LAS VEGAS – At nearly every public appearance he makes, UFC president Dana White is routinely begged for a job. Those on the outside who love mixed martial arts see the glamorous side of his job and want to be a part of it.

They see the sell-out crowds and the high-energy music, the hobnobbing with celebrities and the rewards that come with being super rich.

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Taking that job, though, comes with a warning: Work for White and be prepared to work as hard, or at least nearly as hard, as White himself. That means 12- and 18-hour days and, very frequently, seven-day work weeks.

It means time away from family and friends and the golf course and the beach and any semblance of a normal lifestyle. If one wants to work for White, it means committing life almost fully and completely to the UFC.

White has done that since 2001, when he and his partners, casino moguls Frank and Lorenzo Fertitta, purchased the then-struggling company for just $2 million. These days, it's reportedly worth more than $2 billion and White is an A-list celebrity worth hundreds of millions of dollars.

There's a price, though, to pay for such an all-in philosophy. The human body can only take so much, and White is pushing it to the limit.

But taking the UFC to where he envisions it requires plenty more work. He's going to do what it takes to accomplish that, consequences be damned.

"I don't care [about my health]," White said. "If I [expletive] died tomorrow, I don't care. I mean that from the bottom of my heart."









As White strolls out of the executive boardroom at his company's corporate headquarters just a few blocks from the Las Vegas Strip, he instantly begins pecking out a message on his cellular telephone.

He's spent more than an hour with a small group of local reporters, promoting anything and everything UFC- and mixed martial arts-related. As he exits the room, there are at least five people vying for his attention.

He has a list of meetings to attend as long as his arm. Fighters, managers, reporters, sponsors and employees are calling him and texting him, desperate for a few seconds of his time.

His employees need his seal of approval on projects they're working on. Nothing – nothing – happens in the UFC without White's approval. Reporters are desperate for a word with him to get confirmation of the latest rumor. News can be confirmed on the record only by White.

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His many friends are eager for a couple of tickets to a show or for him to appear at an event.

Everyone, it seems, tries to corral him at the same time.

"This [expletive] never stops," White says.

For a fleeting moment, the UFC president seems weary, as if the toll of those marathon days has finally forced him to tap.

Almost instantly, though, as he shoves his phone into the pocket of his jeans, he beams.

"And I [expletive] love it," he says.









For 11 years, this has been his life, a world spent in overdrive. In the early days, he was an evangelist, preaching the Gospel of MMA according to Dana. In the beginning, he had to convince people that not only was MMA viable, but that it was actually a sport.

Now, he's in charge of a $2 billion business and he's no longer desperate for attention.

Sometimes, it seems as if his life is a 24-hour reality show available in real time on the Internet. There is little privacy, few secrets and extraordinary demands.

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