Lauren's Legacy 18 Fight; One Surreal Experience After Another.

I love writing. I hate waiting. I particularly hate waiting after I've turned something in that I've literally spent weeks working on, to hear back from the boss man about how it will be edited in order to publish it, or, as is my fear in this case, that he won't publish it at all.

It was good stuff... to me. Personal though. Lauren's life, which has been crazy, and my life as it's intersected with hers, combined equals one long story. To me there was no way to trim it down. We've been close for a long time. And the whole last weekend surrounding her fight was an insane experience to me. What I'm worried about, is that only I see it that way because of my bias being all... close to the situation or whatever. In any case, writing a piece for Fightland requires that I be diplomatic, and unless it's in appropriate spots, refrain from adding my own opinion. I just remembered that here I don't have to do that. And so, in order to kill time and keep me from freaking out while I wait for an email back from the boss, this is the unedited version of last weekend, opinions and all.

I knew when I saw Jennifer Scott's facebook fan page that she was going to lose. Only because, with all the photos peppered over the page of her in the lingerie football league, and naked in her cover photo Victoria Secret style on the beach, I just didn't think there was any way that she that she took MMA as seriously as Lauren did. Whatever pictures of LT have gone up on facebook in the last 6 months, 95% of them are of her in the gym training. Of course I was just speculating, but obviously I turned out to be right.

These feelings were only enforced when we showed up for weigh-ins with Lauren dressed and behaving about the same as all the other fighters in the room; wearing sweats, staying quiet because they were all hungry and apt to be cranky if they spoke. Jennifer on the other hand, showed up in full make-up layers, and wearing a ridiculous pair of long fake eyelashes. When it was time for weigh-ins, she didn't put her clothes back on after getting off the scale in her bikini. Lauren did. You all saw the result. The weigh-in photos look odd, but only because LT is modest, and understandably uncomfortable in a packed room full of men, wearing a bikini when everyone else is clothed. You can choose for yourself who looked silly in that photo. I think it's obvious how I feel.

Afterward, we were both starving. She'd been eating light, and only veggies and protein for 3 weeks, and I had only had a smoothie and some coffee all day because... well, I just would have felt like a dick eating a bunch of food in front of a fighter cutting weight. That and I'd braved the sauna with her to sweat out her last 3 or 4 pounds before weigh-ins. While I recognize and am grateful that an hour in the sauna is a fucking cakewalk compared to some of the other weight-cutting gauntlets I've heard about... I don't like saunas, at all. I was feeling pretty dang depleted by the time she finally weighed in.

All her coaches and teammates that had shown up to support her filed out of the room then, but one of the Legacy guys told Lauren she'd need to stay a little while longer as all the fighters would be doing interviews with Pat and Mike. We were both hungry, still in good spirits but only for a short time longer, I could tell, both on empty tanks as we were. I griped a little under my breath. "Who the fuck are Pat and Mike? I am starving."

We got all her stuff and sat inside the arena, watching as they put the cage together in the center and her taking photos with people that walked up and asked. It was a shorter time than I'd expected when the guy called us to follow him into a back room. Lauren walked in and sat in the only empty chair, and I propped myself up against the wall, as out of the way as I could get in such a tiny space, and dumped our paperwork on the table next to me. Then I looked at the two men sitting on the couch, waiting for us to settle in, and I could feel my eyes growing wider as it dawned on me who the 'Pat' was they'd been talking about.

It was Pat fucking Miletich. He won the Welterweight Tournament at UFC 16 (16! We're about to see UFC 158!) in Brazil back in 1998, to become the UFC's very first Welterweight Champ, and held the belt for two and a half years. He was one of 5 kids born to Croatian immigrants in Iowa, wrestled and played football in high school, and started fighting to pay his mom's medical bills when she came down with heart problems, influenced by his uncle, who was a boxer in the 1932 Olympics. He retired at 29-7-2 and has trained tons of MMA Champs since then. His gig now, is to train local, state and federal law enforcement, groups from all branches of the military, including Special Forces, in combatives. On top of that, he's a fucking Freemason, which fills me with frustratingly intense curiosity in and of itself. What are they doing behind closed doors?! They'll never tell me, and it drives me crazy.

