The Iceman prepares for mixed martial arts showdown with Tito Ortiz at UFC 66
Neil Davidson, Canadian Press
Published: Monday, December 11, 2006
ARROYO GRANDE, Calif. (CP) - John Hackleman's rural woodsy California home is filled with pain.
Outside there are wheelbarrows crammed with 210-pound weights. Worn dumbbells. Seventy-pound medicine balls. Weightlifting machines and workout benches in a garage that will never grace Good Housekeeping. And down in a gully, a giant gazebo covering a cage for fighting.
This is where UFC light-heavyweight champion Chuck (The Iceman) Liddell hones his skills leading up to a mixed martial arts fight. Like Liddell, it's nothing fancy. But it gets the job done.
Liddell is prepping for a Dec. 30 mega-bout in Las Vegas, a rematch with 205-pound rival Tito Ortiz. There's not too much love lost between them but trainer Hackleman says when it comes to Liddell, don't get too caught up in fight storylines.
"He's the Iceman. He doesn't really get too worked up about anything or anybody," Hackleman said.
On this day, Liddell is working up a sweat inside the covered cage as a light drizzle falls. Paired with Ross Pointon, whom UFC fans will recall from Season 3 of The Ultimate Fighter reality TV show - Liddell is glued to the English fighter as they circle each other.
His eyes might as well be a laser painting a military target.
Liddell's leg snakes out and a high kick smacks the side of Pointon's head. A lightning-fast punch follows and the tattooed Brit - in case the thick accent doesn't give it away, his neck reads Made in England - topples to the ground like a sack of potatoes despite the protective gear encasing his head and Liddell's leg.
More pain at Casa Hackleman. It's usually private pain, but the Liddell camp has agreed to let a reporter watch this time.
Liddell apologizes for almost decapitating his training partner, and offers a suggestion for how to avoid a kick to the head the next time. For Pointon, it's advice worth taking if he wants to make it to dinner.
Liddell-Ortiz promises to be a UFC benchmark, taking the rising sport of MMA to dizzying new heights. It's likely more than one million people will open their wallets to see the pay-per-view broadcast, generating revenue of some $40 million. That's almost 20 times what the current UFC owners paid for the company - and in one night.
At 36, Liddell is the reigning rock star of mixed martial arts. with the looks - think biker meets prison gang leader - and fists to rule a sport filled with tough guys.
His job is to put people to sleep. And he excels at it.
"He's unique in his punching power," Hackleman explains. "His awkward punches, his unorthodox punches, his granite chin. He's unique in that he can take a punch as well as give one . . . He's a warrior."
Liddell is also a winner. He has been beaten just once in his last 13 bouts and avenged that loss by knocking out Randy Couture in their rubber match two fights ago in February. Last time out in August, according to the Nevada State Athletic Commission, he made US$250,000 for stopping Brazilian Renato Sobral in 95 seconds. Chances are he made a lot more, but the UFC doesn't like to talk money.
Liddell is no Baryshnikov in the ring, but he is explosive and effective. Long and lean, he almost lopes through fights, looking for an angle or opening to deliver a punch. His right hand is constantly cocked and he doesn't need much to let it fly.
Like other fighters, he is constantly thinking ahead, looking to set up the finishing blow. If you are in the ring with the Iceman, blunt force trauma is a second away.
"I have one-punch power with both hands and both feet," Liddell says matter-of-factly.
And Liddell plays to his strength with an uncanny ability to avoid takedowns, allowing him to stay on his feet where he can hunt opponents down.
"While you're trying to figure out how to beat Chuck, it's just one quick punch and you're gone," said Hackleman.
Hackleman says Liddell, at 19-3, is a better fighter than the one who battered and bloodied Ortiz en route to a second-round TKO in April 2004.
"He's better, more experienced, more explosive," said Hackleman. "More lateral movement. He's lighter on his feet, punches on the run better.
Liddell thinks both fighters are improved versions of the 2004 models. But he believes he has Ortiz's number. "I think I should beat him every time we fight and he doesn't like that."
Still he concedes it could be a tougher fight this time round.
"He's got to come after me with something. We'll see what he came up with."
Hackleman also gives the 31-year-old Ortiz his due.
"Tito's tough as nails. I just think Chuck has a harder punch and a harder chin, and more skills and more tools. Tito's every bit as every fighter in the world, I think he's just outgunned and outskilled." While much is made of Ortiz's training regimen, at high altitude in California's Big Bear Lake, Liddell knows how to build up a sweat near the California coast. Hackleman, who runs a gym in Arroyo Grande called The Pit, fashions home-made exercises with an eye to what happens in fights.
Throwing a 70-pound medicine ball chest-high at a post some three feet away with enough velocity that it bounces back to your feet? Helps fight off an opponent in a clinch. Swinging a 20-kilogram blob of black metal with a handle from between your knees to chest height (dubbed the elephant, because the movement makes like you have a trunk)? Helps drive an opponent over your shoulder in a throw.
There is method in Hackleman's madness. Not to mention a little style.
Painted black toenails are de rigeur in his camp. And now the trend appears to be spreading to other fighters.
Hackleman, an imposing figure in his own right with shaved head and multiple tattoos, says it started one night when his girlfriend did his nails and the next day it was too much aggravation to get it off.
Here's betting not many ask Liddell about his penchant for painted toes. But in person, Liddell is far from the gruff psycho biker image. He is down to earth, with an appreciation of what he's got, how he got there and what it's going to take to keep it a little longer.
Ask the right question and he cracks a wry smile. But as in the ring, he gives little away.
As he warms up in the cage with four other fighters, he moves in time to the playlist he has prepared on his iPod, blaring out of portable speakers. Like Liddell, it's an eclectic mix: Akon, Motorhead, 50 Cent, George Thorogood, hardcore country. The right song and he might hum along.
He still lives in nearby San Luis Obispo, halfway between Los Angeles and San Francisco, where he wrestled at California Polytechnic State University, emerging 11 years ago with a degree in business and accounting.
Like Liddell, San Luis Obispo is a "what-you-see-is-what-you get" kind of place.
It's a pleasant town of some 43,000 - throw in another 18,500 Cal Poly students - where the Iceman is just Chuck. On a Saturday night, a nearby Wal-Mart is hopping. There's only one cab company - look for the surfboard on top or the rooftop cab sign with the word gnarly and you've found one of Beach Cities Cabs' dozen or so taxis. And a toddler could make like Carl Lewis around San Luis Obispo airport's lone baggage claim conveyor belt.
According to the recent Farmers Insurance study, it's the ninth most secure midsize city in the U.S.
No gated community for Liddell. Tucked away at the end of a suburban-style cul-de-sac, the only visible concession to celebrity is a limited-edition UFC Hummer in the driveway.
Brash and emotional, the 31-year-old Ortiz is the antithesis of Liddell. A former champion in his own right, Ortiz comes across like a big kid with big muscles who wears his heart on his sleeve.
In fact, the Ortiz who showed up as coach on Season 3 of The Ultimate Fighter was hard not to like.
Was it real?
"I thought he was playing for the camera," Liddell said. "I thought he did a really good job of it, but maybe he has changed. You never know. Maybe he grew up."
Liddell doesn't seem to care.
"I'm planning on knocking him out."
For Ortiz, the Iceman cometh. Again.