Cage Rage

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.

Shortly after 6:00 p.m., Big John McCarthy ushered the two men center stage for the third and final round. Guida's facial features were barely distinguishable under the red mask that now seemed to engulf his entire face. The two tapped gloves, and they were off again: kicks to the head, whacks to the thigh, elbows to the body, punches to the face. Body shots. Takedowns. Sprawls. The final seconds ticked off and the buzzer sounded to mark the end of their fifteen-minute ordeal.

Neither man seemed to have the strength to raise his arms. But they waded into the center of the cage and, shoulder-to-shoulder, offered one another congratulatory words and grins. Awash in adrenaline, they embraced, patting each other heartily on the back.

Their fate now lay with the three judges. The referee made his way to the Octagon's center and took each of them by the wrist.

He waited. Silence washed over the arena.

"In a unanimous decision," the announcer boomed, "all three judges scored the bout 29 to 28, to the winner Din öDinyero' Thomas."

Head back, arms high in the air, a triumphant Thomas let out a victorious whoop. Grabbing the mike from standup comedian and UFC commentator Joe Rogan, Thomas beamed out at the audience, "What's up Fort Lauderdale? I'm back!"

Whistling loudly to show her appreciation from high up in the stands, 25-year-old New Yorker Nicole Fantanelle laughed, "This stuff is hardcore, I love it."

She confesses she hasn't watched many fights live. It's hard, she explains, because in her home state these bouts are illegal.

Twenty-two state authorities have sanctioned MMA fights to date, the most recent being California.

Just four months after its legalization there in December 2005, the sport's leading U.S brand staged California's first bout. More than 17,000 people packed the Arrowhead Pond in Anaheim, an attendance record for the venue. This past July, search engine Yahoo reported UFC was the second-most-searched topic, trailing only the World Cup. Tickets for the October 2006 live finale of The Ultimate Fighter at the Seminole Hard Rock sold out in 30 minutes.

And when legends Chuck Lidell and Tito Ortiz battled this past December before a sold-out crowd in Las Vegas, the $5.4 million gate was the largest in Nevada's MMA history.

Today, fights are broadcast in 160 different countries, and organizers plan to take the live events global within the next five years.

"I believe it's going to take over as the number one fight spectator sport, and boxing is going to take a back seat," says Trevor Cedar of the Miami Beach-based South Florida Boxing Gym. "People are sick of all the politics and bullshit and fixed fights in boxing, and they are also sick of not seeing the great fighters fight each other. The UFC is still in its infancy, so you get the best against the best.