THAT is a story. What a life! I didn't know all of this until I came home later and looked some of it up, obviously, but I knew enough while I was standing there to send my pulse straight into my eardrums as he smiled widely at both of us, asked our names, made niceties, etc. In the short time since I've gone from everyday person who doesn't know or care about MMA, to whatever I am now (obsessed) I've been privileged, mostly on account of Lauren, to meet some real deal famous fighters, but Pat Miletich is something else. He's been in the fight game for over three decades, as a contestant, coach, and now commentator, and that is no kind of normal life. I would give anything to sit down with the guy, feed him a couple shots to get him talking, and just listen to what I'm sure are some fucking insane stories.

This is really what I love about MMA. I like the fights, I am in awe of the work that goes into competing in the hardest sport on the planet, but mostly I love to know the fighters and their lives. Their stories are WILD. After submerging themselves into that lifestyle for long enough, I wonder if they know how different their paths in existence are from your average dude scooping shit out of his gutters on a Sunday, or picking through bell peppers at Walmart. How can they have any concept at all. The modest ones tell me that they are those people, doing all those normal things, walking amongst us unnoticed. That's nice of them, but I don't buy it. When the lights go out in a UFC arena, your song starts playing, and you come walking out essentially alone to thousands of screaming fans, on your way to brawl in the Octagon... once that's happened to you, your life and mine are no longer on the same level.

So, anyway. Pat Miletich and Mike 'The Voice' Schiavello. Him, I didn't know so well. I knew he was a commentator, but that was about it. Lauren on the other hand, after finishing the interview (in which I saw very clearly that, win or lose, they liked her) started hopping up and down in excitement at the fact that Mike 'The Voice' would be commentating one of her fights. "Check that off the bucket list!" as she put it.

She was far less nervous than she was before she fought Willow Bailey at the AFC and won the belt. The weeks before that fight were filled with terrified phone calls, long talk-her-down sessions by both myself and Jen, and I'm sure all her teammates. This time, she was pretty chill. Smiling like a happy fat kid when we finally got to stuff our faces on easily the best Italian food I've ever had, 90% of the time knowing she was going to win, 10% of the time slipping into paranoia that maybe there was someway she was wrong. But then Joe showed up on fight day around 10:30 in the morning, and all that was gone. She reverted to silly little Lauren immediately. I realized it when we were driving back to the hotel from getting her hair braided back out of her face, and she was bokking like a chicken to some song on the radio. Nervous Lauren never makes chicken noises. Silly Lauren, carefree, goofy, happy Lauren, that one makes chicken noise all the time.

There had been some confusion between Legacy and Fightland when it came to my press pass, that I'd been trying to work out before I got there. Apparently the Texas Athletic Commission had just changed the rules recently, and each media outlet was only allowed to have one seat/press pass for the event. Fightland had already given it to a lady named Kerry who lives in Houston, but I already had a ticket, and thus, my own seat. All I needed was the press pass so that I'd have freedom to wander in and out of the locker rooms with the fighters. I spoke to a dude in charge at weigh-ins who gave me a number to call for one of the Legacy big wigs. I explained to him that I just wanted the pass, and he gave me a number to text once I arrived at the theater, for the editor of Legacy's magazine. So when all of Lauren's coaches, she, Joe and I came rushing in almost late for the fighter meeting, they all had wristbands to get in, and I didn't. I sat down in the lobby on my own, having no idea if the people I'd spoke to would have come through for me, fearing I might have to wait to get into the fight until the doors opened to the public hours later. But fortune (and the good people at Legacy) smiled on me in a big way.

Legacy's editor let me in, and handed me a lanyard attached to a Legacy Staff pass, then he walked me around the arena showing me where all the locker rooms were, talking fighters and writers with me for a while, before wandering off to do his thing. I was absolutely ecstatic. I saw Joe and Pat (Pat Applegate, LT's longtime coach) standing in front of a locker room door, and swaggered over to them waving my golden ticket in the air. I've never once gotten to be behind the scenes at one of Lauren's fights. I always have to retire to the normal people seats on fight day and wonder how things are unfolding back in the locker rooms, but there, at a huge theater in Houston, preparing for the very first women's televised fight that Legacy ever had, I got a backstage pass.

