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Cage Rage

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But in December 2003 he lost a fight in Japan by first-round knockout. His career then all but ground to a halt. He didn't compete for more than a year and was thinking about throwing in the towel when UFC matchmaker Joe Silva invited him to try out for the fourth edition of The Ultimate Fighter reality TV show. Thomas flew to Vegas, where he was among 60 contestants. He was one of sixteen who made the cut.

"Six weeks, no phone, no computer, no TV, no books, no nothing, and a camera in your face the entire time," he laughs. "It was surreal." He won several matches but lost in the semifinals. Next came a six-fight contract — if he played his cards right, that could mean a shot at the belt.

"There are probably four or five great teams that are capable of putting out world champions," declares thirty-five-year-old UFC president White, "and American Top Team is one of them."

Just a quick glance over the decorated roster of thirty-odd professional fighters who train at ATT's 20,000-square-foot headquarters on Johnson Road in Coconut Creek reveals that talent is to the academy like spit to a mouth guard.

Housing two full-size boxing rings, a 24-foot Octagon cage, a state-of-the-art weightlifting area, and multiple heavy bags, the facility is also home to 1976 Olympic gold medalist boxer, Howard Davis, Jr.; and Brazilian jiu-jitsu world champion, co-owner Ricardo Liborio. "We are successful because we are really like a big family here," lilts the warm-natured Liborio in heavily accented English. "No matter what these guys do in the ring, they know how to behave outside. Take Denis [Kang], he's one of the best fighters out there today and he's also one of the nicest guys you will ever meet."

Kang, 29 years old, is to mixed martial arts what David Beckham is to soccer. Nicknamed the "Super Korean," he is considered one of the industry's best middleweight fighters, and his playful personality has also made him a favorite among fans worldwide.

Born on the tiny island chain of Saint-Pierre et Miquelon, just off the coast of Newfoundland, to a French-Canadian mother and a Korean father, at age eleven he moved to Vancouver, where he later was to begin his career. In spring 2004, with 21 fights under his belt, he signed a contract with an upstart organization in South Korea. He went 5-0 and was crowned the Sprint MC heavyweight champion. "It gets crazy over there," Kang says, grinning, his hazel eyes flashing mischievously. "I can't go anywhere without someone asking for a photo or something."

In January 2005 Kang relocated to South Florida to train with ATT. Four months later made his debut at the überpopular Pride Fighting Championships in Japan. Over the next eighteen months he won four more fights for that organization.

Then tragedy struck. On September 24 his fiancée, who also fought professionally for ATT, 31-year-old Shelby Walker, committed suicide.

"The first thing you feel is guilt," Kang told the Canadian Press. "You always think you could have done something, and you start to blame yourself." To keep his sanity, he literally trained through the tears. "There was a few times where I was on the verge of tears right in the middle of sparring because things would just pop in your head," Kang said. "It's the hardest thing I've gone through, I can honestly tell you that."

But this past November he fought in another title tournament, Pride Bushido 13. After advancing through the semifinal round, where he tore his bicep, he was defeated in the final in a split decision. It was his first loss in almost four years. Now, three months later, he's back in training and ready to get back into the ring.

In the meantime the hunky fighter is more than happy to help out his teammate, and work the corner for Thomas.

Well into the second round of their scheduled fifteen-minute bout on January 25, both Thomas and Guida had landed some devastating blows. Both were tired. Both were determined not to get caught off guard. Both were showing remarkable resilience and skill.

Streams of blood were gushing down Guida's badly cut face. But he knocked down Thomas, and for the fourth time Thomas was on his back in the middle of the mat.

Over screams and cheers pouring from the enthralled crowd, American Top Team's Dan Lambert and Denis Kang yelled pointers from their makeshift perches at the edge of the Octagon. "Get the fuck up, Din," a manic Kang boomed. "Get back on your feet."

And suddenly something seemed to click. With the agility of a panther, Thomas drew up his knees and rammed his feet into his rival's slippery torso. Guida's bloodied body catapulted high into the air and seemed to hang there, as if suspended by invisible wires, before flying across the cage at breakneck speed and collapsing in a heap on the opposite side. In one swift leap Thomas was on his feet and barreling after him with flying fists.

The crowd roared. The home favorite was finally where he wanted to be.

Peeling after his stunned rival, Thomas fired off a succession of solid shots that forced Guida against the Octagon's railing. He relentlessly hammered home his message. There was no rhythmical pitter-patter of punches. It wasn't pretty. He wanted any square inch of skin he could find. Top lip snarled, face contorted, Thomas was on a mission. He wanted glory. But when the buzzer signified the end of round two, it still wasn't over.

And the crowd loved every second of it. This is what they had paid to see. This was what the sport was all about. "These guys are doing a great job," gushed former professional wrestling star Hulk Hogan, who sat in the front row. "I'm excited they're finally getting the respect they deserve. I just hope they start making some money."

Perched on a red stool one side of the cage, with Lambert talking into his right ear and Kang holding an ice pack over his head, Thomas looked composed. "You can stop this fucker's takedowns," Lambert cooed. Nodding his head, Thomas rose to his feet.

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