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    The Greatest Outfits of the Early UFC

    Centuries ago in the Streetazoic period of MMA, the rules of engagement were a tad bit different than what they are today. Gloves were optional, disqualifications were only a theory, and time limits were just something they made up as they went along. You could headbutt, you could stomp, and (As hard as it may be to believe) you could even have any sponsor you wanted! It was the Wild West all over again, a new martial frontier with boundaries that were limited only by your Streetmagination.



    Naturally, with the rules of MMA in their fetal stage, clothing regulations were also borderline non-existent. They had one flimsy stipulation that forbade you to kick if you decided to wear shoes for traction (In some events, not others), but other than that they pretty much just let you come in with whatever the **** you pleased so long as it didn't shoot electricity and wasn't made of chainmail. Now, you would think fighters entering this PPV deathmatch would keep things simple to leave themselves as comfortable and unrestricted as possible; maybe they'd wear a gi like they're used to, or something like boxing or Muay thai trunks (MMA specific trunks, of course, having not been invented yet). But no... As it turned out, fighters' fashion sensibilities were just as diverse and varied as the styles they practiced. And, as you'll see, their choice for in-ring attire were simply... AMAZING!

    14. Randy Couture: Von Kaiser Stretch Pants

    http://v.youku.com/v_show/id_XNzg3NTYxMTI=.html

    Randy Couture's debut in the UFC marked the exact point in MMA history when strategy became a real thing. People exhibited gameplans before, but they typically only fell into three camps:

    1. The Royce Gracie- "I'm a grappler. You're a striker. I'm just going to take you down."

    2. The Tank Abbott- "I'm just going to walk forward and punch you."

    3. The Fred Ettish- "I don't know what the **** I'm doing. I'm just going to go in there and stumble around."

    Besides perhaps Marco Ruas, nobody before Couture displayed a level of planning that could be compared with what's exhibited by modern athletes in the sport. When he defeated juggernaut brawler Vitor Belfort, at the time considered to have "no weaknesses," with PUNCHING, it revamped the way people thought about how striking could be utilized in MMA. Couture studied his opponents carefully, and made detailed plans of what he would do on fight day that covered everything from how he would approach his opponent, to how he would enter the cage... And even down to what he would wear.

    When he was going up against Maurice Smith in his first title shot at UFC Japan, Couture knew he needed to be leery of leg kicks. Smith, a former world champion kickboxer, had previously utilized low roundhouses to reduce Mark Coleman and Tank Abbott to gelatinous piles of quivering *****. Couture did the requisite preparation one would have to do when dealing with an opponent like that, working on his checks and learning to use Smith's kicks to help him set up his own takedowns, but he also felt he needed to go a step further. The visible damage Mo' had inflicted on Mark Coleman's thighs, Couture speculated, had helped sway the judges in Smith's favor during their fight. "The Natural" knew the same thing could potentially cost him a victory as well... Unless the judges couldn't see his legs!

    Entering his first championship fight wearing bicycle pants was a calculated maneuver for Couture, like everything else he did. This particular decision, however, did not pan out like he had hoped for. The spandex apparently only aided Smith's leg grip and made it difficult for Couture to pass his guard, essentially reducing a match up between the two most technical fighters in the UFC at the time to a lay-fest (Without any participation from Delta Jackson, mind you). Smith didn't even throw that many leg kicks, anyway. Couture won, but this fight generally isn't considered a part of his "required watching" library for fans.

    Despite the lackluster performance, Cockture did at least look pretty damn good in that spandex. As fellow wrestler Dave Beneteau demonstrated a few years before (And Jose Canseco would demonstrate years later) form-fitting long pants are sexy as Hell. Sure, the plain black variety isn't very spectacular when compared with some other entries on this list, but it warrants being here just for the contrast of seeing somebody like Couture (Who was still fighting well into the modern era of the sport) in something other than standard trunks.

  2. #2
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    This is a subject everybody was interested in, right?

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    13. Jason DeLucia: Bloodsport Sash



    When the UFC first debuted, the appeal to casual fans was pretty obvious: It was just like a real-life version of Street Fighter II or Bloodsport. It basically had all the elements: Over-the-top violence, exotic fighting styles clashing with one another, a diminutive master wielding an esoteric technique who could take out opponents twice his size, and generic cannon-fodder fighter who wore non-descript pants with distinguishing sashes.

