Ranger in Ultimate Fighting Article

[Newsman]

Aficionados get big kick out of Ultimate Fighting

Wednesday, March 03, 2004
By Dan Gigler, Pittsburgh Post-Gazette

Webster's New College Dictionary defines 'submit' as 1. To surrender or yield oneself to the will or authority of another. 2. To subject to a condition or process. 3. To commit to the consideration or judgment of another.

In Bill Vucick's world, the definition of submit can be slightly more graphic: straddling an opponent who is flat on his back, unloading rounds of punches to his face until it bleeds like well-tenderized raw chuck.

Vucick, of Bridgeville, trains a stable of plainclothes warriors in a sport once vilified by no less than U.S. Sen. John McCain as "barbaric" and akin to "human cockfighting" -- Ultimate Fighting, a.k.a. No Holds Barred or submission fighting.

"It's easy to paint this as gladiatorial, but that's a gross misjudgment," said Vucick, 24, a personal trainer at Bally's Total Fitness in Bethel Park.

McCain led legislation in the mid-1990s to ban Ultimate nationally, but it has thrived because of its 'outlaw' reputation while striving for legitimacy in spite of it.

A multimillion-dollar enterprise with a worldwide following, the sport is a staple on pay-per-view television.

But those seeking to quench their blood thirst by watching Ultimate often are disappointed.

While everything short of biting, eye-gouging, hair-pulling, groin shots and blows to the back of the head is fair game, Ultimate looks more like wrestling to the untrained eye.

Competitors grapple and clinch on the mat, punches are thrown, but padded by small lightweight gloves.

And most matches end quickly, many in less than a minute.

The idea isn't to bloody your opponent, knock them out or even pin them. It is simply to get them to submit, or "tap out," usually via a sharp pain from a hold, rather than anything that will cause permanent damage.

Since its inception in 1993, there has never been a fatality in Ultimate in the United States, as opposed with nearly three dozen deaths in professional and amateur boxing during the same time period, according to the Journal of Combative Sport.

The most potent weapon in Ultimate is not size or strength, fist or foot, but rather the brain.

"The best analogy is that it is like a chess game, the really good guys stay 10 steps ahead of the other guy," Vucick said.

Ultimate's roots are sideshow in nature.

The original idea was to pit students of different fighting styles, kick boxing vs. judo, for instance, against each other in a steel cage ring and see what happened.

But along the way, a distinct fighting style emerged, a hybrid of the others.

Classified as a "mixed martial art," Ultimate combines elements of Jiu-jitsu, judo, tae kwon do, wrestling, boxing and kick boxing.

"I cover each aspect of martial arts and pick and choose from each of those. I keep what I like and get rid of what I don't like," Vucick said. "This sport is the natural evolution. The stuff that got stripped away are the things that didn't work.

"You're left with a pure, boiled-down sport. It's not barroom brawling. It's a skilled athletic contest."

Heavy emphasis on athletic

Vucick has a pair of granite block shoulders and Popeye forearms, no neck and a jaw more squared than a Rubik's Cube. Though he once weighed 270 pounds and entered strongman competitions, he competes at 185 pounds.

If he needs help shedding the weight, his fiance, Sheri McCall, can help. McCall is the reigning champion of the Miss Fitness Universe Pageant.

A martial arts student since the age of 6, Vucick got into Ultimate five years ago and has criss-crossed the nation to train and fight in places that include Southern California and Iowa.

"It's hard to find guys who want to do this," he laughs.

Nevertheless. Vucick leads a group of willing combatants from around the South Hills and western suburbs.

This weekend, Vucick and two of his charges, Mike Elwarner, of Scott, and Trevor "Tank" Booher, of Moon, will compete at the Arnold (as in the "Governator") Classic, a three-day event in Columbus, Ohio, which will feature sports as disparate as bodybuilding, cheerleading, powerlifting, fencing and Ultimate.

Elwarner, 21, an operating room technician at St. Clair Hospital, is one of Vucick's most apt pupils.

At 140 pounds, Elwarner said, "I get a lot of guys that are bigger than me who think they have me. [Vucick] brings guys in and I beat on them. It's a matter of learning how to manipulate guys' weaknesses. You are able to utilize every single tool."

Elwarner and the brawny Booher, an accounting major at Robert Morris University and former offensive lineman for that school's football team, have been training with Vucick seven days a week in preparation for the Arnold Classic.

In the padded warehouse that is home to Debi & Rick's Gymnastics studio in Bridgeville, Vucick leads his trainees through a torturous regimen.

The walls are lined with trophies won primarily by athletic young women in events such as the balance beam and pommel horse, but on a recent Friday morning, it wasn't nimble nymphs leaping and tumbling.

White Zombie thundered over the stereo system and men who look as if they are carved out of wood wrestled, traded shots, applied choke holds and slammed each other to the ground.

"Can you believe I'm paying for this?" Mt. Lebanon lawyer David Schrager joked. "The first three times I did this, I went into the parking lot to throw up."

Schrager had some limited martial arts experience but a primary motivation was fitness. "I grew up in a family of lawyers and saw what the stress of that lifestyle can do to a person. I didn't want to take that route," he said.

Self-defense is an obvious appeal of Ultimate. Matt Romah, a Point Park University freshman from Upper St. Clair, started lessons recently.

"It's great conditioning, but you're learning techniques to defend yourself if you get into a situation you don't want to be in," he said. "This stuff works."

Bill Maiers, a colleague of Vucick's and an Army Ranger veteran, studied tae kwon do for a dozen years before picking up Ultimate.

"It's awesome," the Green Tree resident said. "It's more realistic and you have to think on your feet, compared to tae kwon do, which is more structured. The real world doesn't happen inside a boxing ring."

Indeed. Vucick may need to call on his skills if any hairy situations arise in his next vocation.

He recently graduated from the police academy and is looking for work in local law enforcement.

So, bad boys, 'whatcha gonna do' when Bill Vucick comes for you?

The answer is easy: submit.