All the world's a cage

Montreal is becoming a key stop on the no-holds-barred fighting circuit. A look at the cutting edge of sanctioned human combat

By PHILIP PREVILLE with photos by JASON FELKER

 If there is a School of Hard Knocks, then Travis Fulton is Professor Emeritus. "I've had more professional no-holds-barred fights than anyone in the world," he says. Professor Fulton gives a math lesson: "I've had 92 fights in five years. My record is 66 wins, 16 losses and five draws. I hold the record for the shortest fight--I knocked a guy out in six seconds once. And I hold the record for the longest fight, which lasted 52 minutes."

 Fulton, a 22-year-old native of Cedar Falls, Iowa, is the fifth-ranked heavyweight in the IFC, or International Fighting Championships. He was in Montreal last weekend to fight local boy Christophe Midoux, ranked number three. The Fulton-Midoux matchup was the main event at Battleground 2000, a no-holds-barred extravaganza last Saturday at the Kahnawake Sports Complex.

 "'No-holds-barred' is really just a name designed to attract attention," explains Fulton, a mellow and easy-going midwestern farm boy outside the cage. "It's actually a bad name for the sport. You can't bite, you can't eye-gouge. Those are holds, kind of. But they're barred. So it isn't really no-holds-barred. See?"

 Also known as extreme fighting, the sport is described by enthusiasts as "mixed martial arts fighting," where trained combatants meet in a fenced hexagonal cage and duel under minimal restrictions. And while it remains banned in many jurisdictions, including Canada's other nine provinces, in Quebec it is--like boxing--a legal combat sport.

 It's also a sport whose audience is growing fast, and Montreal is quickly becoming a key stop on the North American no-holds-barred circuit. My assignment: to see what all the fuss is about. "What you're going to see," says Fulton, "is a kickboxing match, except with a lot more ways to win."

 Mohawk-made
 No-holds-barred fighting is a nascent sport, and the IFC is only one of many fighting organizations. It has an official-sounding name, like boxing's WBA, and it has a Commissioner, like major league baseball. But the IFC is also a fight promoter and a production company, owned by the Mohawks of Kahnawake. Last Saturday's card was the IFC's third Kahnawake event since no-holds-barred was fully legalized in 1998. The IFC is putting together a "supercard" event, for later this year, hopefully to be held at the Molson Centre or Verdun Auditorium.

 It wasn't always this easy. When the IFC held its first event at Kahnawake in 1996, nine people were charged with staging an illegal prize fight. But all charges were later dropped, and the IFC pushed the government into negotiations on the issue. Did the Kahnawake Mo-hawks capitalize on strained relations with Quebec City to make no-holds-barred legal? No one will put it so bluntly, but everyone happily admits that the Mohawks made it happen.

 "This is part of the Quebec government's agreements with the native community, and our relations with them are excellent," says Mario Latraverse, who handles all combat sports for the Regie des alcools des courses et des jeux, Quebec's gaming commission. Latraverse insists that no-holds-barred is perfectly safe; the negotiations were mostly a matter of educating the government about martial arts combat. "The idea was to turn these combats from illegal pit-fights into a regulated sport. Many jurisdictions are opening up to it, and other provinces are using our regulations as a model."

 "Those negotiations actually established a relationship between Quebec and Kahnawake that reaches beyond the sport," says IFC President Mike Thomas. "Other bridges were built as a result of that agreement, and the reserve got a brand new martial arts centre out of it." Quoth Thomas, fight promoter extraordinaire: "It just shows that if people are willing to sit down and talk, you can overcome any obstacle. If I die tomorrow, I can say that I've had a positive impact on this world I live in."

 Extreme cable
 There is another angle to Quebec's acquiescence towards no-holds-barred combats: native self-sufficiency. As a native-owned business, the IFC is a massive entrepreneurial venture. And if this is the sport of the future, then thanks to the Mohawks, Quebec will be a net exporter in the global no-holds-barred economy.

 The IFC regularly holds fights across the United States. As in Quebec, they spearheaded the drive to get the sport sanctioned in Mississippi and elsewhere. They also produce television broadcasts of their events for cable sports networks, including the Reseau des sports. RDS has broadcast 10 IFC events since September, all on Monday nights after 11:30 p.m. when the kids are asleep. The events have averaged 40,000 viewers, but the most recent broadcast two weeks ago pulled in over 100,000 viewers--its biggest audience so far, and impressive numbers for a bad time-slot on a French-language specialty cable channel.

