In less than six months, Zuffa put on three strong cards in their first three showings, including one of the promotion's unquestionable classics in UFC 31, where we saw a war between Couture and Rizzo, an upset with Newton-Miletich, the coming-out party of Chuck Liddell, the spinning backfist of Shonie Carter and where we met Baby Jay Penn. The critical if not financial success of these first three cards for Zuffa paved the way for what was supposed to be the UFC's breakthrough moment.
There was sense of populist victory that July when Nevada voted to regulate the sport of MMA. While Lorenzo Fertitta was criticized at the time for turning down MMA in Nevada (depending on which version of the truth you subscribe to), and while the contemporary eye may see him as an opportunist, the step forward was enormous enough to quash the misgivings. Now the UFC would head to America's fight capital, where MMA belonged, and would be making its long awaited return to pay-per-view with a hotly anticipated title tripleheader. What would go wrong?
Well, nearly everything, quite like the capital G decided to make the UFC his personal Job. First, the tragedy of 9/11 postponed the boxing world's big ticket and the undisputed middleweight title clash between Bernard Hopkins and Felix Trinidad was scheduled for the same weekend as UFC 33. Then, just over a week away from fight night, headliner Vitor Belfort inexplicably put his arm through a pane of glass, forcing the far less appealing Vladimir Matyushenko into action against Tito Ortiz. And all of that was before the actual, real catastrophe.
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Though its ghosts have been
exercised with triumphs in
recent years, UFC 33 remains
in the minds of a select few.
Dana White still says the specter of UFC 33 gnaws at him, and I can't say I'm unsympathetic. For me, it felt like the UFC led MMA to a fourth-quarter comeback, and clanked iron with what would've been the game-winning three. Sure, there's always next season, but who knows if you get back to the dance?
* * *
Tito Ortiz and Ken Shamrock didn't kick in the door with UFC 40, but they at least let the UFC get their foot in there.
Champions like Jens Pulver and Murilo Bustamante came and went. The kakutogi boom in Japan accelerated and intensified the UFC vs. Pride battle between fans that would govern the sport's discourse for the next five years. Ortiz-Shamrock was the UFC's only real chance at making a statement, pitting their only legitimate star against the man who, despite spending his more recent days as a pro wrestler, was still largely synonymous with "ultimate fighting."
With the help of Fox Sports Net, Zuffa got its first taste of building a mega fight in the media, an art they've since nearly perfected. The storyline was dramatic without being cartoonish, over the top without being alienating. More importantly, the fight was seen as legitimate. Sportsbooks generally had Ortiz as no larger than a -180 favorite.
While Nov. 22, 2002 gave us a quality event, it didn't give us a competitive main event, as Ortiz bashed Shamrock for 15 minutes en route to a merciful corner stoppage. The $1.5 million gate and 150,000 pay-per-view buys were a major success and easily the greatest moment for Zuffa at the time.
But in the aftermath of UFC 40, there was a sense of pessimism. The event had actually made money, netted MMA some new fans and added "the living death" to the sport's lexicon, but what came next? The public was there for the taking if the UFC could give them a reason to care.