    Five-Animal Kung-Fu stylist Jason DeLucia played the role of generic cannon-fodder perfectly. If you're like most people, back in the day the only fight you saw of his was probably his UFC 2 match against Royce Gracie. Royce had until that point not fought any kung-fu exponents, so the match-up was necessary to show THAT broad category of martial arts was also vulnerable to the Gracie method. Jason, of course, had other plans; entering the cage wearing his black pants and red sash (Which, unlike the sashes in Bloodsport, actually denoted his rank), he was ready to lay the Street-down on the returning UFC 1 champion. Alas, just like Casey At the Bat, DeLucia would strike out just like all the other TMA pussies who tried to take Royce down. He would also end up receiving a broken foot for his troubles and be on the receiving end of a highlight reel armbar (That Royce held on for much longer than he should have courtesy of Big John's delayed reaction to Jason's tap).



    Over the years we would learn that DeLucia was a better fighter and more interesting character than this performance would lead one to believe. As it turns out, he had previously fought Royce in the Gracie Challenge (Which he took after dojo storming Steven Seagal but failing to find him) and had trained BJJ prior to appearing in the first UFC. He was also featured in the very first Ultimate Fighting Championship in an exhibition against Kenmpo stylist Trent Jenkins, although his fight was only shown in the initial broadcast and never released on video (For some fucking reason). After the UFC, he would train at the Lion's Den with Ken Slamcock and have a long, prosperous career head-kicking Japanese submission wrestlers and getting liver punched by Bas Rutten in Pancrase.

    So DeLucia was more than just a one-hitter-quitter cannon fodder bit character in a low budget chop socky flick. Still, his refined and tasteful fashion sense helped add magic to the martial arts mega-craze that was mesmerizing the most childlike recesses of our brains. The UFC's appeal was in that it was real, but deep down inside everybody secretly wanted it to be just like the movies. DeLucia and his elegant, cardinal-red sash helped make us feel like we really were watching a true-to-life Kumite.
    Last edited by Holy Moment; 10/03/2015 4:40pm at .

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    12. Anthony Macias: Mad Dog Speedo



    Dan Severn: I remember my first UFC fight as clear as the day I was circumcised. At the time I was working for Phyllis "Ma Gnucci" Lee as a low-level enforcer up in Michigan; our entry into the tournament was just a ruse to establish her as a "legitimate pro wrestling agent" to authorities and the public at large. My opponent, taut-fleshed Thai fighter Tony Macias, had a beautiful set of abs that made the blood vessels in my phallus erupt with heavenly warmth as soon as I laid eyes on them. Standing on the other side of the cage with my Bob Backlund thighs and black saran wrap-packaged ass, I couldn't help feeling beneath his league by more than a few fathoms. He was twenty-five, in the sexual prime of his life... And I was just some pasty goon from Delta City, my best days long passed even back then. Once I caught glimpse of the massive "Mad Dog" logo typed across Macias' rock-hard buttocks, however, I lost all semblance of modesty and restraint. I knew this kid had to get sodomized, big time.

    Hands held high in my signature Adam Baldwin-style fighting stance, I swiftly crept over to meet my sweet Narcissus in the center of the cage as soon as the bell rang. The burning carnal impulses inside me charged every cell of my body with an erotic strength and vigor the likes of which no normal man could tolerate; I was ready to pounce and devour him at any moment. After a few impotent "self-defense" knee kicks on Tony's part, I dove straight forward and made an animalistic lunge for his ass. In that furious moment I was like a wildman, certain that no force on Earth could stop me from tearing Macias' speedo off and impaling his flaccid colon with my pulsating, fleshy lance.

    But I was wrong! Somehow, some way... He knew. He knew the first thing I would try to do was go for his ass. The very moment my hands made contact with his impossibly supple flesh, I realized the entire lower half of his body was slathered in baby oil (Author's note: This is fact). Scrambling around on the mats with "Mad Dog" sprawled out on top of me, I needed several moments to regain my composure before I could make my next move. Not in a million years would I have expected him to anticipate my attack.

    Using my years of Street-Grappling experience, I was able to get to my feet and wrap my beastly, 22-inch pythons (Arms, not cocks) around Macias' waist. "Ha, you jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire, little man," I thought. At this point my erection was raging so angrily that the head had pretty much almost popped through my saran wrap. Like a fat child who just couldn't wait to unwrap his king size Reese's Fast Break bar before eating it, I was ready as a ************ to rape Macias straight through those goddamn Mad Dog shorts. What happened next, though, blew my mind in half like a shotgun.

