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The night also features the long-awaited debuts of Quinton "Rampage" Jackson and Mirko Cro Cop. Each made a name for himself primarily by fighting in Japan for the UFC's chief competition, PRIDE. Jackson is a self-professed werewolf – Rampage in the ring and Quinton outside. He's also the only man to hold a victory against Liddell that's yet to be avenged. He doesn't really need that tidbit to make fans take notice – he has his trademark power slams and the industry's best gift of gab. Cro Cop is regarded as one of the top heavyweights in the world and the best striker – a lethal left, high kick ready to put an opponent to sleep at any time. Each stops his opponent, and their appearances signal a history-making event. The UFC continues to grow, it's popping up in states and countries that it never has before, and it's grabbing all the best fighters. I was there to see it. On top of the history, the sex and violence is there, too, of course. Octagon girls and beautiful women appear in seemingly every row. Knockouts, blood and submissions. But there's the fighters, as well. Guys like Rampage, who, despite his overwhelming popularity, was booed for the first time in his fighting career during the initial feeling-out moments of his fight. "I was kind of disappointed with folks booing me," he admits in the press conference. Of course, he later concedes that he's used to crowds in Japan, renowned for being knowledgeable, respectful and quiet – so quiet that Jackson, "once heard a fine girl fart," in the front row he tells us. Whether Quinton or Rampage, he's that type of guy, a cool cat who has everyone laughing, endearing himself while he makes a joke at your expense rather than upsetting you. He's the type of guy who would pose with dozens of fans for snapshots on his way backstage after a fight even after those same fans booed him. Just like he did at UFC 67. There's a guy like Eddie Sanchez. He was supposed to be Cro Cop's first UFC victim and he did just that – stopped in the opening round. But he's there at the post fight press conference, his demeanor that of a kid whose dog just died. Nevertheless, he's there, manning up and answering questions about a defeat he can barely stomach, while his victorious opponent, Cro Cop – notoriously standoffish with the media – is absent. Then there's Liddell. He's a superstar – main events, magazine covers, television, movies, commercials. I doubt he'll even remember me as I enter his party at Studio 54. Showing that I know nothing, he waves me over, does the whole handshake-hug thing that I'll never fully master, and I can't believe how lucky a fan I am to be able to write about this stuff. It's all a blur when I board my flight. "Sir, we're here sir," the flight attendant says. I touch down in Los Angeles at 8 a.m., waking up to a "Twilight Zone" episode. The plane is empty besides me, and I wonder if it's all been a dream as I embarrassingly grab my bags and depart. From the time I met Rachel, the always-quick-with-a-smile UFC public relations lady on an uncertain Saturday afternoon until I stumble away from Studio 54 on a hazy Sunday morning, it's an ultimate experience I won't soon forget. At least what I remember, anyhow. UFC 67 itself was overwhelming, a barrage of beautiful women and muscle-bound men. There were knockouts and submission and decisions. There were boos and there were cheers. Indeed, it is a sporting event – alive with electricity, expectation, suspense, action, danger, drama and history all rolled in one. It's a surreal experience to take in for the first time. The fighters, on the other hand, are so very real. And that was my fondest realization – as a journalist and a fan. If you're fortunate enough to talk to a guy like Randy Couture, you'll soon realize he's one of the nicest people around, just as "Rampage" Jackson is one of the funniest. If you're fortunate enough to spend some time with Chuck Liddell, you'll realize he's generous to no end and as down-to-earth as a guy can get, treating people, not like the "Iceman," but like a guy named Chuck. If you're fortunate enough to see a UFC fighter, in general, chances are they'll stop, shake your hand and take a picture with you if you ask. Just like the UFC's motto, they're as real as it gets. They want to be famous, they want to feed their kids. They want to be cheered and don't want to be booed. They want to work hard and party hard. They want to be good at what they do. They want to be good fathers and good husbands. Maybe they're not fighting for their lives, but they're fighting for their livelihoods. In a world where most star athletes seem to be in different stratospheres than their fans, a sport that gets less play on Sportscenter than the WNBA and the MLS is showing it doesn't have to be that way. That's what I learned, that's what I experienced the first time I saw the UFC up close. They're like you and me - only they hit harder. Grant Gordon is currently the Sports Editor for the Glendale News-Press, a subsidiary of the Los Angeles Times. You can contact him at
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