‘Kick him in the d*ck!’: Unbelievable scenes from UFC 293’s Israel Adesanya-Sean Strickland fight
The biggest sporting event of the year rocked Sydney this weekend. Now all the gobsmacking behind-the-scenes details are revealed.
It’s a Sunday morning and almost 20,000 people are gathering to worship at the altar of complete anarchy.
“Kick him in the d*ck!” one man howls.
“F**king snap his neck!” roars another.
Then someone starts a chant from up high in the shadowy third tier of Sydney’s Qudos Bank Arena that quickly gathers steam and spreads like a verbal, bogan Mexican wave. Within seconds, every punter is scream-singing in unison.
“ … YOU ARE A WAN-KER! … YOU ARE A WAN-KER! … YOU ARE A WAN-KER!”
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Welcome to UFC, where the fans are just as brutal as the fighters punching it out in the Octagon ring. It’s a bloodthirsty sport that turns grown men and teenage boys with mullets into squealing fan-girls. This is their version of Taylor Swift’s Eras tour. It’s their Barbie-mania.
The sport has returned to Sydney for the first time in six years and is expected to make more than $8 million in ticket sales alone, likely grossing more gate revenue than any other arena event in Australian history.
Fans from all over the world have made the pilgrimage to see reigning middleweight champion Israel Adesanya face off in the main event against former neo-Nazi Sean Strickland – a self-described “white trash” American whose personality is a cross between K-Fed and Stifler from American Pie.
Just days ago, in the lead up to the fight, he grabbed headlines at a press conference for homophobic and sexist remarks he made while wearing a T-shirt emblazoned with the words CANCEL ME.
The crowd here loves him.
In the UFC universe, the swings are big and the theatrics are bigger. There’s drama, costumes and bitchy insults. It’s The Real Housewives of The Octagon. And the guys in the crowd can’t get enough.
“You suck! Boo! You suck!” screams Sean Warren, a 42-year-old fan who runs a cannabis store back in Canada.
He travelled all this way to attend the week-long schedule of events in the lead-up to the fight.
“Kick his ass, Sean!”
Veins bulge down the side of his neck and his eyes strain. His wife scrolls through her phone and his 12-year-old daughter yawns.
“I watch it every weekend. Anything can happen. I always love it when the underdogs win – that’s me, I’m an underdog. And I win,” he says. “One wrong move, one mistake and it’s over. It’s fun.”
He came for his hero, Strickland.
“He speaks his mind and he tells all these people what’s up and what’s down. We need more guys like him,” he says, endorsing the fighter’s social views. “I’m probably even more extreme.”
What does his wife think? She just shrugs. Then her superfan husband runs from his seat down to the barricade and is pushed back by security.
The MVPs of UFC are WAGs. Wives and girlfriends who show extreme patience by not eye-rolling at their partners’ obsession.
“I’ve got a very UFC-enthused husband who decided I needed to be here with him tonight to keep him tame,” says Jessica Jenkins, 32. She has been tasked with fetching beer. “We’ve got two kids. One’s a little aggressive. I think it’s from UFC.”
How’s her husband going to repay her for today’s service?
She cocks an eyebrow. “Darl, I can’t wait to see.”
Many of the young men in attendance, with their jagged haircuts and bum bags strapped diagonally across their chests, want to be in the ring themselves.
“I wanna make a career at this. I wanna fight and make heaps of money,” Nixon Suddens, 17, says.
Then he nods to his smiling mum. “I wanna buy her a Porsche.”
Tickets for the event start at around $200 and go up to as much as $6,000 for seats near the Octagon. A lot of the diehard devotees can’t afford to get in the door today, like 25-year-old Masoed Shah.
“I train. I wanna be a fighter,” he says. “I feel like I have so much built up anger and trauma and I feel like the only way to release it would be in the fighting ring. I’m for sure gonna be involved in the sport.”
With a pregnant wife and a nine-month old daughter, he’s currently between jobs.
“Every Sunday. We go to Costco, we buy pizza and watch UFC,” he says.
Suddenly, inside the arena, the most shocking thing of the day happens: the unmistakeable piano riff of Missy Higgins’ jangly 2004 hit Scar begins to play over the speakers. It gets louder.
Western Sydney heavyweight Tai “Bam Bam” Tuivasa has chosen it as his entrance song for when he walks into the Octagon to face-off against the loudly-booed Russian fighter Alexander Volkov. Some men in the crowd stand reverently, as if it’s the national anthem.
Everyone loves Bam Bam. Even radio presenter and Australian Idol legend Ricki-Lee Coulter, who’s sitting in the crowd with her Nova co-host Tim Blackwell.
“We’re big long-term UFC fans,” she says.
“I’ve got all my bets on. A bit of skin in the game. I’m a straight man in a woman’s body. When I’m at home on the Gold Coast, the whole family, we have UFC Sundays and lay around on the couch and drink and place our bets.”
Her other co-host Joel Creasey is noticeably absent today.
“Well, look, I went to the opening of the Wicked musical with Joel on Thursday night,” she sighs.
Different crowd. Just as hectic.
Then, like a punch to the gut, Ricki-Lee loses her money on Bam Bam. The fighter is defeated, after being straddled by Volkov in sweaty, shirtless – and not at all sexual – scenes.
The Octagon Girls, in skimpy Lycra shorts and pristine white sneakers, strut around the canvas ring holding up cards with numbers on them to remind the punters what round they’re watching.
One of them is Kristie Pearson, 33, an executive assistant from the Central Coast. Her husband coaches Jamie Mullarkey, a local fighter who’s facing off against Canadian John Makdessi in the day’s lightweight bout. She has been an Octagon Girl for 11 years.
“I love it. I get to see behind the scenes and how much goes into the fight,” she says. “It’s a lot.”
The trash-talk continues to flow from the heckling crowd.
“Grab his d*ck and twist it!”
“F*cking beat the c***!”
Then another rousing all-arena chant is ignited.
“F*CK. HIM. UP! … F*CK. HIM. UP! … F*CK. HIM. UP!”
After six hours of fist swinging, it’s time for the main event. The arena goes dark. The announcer, “Veteran Voice of the Octagon” Bruce Buffer, jumps into the ring with his microphone. He’s the Richard Wilkins of UFC.
“Annnnnnd now! This is the moment you’ve all been waiting for!” he booms, waiting a beat before delivering his two-word catchphrase.
The crowd anticipates it and yells along with him.
“IT’S TIIIIIIME!”
Sean Strickland and reigning champion Israel Adesanya strut into the Octagon. The crowd goes wild. It seems most punters want Strickland to win even though, on the books, he should lose. He doesn’t have the technical skill of mixed martial artist Adesanya.
“Strickland should never really be able to beat Adesanya … but he might,” former UFC commentator Dan Hardy predicted on Full Reptile, his YouTube show that’s dedicated to analysing each and every fight.
The Octagon Girls hold up their cards: Round One. From the start, it seems Adesanya’s fatigued.
“Strickland does this thing where he just walks his opponent down and depletes their energy,” one fan says.
Over the next four rounds, that’s what happens.
“Stop running, you mother f*cker!” a spectator heckles Adesanya.
It looks like Strickland’s punches and swipes are almost playful. Don’t be fooled. A few nights ago at a fan event inside Town Hall, 19-year-old George Petriziklis was pulled out of the crowd to spar with the fighter.
“He hits hard, bro,” George says. “It looks soft but he hits hard, man.”
In the Octagon, when Strickland strikes, he mauls Adesanya like a shark. It’s over. Strickland becomes the new world champ.
The cost?
“(I’ve) given up so many brain cells,” Strickland says.
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