    Leaping backwards like somebody trying to execute a flip, Macias hurled himself clean over my head and dove neck-first to the floor behind me. I was absolutely dumbfounded; this was the SECOND time he had evaded my sexual assault and retained his innocence. In a daze, I tried sodomizing him again but he just pulled off an even MORE extravagant jump that time around. It was absurd; I was like a lion whose prey had vanished from within its very teeth.

    At this point Big John was getting suspicious of what I was doing, so I just tried to finish Macias off as quick as I could. After trying to kill him with a half-nelson, I managed to catch the Thai fighter in some kind of throat compression hold that made him tap out. The victory was mine, but I left the cage carrying a heinous set of blue balls that nearly made me keel over outside. In all the years that followed, in my most private moments, I would return to that fight quite often and try to figure out what went wrong. To this day, I still have no idea how he predicted my intent.
    Last edited by Holy Moment; 10/03/2015 9:32pm at .

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    Quote Originally Posted by Holy Moment View Post
    Centuries ago in the Streetazoic period of MMA, the rules of engagement were a tad bit different than what they are today. Gloves were optional, disqualifications were only a theory, and time limits were just something they made up as they went along. You could headbutt, you could stomp, and (As hard as it may be to believe) you could even have any sponsor you wanted! It was the Wild West all over again, a new martial frontier with boundaries that were limited only by your Streetmagination.
    Not gonna lie, if I could wear shoes, sweatpants, and a zip-hoodie into the octagon (and if I was in shape), I'd try to get in. I'd get slaughtered, but I'd try.

    Quote Originally Posted by Holy Moment View Post
    This is a subject everybody was interested in, right?
    If you write em all up like #12, yeah.

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    Interlude: Tuxedo Rash Guard.


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    11. Gary Goodridge: Miscalculated Dobak



    Everybody knows that the UFC was originally conceived as a massive martial arts tournament arranged to match disparate fighting styles against one another. Something that not every fan is aware of, however, is that idea petered out just a few events in when the promoters realized only a quarter of their audience actually studied or cared about martial arts. From then on out for a period of several years, the "spectacle" of no-holds-barred fighting took precedent over the legitimacy of the show as an athletic event. Although they still brought in fighters with genuine ranks and competition experience, credentials were no longer an absolute pre-requisite to enter the event. The promotion was essentially a (Very, very entertaining) sports entertainment/Toughman Contest by that point, and that's when you started seeing fighters with qualifications that were... Iffy, at best: Joe Son, Kimo Leopoldo, Emmanuel Yarborough, Jon Hess, Thomas Ramirez, Tank Abbott, Andy Anderson, Paul Varelans, Francesco Maturi, Scott Ferrozzo, Geza Kalman, etc.

    One of the most notable examples of these ambiguously-trained neanderbrutes was Canuckian Gary Goodridge. Like a lot of dudes back in the early 90's, Goodridge's first experience with MMA involved watching UFC 2 on VHS and drunkenly telling his friends "Pft. I could kick that little beaner's ass." Unlike most guys, however, he really was willing to nut up and step into the cage. Right from the get-go, he set off to figure out how to get a spot in the pay-per-view death-tournament he had watched on the TV. This, in spite of the fact that the only "combat sports" experience he had was arm-wrestling and (Maybe) a little bit of boxing.

    Fortunately for Goodridge, there was a Kuk Sool Won dojang in his area that was building up a fund to send their best fighter off to UFC 8. This gave the Canadian an idea: Just waltz in, beat the **** out of their guy (Who was 158 lbs), and represent the school at the UFC in his place. Because Kuk Sool Won is for pussies, Goodridge was able to pull his plan off without a hitch. Now an honorary 4th degree black belt, the musclebound car welder was ready to jump into the fray and blast some more undersized opponents in the David vs. Goliath tournament.

    Despite his actual fighting experience being close to nil, Goodridge turned out to at least be quite adept at self-promotion. Gleaning inspiration from the popular Tank Abbott, Goodridge adopted a persona that would leave a mark on fans and make him a draw for the promotion. Calling himself "Big Daddy," Goodridge was able to compensate for a deficit in skill with an abundance of personality, quickly making himself one of the most well-known and popular fighters in the UFC. Everything about the image he presented to the audience, from his nickname to his mannerisms in interviews, was well-calculated and paid off for him in spades... Save for his choice of in-ring attire, which was a Kuk Sool Won gi.

