Marcus Bossett: Where is He Now?

That kind of approach is exactly why Bossett had the budo. He flowed with the go. Like many of the UFC’s early competitors, Bossett had a varied past with the fight game and approached the neophyte concept of the UFC’s “no holds barred” format with a can’t-resist curiosity. Later sanitized and repackaged for mass consumption as mixed martial arts, the early UFCs were a half-step short of quasi-organized mayhem, with nobody -- from the event organizers to the fighters and fans -- sure of exactly what the hell was going to happen.

“I’ve been training [martial arts] since I was in seventh grade, in military school in Virgina,” Bossett says. “My English teacher was a tae kwon do instructor. He knew I was hyperactive and dyslexic and needed an outlet, so he told me if I joined karate class, I’d get a B in English.”

It seemed like a pretty good deal at the time.

“I figured all I’d do was show up and I’d get a B. Instead, they whacked the floor with me. And to be honest, my instructor was the first person in my life to spend a minute of time with me,” Bossett says. “He gave me the attention and moral support that I needed.”

It was a difficult time for Bossett, as he was dealing with the fallout of his father’s murder, which happened when he was 12.

“We owned two Burger Kings in D.C.,” he says. “At Christmas time, somebody came in and killed my father. There was a ricochet bullet, a big shootout.”

Apparently, a disgruntled ex-employee Bossett’s father had fired had gotten a job as a security guard and returned to rob his former place of work. He used the gun from his new job. The shooter’s motive? He was trying to get money to buy his kids Christmas toys.

“My brother was shot in the leg,” Bossett says. “My dad was killed, and he shot the guy three times.”

Introduction to MMA

Like many martial artists in the 1980s and early 1990s, before MMA emerged, Bossett saw the business angle of martial arts and wanted to apply fresh ideas accordingly. Ever-contemplative and fast-thinking, he came up with the concept of a martial arts video magazine; he sold the concept to a sports cable network, which contracted it for 18 episodes. It should have been a bonanza, one perfectly fitting with his commitment and passion.

“All they saw was clips of the show, and I showed them the [commitments] where everyone singed. Came to basic agreement with them. I ran back to the cable network. I though that they would parlay with me on this project. And the lady that was running it decided she was gonna steal it. And she wanted top dollar. She held everything and would not relent,” Bossett says. “And I lost because I didn’t get a lawyer. I thought I could handle it on my own. My concept, I shot it, did paperwork, scripting and I paid her people daily and used them. I got schooled. Welcome to California.”

Deciding he needed a new base of operations, he opened an Okinawan-style karate school. He fought in three kickboxing events promoted by a major beer label and was approached by a friend about something new, weird, and entirely unfathomable -- unless you were a guy like Bossett, who had basically spent the better part of his life wondering the exact questions NHB-style promotions, and by extension the UFC, were created to answer. While the sport’s vale tudo origins were a staple in Brazil, stateside exposure to mixed-style matches was limited at best.

“She said, ‘How would you like to do something nobody’s doing? It’s kinda different. It’s the age-old question of which style is the best. We’re gonna lock you in a cage, and we’re gonna put it on cable.’ I said, ‘That sounds cool.’

“The reason these brothers are getting belts now, I brought that design to [the UFC’s original owner] Art Davies. So I gave him some belt designs. Nobody at UFC 4 had a belt. You got a check. Then at [UFC] 5 [there] was a belt. At [UFC] 4, when the fight was over, you had to find your own way back to the hotel.”

Today, Bossett lives in Los Angeles and manages a 40-unit apartment complex, still forever in the pursuit of budo.

“I’ve lost girls early in life because I wanted to buy a sword rather than go out on a date,” he says. “Right now, I’m trying to get a $2600 set of battle armor so I can do a demo at this place called Camp Keepsake. Some of the campers have illnesses or injuries. The people that come together, I teach them camping, fishing and teach them archery. I’m a Level 2 Olympic archery coach. The deal with the camp is it was my buddy’s charity, his passion. He died almost a year ago, and they asked me to take his place. I canceled my Saturday classes to drive all the way into Malibu to do it. I have to give back. That’s what life is about. A true samurai is one who serves. I’m the happiest I’ve ever been. I did the best I could do in any situation, and if I could do it all over again, I’d have trained up more and fought harder.

“I’ve jumped out of planes, bungee-jumped, hiked the Grand Canyon, rappelled,” Bossett adds. “Judo is the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but martial arts is the best. Everything I ever got was because of budo. I have a son and a daughter; both came through the dojo. Both women I married came through the dojo.”

Talking Tank

Had he been blessed with more time to develop his ground game, Bossett still probably would have preferred using it to create a stand-up fight.

“I wanted to hate Dan Severn. He kicked my ass. But he’s a nice guy,” he says. “He was in Cali, and I invited him to my dojo. He did a full seminar. He is a mamma’s boy; his mother was his manager, and she controlled him with an iron fist. In the early days, she wouldn’t even let me talk to him. Everybody was cool.”

However, Bossett minces no words on UFC alum David “Tank” Abbott, whose notorious jumping of fellow fighter Patrick Smith still gets talked about from time to time on Internet chat rooms and among hardcore fans.

“Tank Abbott is an as-hole, and a drunk,” Bossett says. “He was drinking and got into words with Pat Smith. Bottom line, everybody was at the bar, and there was some words. It’s like, ‘F--k this dude. I’m outta here.’ So Tank and four of his buddies whupped his ass in the elevator. How foul was that? It was in one of the hotels, I think it was after UFC 5. It kinda happened on the backside. Everybody didn’t get wind till later.

“I ran into Tank a couple times; he’s a d-ck. He’s full of his self,” he adds. “I would’ve loved to fight him. He’s a stand-up guy. I’m a stand-up guy. I’d have tapped his ass. I always had to fight grapplers. I could do it at that time, could handle some ground fighting, did some technique. Most of our techniques were standing down and trying to attack. So Greco-Roman fighting from guard … all of this was pretty fresh at that time. It took a couple years for everybody to adjust to it.”

For Bossett, a student of the Eastern philosophies, that’s life.

“Fighting is life. This is the true part … everything that happens in the ring happens in the life,” he says. “The training dedication that took you to get there kicks you and carries it, if you live the way of bushido. It’s what you can do to help someone else, and that blew me away. And I’ve lived my life that way. I’ve trained my whole life, given up women, houses, everything, in pursuit of budo. The code of bushido is the way.”