Iceman by Chuck Liddell Read Free Book Online Page B

competitors to strike from eight different points: the hands, elbows, legs (shins and knees), and feet. It’s actually called the Art of Eight Limbs. Most sport-oriented martial arts only allow two strike points, the hands and the feet. Muay Thai is as revered in Thailand as football is here. It’s the national sport, is recognized by an official holiday, and is treated with a respect by the combatants unlike any other sport. It’s not just about sport to those in Thailand, it’s about finding serenity and peace through the practice of an art. Fighters usually touch the rope three times. They always enter the ring from the top, rather than through the bottom, because the head is sacred and the feet are dirty. When in the ring, they perform a traditional dance called the Wai Kru, in which they circle the canvas to figuratively seal it off, meaning the fight is between them and them alone.
    Here in the United States, the ritual is confined to the actual beatings. And Nick was a master. He had been a black belt in karate when he discovered the sport, then spent several years training in Thailand for three months every year. In 1992 he won the North American kickboxing championship. Since Alfie knew I kept up with the sport, he called me and asked if I had heard of Nick and if the gym was any good. Nick’s nickname was One Kick because that’s all he needed to knock someone out. So, yeah, I told Alfie, Nick was legit.
    Nick was also becoming one of the bigger kickboxing promoters in town. At first, he was doing it just to get himself some publicity for his fights, but pretty soon he was putting together cards at casinos such as the Aladdin and Four Queens and the Orleans that drew as many as fifteen hundred people. Sure, these were the out-of-the-way, down-market casinos that the locals played at, not the upscale tourist traps such as the MGM and Mirage that drew fifteen thousand boxing fans for title fights. And, yeah, kickboxers only made about $500 per fight, rather than the $5 million or more that the boxers made, but the fights were sanctioned. They had refs, judges, and fans screaming for blood and took place in a ring. For a kid like me, looking to fight in someplace other than a bar, it was the pinnacle of combat sports.
    Not too long after Alfie began training with Nick, Nick called me and invited me down for a visit. I told him I wanted to try a few matches, and without even seeing a tape, he started putting me in shows he was promoting. Pretty soon Alfie—who went on to win seven national titles—and I were Nick’s headliners.
    Nick said he liked my look—the Mohawk, my stare, my generally mean-looking disposition—and my style. That was the same as it was when I was wrestling or fighting in the street: aggressive, focused, and completely immune to the idea of getting hurt. Nick told me I was becoming a draw, that a lot of people were coming out to see me go on the attack when I fought. I had a pulse and energy when I stepped into the ring, mainly because I liked fighting so damn much.
    But when I wasn’t fighting, I was as invisible as a guy with a Mohawk and tattoo on the side of his head can be. I’d go out with Nick, sip on a Coke, sit by myself, and not say much at all. He’d take me all over town, trying to get me to open up, show a little life outside the ring, at least act as if I were having a good time. He wanted me meeting people, elevating my profile, increasing interest in the sport. Really, he just wanted me to lighten up and have a good time. But that wasn’t me, at least not then. I was all about fighting. Everything else was not only secondary, but not all that compelling.
    It wouldn’t be too long before I realized that would have to change.

CHAPTER 9
NEVER UNDERESTIMATE ANYONE
    I SETTLED INTO A NICE RHYTHM AFTER COLLEGE: I’D fight in Vegas for Nick, bartend during the week, teach karate at a couple of local dojos nearly every