    Wearing the uniform to elicit comparisons with Royce Gracie (Despite not knowing how to actually use it in grappling), the stuffy dobak would end up doing more harm than good for Big Daddy inside the cage. In addition to not having much in the way of technique, Goodridge's stamina was roughly comparable to a drowning asthmatic's. He submitted due to fatigue something in the realm of three times back in his early UFC days, and the black gi he wore did him no favors when trying to catch his breath. During the UFC 8 tournament, which was held inside an un-air conditioned stadium on Puerto Rico in sweltering weather, Goodridge actually had to take the uniform off just so he wouldn't be overheated when he fought Don Frye (Fortunately, he was wearing a pretty awesome pair of black-and-purple striped trunks underneath).

    Last edited by Holy Moment; 10/04/2015 1:38pm at .

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    I'm the world's foremost expert in MMA fashion.

    Affliction doesn't have **** on me.

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    10. Brian Johnston: American Muscle



    When do you know you're a REAL American?

    When people are chanting "USA! USA!" for YOU when you're fighting Don Frye.

    Although Ron Van Clief and Jack McGlaughlin had previously worn the flag, Johnston was the first to truly let loose his inner American inside the cage.



    Freedom.

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    9. Emmanuel Yarborough: Circus Tent Pants



    I don't check on these things too often, but the last I heard the general consensus is that New Jersey is the best place in the world. Not only are we one of the fittest states, but we also have the lowest suicide rate in the nation somehow! We don't waste time pumping gas, we just kick back and let another joker do it while some strange lady puts her hand down our pants (You get a free boner if you pay with a gas card). Come down and see us and we’ll take you on a tour of our world-renowned travel destinations such as Seaside Heights, Action Park, and Camden. If you’re lucky, you might even get to visit the state capitol Trenton and enjoy a Fat Balls sandwich with our illustrious leader.


    New Jersey State President Richard Christy

    Living in New Jersey isn’t just about digging for Jimmy Hoffa’s body and eating saltwater taffy (Whatever the **** that is). Some of you might be surprised to learn that New Jerseyans are a contentious people! Yep, all the stereotypes are true: Gorilla juicehead rage, unconcealed Mafia activity, mysterious disappearances in the Pine Barrens, everything. There’s a fighting culture in New Jersey that stretches back to the bareknuckle era of boxing, and probably before that. If you can look past the ubiquitous Tillie murals and wannabe guidettes trying to make themselves look like Snoopy from the Jersey Shore, you’ll see how our little state has made profound contributions to the world of combat sports. Besides merely birthing the Unified Rules of Mixed Martial Arts, for instance, New Jersey also serves as the world headquarters for Underground PitFighting!

    The first UFC fighter to ever come out of the Car Theft Capitol of the World was Rahway native Emmanuel Yarborough. A morbidly obese man who parlayed his addiction to disco fries into successful competitive careers in Sumu and Judu, "Tiny" was a very attractive for the fledgling Ultimate Fighting Challenge due to his Guinness Book of World Records status as the "World's Largest Professional Athlete." Initially reluctant to participate in a no-holds-barred death tournament (He is of the gentle breed of giants), Yarborough was eventually coaxed to fight by promoter Campbell McLaren in exchange for two 45 KG canisters of unrendered lard. Keith Hackney, a cleft-chinned Kenmpo fighter from Illinois, would be his debut opponent at UFC 3.



    In an awe-inspiring affair that would be impossible to duplicate in this age of MMA, Yarborough lost the brutal clash after Hackney slammed his wrist in the back of the big man's skull thirty unanswered times until Big John stepped in. Down early after a massive ridge hand strike from the "Guyant Killer" cracked him in the puss, Yarborough had actually managed to get some decent offense in by sucking his outsized opponent's leg underneath him and hammering away with some solid Street-style punches. After shoving Hackney through the cage (Made possible by Keith's cornerman pulling the door open), though, the little man was free from his grasp and able to Taekwondo hop around the Octagon far out of Yarborough's reach. It was all over when Yarborough made the normally tactically-wise decision to grab one of Hackney's self-defense kicks; after being beaned with several right hands, Tiny fell to the floor like a beached whale and was unable to defend himself against the subsequent wristalanche.

    Although he lost the pugilistic battle, Yarborough did win the fashion war against Hackney. The Giant Killer's Kenmpo pants were pretty damn amazing in their account, but Yarborough's custom Judu bottom is just so phenomenal I can't help but give him the spot here. Wearing them high like an old man, Yarborough might be the first man to inject sex appeal into the UFC experience. If I could buy the pants I'd use them as a blanket every night for the rest of my life, although rumor has it they're a part of the uniform he currently wears as leader of the prison state in Rahway.

    Dan Severn: Next to the PitFighters... There is no greater threat to my organization than Emmanuel Yarborough.


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