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The Greatest Outfits of the Early UFC

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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 fuck 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

    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 fuck 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 pussy. 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.
    Dan Severn loves raping people.

    This is a subject everybody was interested in, right?
    Dan Severn loves raping people.


      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 3:40pm, .
      Dan Severn loves raping people.


        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 motherfucker 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 8:32pm, .
        Dan Severn loves raping people.


          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.

          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.


            Interlude: Tuxedo Rash Guard.

            Dan Severn loves raping people.


              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 shit 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 12:38pm, .
              Dan Severn loves raping people.


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

                Affliction doesn't have shit on me.
                Dan Severn loves raping people.


                  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.

                  Dan Severn loves raping people.


                    9. Emmanuel Yarborough: Circus Tent Pants

                    New Jersey State President Richard Christy
                    Jersey ShoreDan Severn: Next to the PitFighters... There is no greater threat to my organization than Emmanuel Yarborough.

                    Dan Severn loves raping people.


                      I am so entertained.
                      Originally posted by Devil
                      That's the most Krav thing I've ever read. That's Kravver than a motherfucker...


                        I hope Harold Howard gets an entry.


                          8. Dan Severn: Sweaty T-Shirt and Black Ass Wrap

                          Dan Severn: Before the massive pugilistic battles I had to go through in the cage at UFC 4, I first had to weather a smaller-scale fashion skirmish outside the Octagon. Phyllis "Ma Gnucci" Lee knew I was the best enforcer she had in the Michigan sect of her operation, but was also very well aware (Even back then) that I had a tremendous deal of difficulty keeping my beastly, CN Tower-esque erections in check. She tried to convince the UFC brass to let me wear a Robin Hood: Men In Tights-style chastity belt into the cage, but the "clique" just wouldn't give us the green light; they claimed it would be an unfair advantage for me. That made us beg the question: If Royce Gracie could wear his gi into the Octagon, why couldn't I wear a hard, metal plate over my cock? There was clearly some serious bias going on.

                          Fortunately, my team and I managed to come up with a serviceable solution to sheath my phallus when inside the cage: Industrial-grade plastic wrap. The strong, mechanically tightened material would restrict blood flow to my pelvic area, retarding the inevitable expansion of my member. My phallus would, of course, burst out EVENTUALLY, but the crackling of the plastic would give ample warning to at least my own teammates for them to retreat to the back and hide behind a riot shield. So, despite the initial setback, we were good insofar as far as damage control was concerned.

                          From that point on, everything went PERFECTLY... Right up until the very last few moments before my debut fight with Tony Macias. While stalking the rafters during Steve Jennum's fight with the legendary Melton Bowen, in my inexperience I thought it would be a good idea to try to get in ONE LAST sodomy before it was my time to go up. Big mistake. Although taking the Puerto Rican custodian's innocence was easy (As always), it left me far, far too sweaty to be allowed inside the cage. That's a problem, you see, because I don't perspire like a normal man so much as self-lubricate. Even in the primordial soup era of MMA, I knew there was a good chance Big John would call me for greasing. Worst still, when I went down to my teammates for help, they just told me my name had been called and it was time for me to walk out. I was fucked.

                          Tension only made me perspire even more profusely as I took the grim walk towards the cage in the Expo Square Pavillon. I had no recourse; Al Snow had forgotten my good towel, instead electing to bring along a large pressure-sprayer of spermicide (Which was understandable). I knew I had to pull something out of my sleeve.

                          Or perhaps... Use my sleeve to pull something out of me!

                          Without a second's hesitation, I yanked that putrid, grey warm-up tee straight off of my jiggling physique and scraped the dewey man musk right from the abyssal pits beneath my meatslab arms. And so, a legend was born.

                          Last edited by Holy Moment; 10/24/2015 3:15pm, .
                          Dan Severn loves raping people.


                            7. Teila Tuli: Window Drapes

                            Bringing in a Sumo wrestler and boxer were the smartest things the promoters did to sell the style vs. style angle of UFC 1. When you break the first event down, the main draw wasn't really THAT diverse in terms of disciplines represented:

                            Royce Gracie- Jiu-Jitsu

                            Ken Slamcock- Shootfighting

                            Gerard Gordeau- Kickboxing

                            Zane Frazier- Kickboxing

                            Kevin Rosier- Kickboxing

                            Pat Smith- Kickboxing

                            Sumo wrestler Teila Tuli and boxer Art Jimmerson (More on him later) were necessary to emphasis that the Ultimate Fighting Challenge was, in fact, a real life version of Street Fighter II. Many people already thought a proven student of the Street science could thump a pajama-wearing karate pussy (Which is true), and many other people expected a man of great size and strength to simply smoosh any opponent put in front of him. So they were worthy entrants as far as anybody was concerned at the time.

                            Teila Tuli (Born Taylor Wily) was known somewhat as the "bad boy" of Sumo due to having been thrown out of several dojos because of behavioral problems. Possessing a boxing pedigree and capable of slam dunking a basketball, he was considered a good candidate for UFC 1 despite lacking yokozuna status (Although he still demanded a $5,000 appearance fee up front. Sumo wrestlers, as Art Davie and Whoreion Gracie would learn, are fucking expensive). When matched up with Gerard Gordeau, he knew he was over-matched but was still game to throw down nonetheless. During massive argument between the fighters and promoters about the rules the day before the event, Tuli notably stood up and proclaimed "Fuck you, faggots. I just came here to fight" amidst a round of applause from the Gracies before going back to his hotel and gorging on room-service all night long.

                            As basically everybody reading this knows, Tuli would go on to get his shit pushed in by Gordeau in the very first fight in UFC history. It was at this very moment that everybody realized this wasn't going to be some faux pro wrestling show and that they really were watching a televised gladiatorial tournament. Possessing a Polynesian physiology, Tuli was of course impossible to knock out and still wanted to fight, but referee Joao Alberto Barreto wisely stepped in and called a doctor (Despite not having the authority to do so). The Hawaiian would never step into an MMA age again, for some inexplicable reason.

                            In recent years, Wily has found success as an actor, appearing in the 2008 rom-com Forgoing Sarah Marshall and the Hawaii 5-0 remake. For all his life achievements, though, nothing can really compare to the substantial contribution to MMA fashion he made when he came out to the first ever UFC fight in what looks like a skirt made from the drapes in his hotel. This set the stage for basically everybody else on this list, and for that he deserves to be commended.
                            Dan Severn loves raping people.


                              Pure gold. I think you may win an award for Best phonetic spelling of a Gracie Academy owners name.



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