How Cain Velasquez seemingly came out of nowhere to become a top UFC heavyweight
"He has to be part of a gang."
Marquee-sized letters scripted in calligraphy were stitched onto an alley-wide chest of a 6-foot-1, 240-pound mountain of an individual. The stereotypes are, unfortunately, quick to populate. The person's last name ends with a Z. He's dark-skinned with a trace of a Latino accent. Body art is most often associated with personal tributes, though at times it could be linked to representation and subliminal messages to one's posse or – much worse – rivals.
Cain Velasquez laughed when Javier Mendez asked him straight out if he was part of a Mean Street Mob. It was the first time the heralded collegiate athlete looking to break into mixed martial arts locked eyes with a former two-time world champion kickboxer and founder of the American Kickboxing Academy. Like all the rest, Velasquez was introduced with accolades. Like no one else had Velasquez made a mark neither by words nor actions, but capital letters spelling out two words.
Brown Pride.
There are many layers to it, Velasquez insisted, and none have to do with racial overtones. "Shut up!" was Mendez's retort. It has to be gang-related.
"For whatever reason, that 'Brown Pride' is going to attract attention to the point where people are going to want to ask questions about it and question him as a person," Mendez said. "But once you get to know him as person, he's going to change a lot of opinions of who he is."
There is a lot to learn about Cain Ramirez Velasquez. He was inked in 2002, his way of honoring his heritage and a mission to fill a childhood void. Young Velasquez was in search of an athletic role model to help him dream big dreams. There was none of that until the emergence of legendary Julio Cesar Chavez and later Oscar De La Hoya, the latter (who like Velasquez) is an American native of Mexican descent.
Velasquez is undefeated in five UFC bouts with only one going past the first round. Since his early MMA days, he has been built as the next heavyweight prodigy. Mendez went as far to tell Yahoo! Sports' Dave Meltzer in a July 2008 interview that Velasquez is a K-1 level kickboxer who could take former champion Randy Couture. He clarified those remarks in a discussion with MMAjunkie.com (
www.mmajunkie.com). Belief is one thing. Responding to hype and pressure is another.
"It wasn't false," Mendez said. "Obviously he hasn't earned that right to be called that, but I did it to see how he dealt with it. He's actually handed it extremely well. I still believe that, but I don't want to talk that anymore because now it's time to shut up and go out and do it. It's great to talk about potential, but if he doesn't go and perform anymore, it doesn't matter anymore, so now it's about performing and letting the rest take care of itself.
"It's one thing to have that level in sparring, but in the octagon it's another story."
A man of few words, Velasquez shies away from grandiose self-promotion. The two big ones scripted on his chest tell the entire story.
"I have desire to improve every day, each second," Velasquez said. "I'm proud of what I'm doing and proud of my heritage, and I'm doing good things in this sport. [I'm] proud to … represent."
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Word came down at 3 p.m. West Coast time on May 18 that Velasquez would have a new opponent at UFC 99 in Laxness, Germany. Veteran Heath Herring was forced to withdraw from the June 13 bout due to an unspecified illness. Named in his place was a 34-year-old native of Paris and former European Savate champion named Cheick Kongo, 5-1 in his past six fights with his most recent loss coming to, ironically, The Texas Crazy Horse. Kongo has four years on Herring but has competed in 19 MMA fights compared to the latter's 43, yet he arguably poses a quicker and more powerful challenge. Velasquez could have postponed, but there was no talk of it. Damn the short notice. He greeted it with a back-to-business shrug.
"Just get ready for battle, that's it," Velasquez said. "He's a great opponent who's improved a lot on his wrestling. He's tough, so when I get out there, I have to look sharp. I have to be quick."
The one quickest to the strike may be in line for a coveted shot at heavyweight gold, but Kongo's chance may come sooner if he wins. Velasquez, says Kongo, is a newbie. There's no reason for him to be in a hurry, and Kongo believes his strength will derail those projections much longer.
"I don't know why this fight makes so much sense for him," Kongo told The Sun, a British tabloid. "I hear he is good, but if I was his manager I wouldn't want my fighter to fight someone like me so soon. He needs heart to beat me, lots of heart. He needs to be very careful. He can be very good, I have heard, but I am not too concerned. He should be the one who's worried."
Kongo disposed of Antoni Hardonk via TKO at UFC 97 – two months ago. His confidence is high, but his intelligence may prove not to be up to par. Ryan Bader, Velasquez's wrestling teammate at Arizona State and winner of "The Ultimate Fighter 8," called Kongo's acceptance of the bout a "horrible" idea. Refusing again to bite, Velasquez isn't yet thinking destiny, nor is he expecting an opponent adversely affected by a quick turnaround.
"I think he's the kind of guy who's always training, so I don't think it hurts him at all," Velasquez said. "It's that extra drive that makes him think he gets a title shot by beating me. I don't think like that. I think about what I have to do in the fight and what his strong points and weak points are, and I try to exploit them."