 "It's very hypocritical," says one media observer who requested anonymity. "When the controversy erupted in 1996, we all looked down our noses at the brutish Mohawks. But now everybody loves it."

 "People have a hard time believing that this is a legitimate sport, but that's a misconception," says Thomas. "In any combat sport, there is a desire to test your skills at the highest level. For martial arts, this is the vehicle to do that." As a martial artist himself, Thomas fought in illegal pit-fights while he was with the U.S. Marines. "The history is rich, though no one wants to talk about it that much," he says. "The fights were always safe because we were trained. We knew what we were doing." In addition to being IFC President, Thomas operates a Tae Kwon Do school on the reserve.

 "Athletes today are reaching a whole new level in their ability to train in multiple disciplines," says Thomas. "In these fights, we're already seeing the development of a whole new form of hybrid martial art."

 Human punching bags
 Fully primed and pumped up with hype, I take my seat for Battleground 2000. "The pageantry of wrestling with the excitement and drama of boxing," says the promotional material. Fifteen fights on the card, most consisting of two eight-minute or 10-minute rounds. Bikini babes are on hand to escort the fighters into the cage. There are about 2,000 people in attendance, including Mike Thomas' young Tae Kwon Do students, all escorted by an adult.

 If this is a new hybrid martial art, it might as well be called Ay Dun No. There is much gnashing of teeth and grappling on the mat. Many fights last mere seconds, ending for no apparent reason; the announcer later explains that the victor has triumphed by means of the "heel hook" or the "guillotine choke."

 Most combats feature a fighter from Team Strike Force, a group of 12 Montreal martial artists who train together and support each other. Most of the fighters are perfect physical specimens, but some are overweight to the point where they look like human punching bags. They all prove to be just that, taking a pounding but never falling down.

 Even though it's a martial arts showcase, few kicks are thrown. And as for those who do kick (and I say this knowing that I wouldn't last five seconds in that cage against anyone, but nevertheless as an interested spectator), well, as we used to say in the playground, they kick like girls.

 "These fighters are trained in the martial arts, but they're not fully disciplined," says another spectator who teaches Tae Kwon Do. "As things get rough, that training goes out the window."

 And that's part of the fun. No-holds-barred fights are regulated by the government and officiated by a competent referee. Even so, they still push the envelope of sanctioned brutality. No-holds-barred fighting suffers from--or perhaps the word is showcases--a lack of grace and an absence of mercy. It's raw and it's mean. That's why it's controversial.

 The Main Event
 That's also why it sells. In wrestling, the punches are fake and the loser merely lies flat for a three-count. In boxing, a "knockout" is when a fighter can't get up after a ten-count. But when Travis Fulton enters the ring to fight Christophe Midoux for the $2,500-purse main event, he gives a workshop on the true meaning of the word. After grappling with Midoux on the mat for about eight minutes, Fulton finally gets a leg up on his opponent. He straddles Midoux and starts punching him in the head. He lands a solid fist. Midoux's head bangs against the mat and bounces back up. Fulton lands a second direct hit. Another bounce, a third fist to the head. The fight is over. Travis Fulton wins. Christophe Midoux remains flat on the mat for 20 minutes, going in and out of consciousness, before finally staggering to his feet.

 "He blocked my punches pretty good at first," Fulton says after the fight, "but I got a good one in and he went loopy. I enjoyed beating up on him after that. Midoux was undefeated before tonight and he's been going around saying he's the best. What's hurt most on him right now is his pride."

 That's not what it looked like to me, but then again, this is Fulton's fourth fight in seven days, so I assume he knows what he's talking about. His record improves to 67 wins, 16 losses and five draws, and he figures he'll be fighting on the extreme circuit for at least another decade. "I'm still beating the best in the world. I've already had more fights than Muhammad Ali and I'm doing just fine. If I were a boxer with 16 losses I'd be washed up."

 Says Fulton: "People die skiing. Brain damage is common in football, not to mention boxing. In tennis people get stabbed. Figure skaters get their kneecaps popped by thugs with crowbars. No-holds-barred is the safest sport in the world." :