So, you can imagine how my heart dropped into my stomach when a greased-haired guy in a black suit walked into the little 8x8 foot locker room, took one look at me, sized me up, decided there was no way I could pass as a fighter or a coach, and said, "You aren't allowed to be in here, miss. I'm going to have to ask you to leave." I waved the golden ticket in the air, but he shook his head at me. I walked out of the locker room and explained that I had been given the pass by Legacy's head editor, who'd been authorized by Rich (the Legacy big wig). He said, "You send him to talk to me," as he turned his back on me to walk away. Frustrated, I called out, "Well who am I supposed to tell him to look for?" He kept walking, but waved his apparently MORE golden ticket back over his shoulder at me and said, "COMMISSION."

I texted the editor and asked what was going on. He told me I'd been in the right. Media does have access to the locker rooms. That's the whole point of us being there. I asked him if he'd talk to the commission guy if he bumped into him, but I didn't have his name, and there was more than one. I knew that would prove fruitless. I decided to test my luck and see if maybe he'd not come back, which I felt confident enough doing once I had confirmation that I was allowed to be where I was. I went back into the locker room.

He did come back though. And much more irritated this time, he jerked his hand at me to get out. I was pissed, but I decided to remain calm, and be respectful. You always get farther with people when you don't give them a reason to blow you off. I followed him out the door. Instead of saying what I was thinking, which was somewhere along the lines of, "Fuck you, you old prick! I am supposed to be here, and how dare you try to ruin this experience for me! Do you have any idea what this night means to us?!" I said, "Sir, this is my job. I am supposed to be able to talk to the fighters behind the scenes. Otherwise, what is the point of me being here?" To which he replied, "Miss, I understand that. But you are not on the list." And he turned his back on me AGAIN to walk away. I stood there for a moment, frustrated, embarrassed and angry. He'd just treated me like a misbehaving child in front of all of Lauren's coaches and teammates. Then I remembered. "Sir!" I yelled as I ran toward his retreating back, "You have never once asked me my name. How exactly do you know that I'm not on 'the list'?" He looked at me, pointedly annoyed, and then told me to follow him back where we could check 'the list', walking unnecessarily fast through a tight crowd, obviously not caring if he lost me.

I was full of adrenaline then. This might sound silly now, but I HATE getting in trouble with anyone bearing the mark of authority. It scares the shit out of me. And I was pretty certain that my name wasn't on the list. I was pretty sure it would only be Kerry's name, as she was the one Fightland had sent first. I was preparing myself to tell this asshole that my name was Kerry, when he whipped a clipboard out of another young woman's hands, flipped to the media page and started running his finger down it... and just below Kerry's name I saw "Aurora Ford - Fightland". I broke into a smug grin and planted my finger next to my name on his slimy fucking media list, and said as sweetly as I could, "Would you like to see my drivers license?" He stammered for a second, really looked me in the face for the first time all evening, and then politely asked if I would follow him to find the lady with the wristbands that would allow me access to the locker room.

Right when I got back to the door, Lauren poked her head out of it looking around for me. She needed her hair braided up the rest of the way. She'd also, along with everyone else, seen me being yanked by the Athletic Commission out of the locker room and was in the process of trying to explain anxiously that she needed my help and no one else's would do. One of Lauren's coaches raised his eyebrows when I walked in and said, "You're going to come back in here again?" At which point I flashed everyone my bright yellow wristband, bearing the words "Texas Department of Licensing and Regulation" and said, "Yes I am. I told that asshole. I was on the fucking list!"

I am aware that that was probably not a very exciting story for anyone but me. But, here's the thing. I am a complete wuss. When someone tells me no, especially any kind of authority figure, I become physically afraid to defy them. It's in most of us, right? That's how society works. I had a badge, but he had a more powerful badge, and by all societal assertions, I should have shut up and known my place. That, and he was far older than me, and a man. I was shocked even in the moment at how confidently he assumed I didn't belong, and how intimidated I was, at least in part because he was a he, dismissing my input completely and telling me what to do. I knew I was in the right though. And despite that I was terrified to do so, visibly shaky when I did it, I challenged him, and he had to admit he'd been in the wrong to treat me the way he did. Maybe not a big deal for anyone else, but for an anxious, nervous, shy, and easily intimidated person such as myself, it was a huge victory. I felt 10 feet tall the rest of the night.

