat Miletich, Jeremy Horn, Matt Hughes, Tony Fryklund, and Robbie Lawler. It was fun being with those guys and seeing them recognized for the stars they are, by fans in the know. In Vegas, around fight night, they were mobbed for autographs and photos just about everywhere, and they dealt with it well, smiling and shaking hands and taking photos. Their patience seemed endless, and they had fun with it. A drunk kid accosted Pat and said, “I’m coming to live and train in Iowa with you guys. I’ve got twenty grand and six months.”
Similar Books