Five men have learned – painfully – what Velasquez is about. That initial sell needed some persuasion.
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"You're gonna love this kid," Thom Ortiz, Velasquez's collegiate coach, told Mendez.
"Yeah, OK. Whatever. I'm gonna love this kid," Mendez replied. "I keep hearing that."
There was something about Velasquez and Ortiz's old-school relationships with his athletic connections that immediately sold super-agent Dwyane Zinkin on perhaps his biggest meal ticket since Chuck Liddell. Shortly after Velasquez's graduation, Ortiz called Zinkin to tell him about a heavyweight who he's flying into the San Jose-based AKA. After three days, Velasquez flew home and in the fax machine was a contract. It was signed; neither Ortiz nor Velasquez read it.
"That's how we do our relationships – based on trust and what we feel is positive," Ortiz said. "I don't even think Zinkin read the contract. I think he sent me what his lawyers sent him. It was in the best interest of Cain and everything else is history."
It was like negotiating over a beer and shaking hands, simple ideals embedded into young Cain by parents Efrain Sr. and Isabel. From the crack of dawn Cain and his father worked the fields for hours picking up and carrying watermelons. He didn't know it then, but the chore ended up the foundation of the repetitive pattern that started the fine-tuning of an athlete.
A graduate of Kofa High School (Yuma, Ariz.), Cain went 110-10 and won state titles in 2000 and 2001. Two All-American seasons at Iowa Central Community College caught Ortiz's attention and brought him back home to Arizona State. He was a different breed, this kid from Y-Town. During practice or in the locker room preparing for battle, his teammates thanked higher powers that this crazy guy was on their side.
"Cain had a scowl on his face," Bader said. "I don't think he even says a word; he'll just grunt before a fight. He's not listening to music or jumping around. He's getting his mind right to go out there and destroy whoever's in front of him. A lot of the wrestlers were intimidated not only because of his appearance but because he'd come at you three rounds straight and nonstop. That scared a lot of people."
At one meet against Cal Poly San Luis Obispo in Velasquez's senior season sat a Cal-Poly booster, screaming and hollering within direct earshot of Ortiz. Fuming, Ortiz looked over his shoulder and saw a menacing figure with a prim mustache and Mohawk, Liddell. A Sun Devil Booster about 250 pounds turned to Ortiz and asked, "Do you want me to take care of it?" Ortiz turned to Liddell and the two shared a laugh.
Velasquez didn't care. He wanted Liddell to shut up, but all he could do was regroup, finish another opponent and remain refreshed like he was off a power nap. That senior year Velasquez won an incredible 21 straight matches before falling to Minnesota's Cole Conrad in the 2006 NCAA tournament semifinals, a close and controversial criteria decision that left him deprived and unfulfilled.
"He felt a little cheated and thought, 'What am I going to do now?'" Ortiz recalled. "Now he's taking it out on those MMA guys, and I feel sorry for them a little bit.
"Cain has a gas tank that goes a long way. Fatigue makes cowards of us all. If you don't have any fatigue, you can't be a coward."
Five men, beginning with Brad Morris at UFC 85, have felt Velasquez's wrath. Denis Stojnic was the first to get past Round 1, but Velasquez still overpowered him to take an undefeated mark into Germany, albeit with a bad taste in his mouth.
"I was a little tired throwing my punches; they lacked zip and power," Velasquez said. "I won't make the same mistake twice."
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Velasquez's been at the MMA game for only two-and-a-half years with no jiu-jitsu or kickboxing training until August 2006. Never a strong counter-puncher, he'd be content with initiating and trading blows before his work at AKA showed him the science of not getting hit. Or in other words, for every one punch you take, fire three.
"The one thing about a wrestler is that he's always going to do the repetition," Oritz said. "The one thing that wrestlers do, it's our foundation, is we drill something, and we drill it until we get it right – and we'll do it a thousand times. The learning curve is so much higher and faster because they're doing the reputations. I think a lot of average people would do it 50. A wrestler is going to do it 250 times."
Mendez prefers four or five more bouts before that coveted title shot, but a victory over Kongo may be enough to secure it. Shane Carwin could be the next logical step, but a bout with the winner of the title-unification bout between heavyweight champ Brock Lesnar and interim title-holder Frank Mir at UFC 100 might make enough sense.
First things first. Velasquez may have to learn his next lesson: total endurance.
"I have to fight a smart fight and not let him get into his groove," Velasquez said. "He's not a guy you can finish easily. He's going to go the distance, so that's the kind of fight I'm looking for."
Further ahead is a deeper destiny. All of Ortiz's wrestlers had tattoos, but he felt compelled to ask about Velasquez's big statement. He was one of the few to learn that it honors Efrain Sr., who despite multiple deportations to Mexico continued to walk across the desert to work in America well before Cain was born.
"I guess you'd have to be about 240 pounds and pretty tough to have that across your chest," Ortiz said. "I can respect that. It was to honor his dad, who wanted the best for his children."
Enough was said. All that was required was an understanding.