Sitting in the locker room, smiling to myself, I was aware how bizarre an event it really was that so many of us from the little Anchorage fight circuit were sitting together in that tiny space.

Ricky Shivers was challenging the Heavyweight Legacy Champ in the main event, and had been one of Lauren's original coaches in Alaska. He'd been mostly responsible for the fight camp Lauren went through in order to beat Willow Bailey for the AFC belt. They'd assigned Lauren and Ricky the same locker room, I assume because of this connection.

Pat Applegate is Lauren's real magic worker, though. He's got 'the crystal ball' as he puts it. He's correctly identified how all of Lauren's fights would go, analyzed her opponents with very little information, and always been right. His voice, of all the people yelling at her when she's in the cage, is the only one she hears. They've developed this connection through the course of many tournaments and fights. He speaks measuredly, is loud enough to be heard without having to scream, and gives her very specific instructions. Over the course of time, Lauren has learned that if she does exactly what Pat says, she will win the fight. He's a genius, in this sense. Half of a fight is the strategy and execution, which are mental, not physical, and Pat does half of that work for her. As long as she trusts him, and fights her heart out, it leads her to a win.

Then there was Joe. He'd been her teammate in Alaska, and then her friend, and now her other half. It's been a real joy to all of us that Lauren finally picked such a good one for a partner. Joe is a wrestler, one of the hardest workers I've ever met, a very strong purple belt in BJJ, and a gifted coach/teacher. He's also fought several times in the AFC, which means, the biggest thing in Lauren's life is something they share and understand. That and he's fucking hilarious. I don't know that Lauren has ever had a boyfriend her friends were so fond of. In fact, I take that back. I know she hasn't.

Then there was me, and her. With her other two coaches in the room, Alaska outnumbered Texas by a wide margin. Two of them fighting on what has been called the best card Legacy has ever put on. WHAT a trip. It's been only a year ago now that the jackass who owns Gracie Barra in Anchorage effectively disassembled the MMA dream team when he made the ignorant decision to let Pat go over easily solvable, petty, personal issues. Lauren had been devastated. But there we were, only missing a few key players that I'm hoping will up and head to Houston where they belong (ahem, Kat, Jared's, Tyler, etc...)

The pre-lim card was over, and the main card started faster than I could believe. I stepped out to let Lauren's coaches get her warmed up and paced around the arena by myself, wringing my hands and answering text messages from her fans watching the fights from Platinum Jaxx in Anchorage, and on the web. Everything was moving in fast forward. The first fight on the main card ended, "Damn It Feels Good To Be A Gangter" started playing over the speakers, Lauren was in the cage bouncing around to stay loose, and then the fight started. I swear all of that flashed in front of me like a passing freight train. Suddenly, Lauren was taking punches from Jennifer. The girls behind me were yelling that Lauren was fucked, that she didn't know what she was doing, that she was about to get the shit beat out of her.

I was silent, otherwise I would have started a fight of my own. But a minute into the fight, something shifted, and Lauren started winning. They traded punches for a while, and I could see Jennifer start to get frustrated that she wasn't landing big shots anymore. Then, about 3.5 minutes into the first round, this happened;

I wish it had sound. I wish there was anyway to portray in words how the audience was screaming, or how it felt when she ran out into the crowd and jumped into Joe's arms (that should be a testament to how strong the guy is) like they hadn't seen each other in ten years. I wish I could accurately explain the flashbacks through time I was having, to a decade or more ago when I didn't think Lauren would be alive by the time we were 20 years old... and the flash forwards to then, when she'd just dominated a fight on national television, with a left elbow that put a dent straight into that girl's forehead.

I hope I hear back from the boss man soon, because I want the extent of Lauren's story and everything she's overcome to be out there. Seems like if he was just going to say no, he'd have said it by now, so I'm going to wait patiently assuming he's editing it into something presentable for a major MMA outlet. He's good at that, after all. Though I don't think it's every day that he has to whittle a biography into one article. It doesn't escape me how lucky I was to land an editor that recognized without saying it that I'm new in this game, but that I can go places with a little work and a lot of patience. I intend to make him proud he took the time for me.

And now... I'm going to go run errands so that I can't watch my inbox any longer. Fingers crossed.