Photos by Harri Phu

“When I was 15 I made myself a promise. My dad had just beaten me and my mom, and we were huddled in the bathroom, crying. It was a horrible situation. But I made myself a promise—one day I’m going to get so famous that I’m going to tell everybody about him. I’m going to get so famous that they are going to listen.

It took me 20 years, but it kept me out there chasing the dream until I became a world champion.”

A Lil’ Evil

When I heard that one of my favorite fighters of all time, Jens Pulver, was in Sydney, I jumped at the chance to interview him. I was so excited that I told everybody that would listen. Then I made the mistake of telling one of my jiu jitsu students, a newer fan to the sport. His response; “Isn’t he the guy who lost to BJ Penn?”

My knee-jerk response was to be irritated, but his question hid some sad truths about MMA; the TUF generation really doesn’t know much of the history of the sport and the legends that paved its way to the mainstream.

Jens is not only one of those legends, an electrifying fighter with a career that reads like a history book on the sport; he was the first UFC lightweight champion and his 17 year career has spanned from the early scene in the Midwest across the UFC, Pride, Shooto, WEF, IFL, XFO and the WEC. With over 40 fights, 70% of his wins are by finish, and only 10% of his losses by decision. When Jens steps in the cage, somebody is getting stopped.

Apart from his storied career, what makes “Lil Evil’s” story even more unique is his background and personal struggle. Although his smile seems perpetual, he is somewhat of a tragic figure—from his public battles with anxiety, child abuse, depression, to his intense phobia of flying. Even more so, as their hero continues to step into the ring almost a decade past his prime, loyal (and slightly concerned) fans are starting to ask Jens when he will retire.

I met Jens in Sydney where he was assisting in a new reality show called Wimp 2 Warrior and prepared for the Australian premiere of his biographical movie, Driven. It was only an hour before the film started when he entered the room and it was obvious that he was still not comfortable with all of the attention. He quietly hugged the corners and was drawn to familiar faces.

I quickly introduced myself as both a fan and a writer and he immediately eased the interaction with a few self-deprecating jokes. I had hoped to simply curb my curiosity of one of my favorite fighters through my interview, but when his first story involved having a shotgun shoved in his mouth, I knew we were going deep.

The Wrestler

As we sit on the leather couches of the hotel in the comfort of Sydney’s Central Business District, Jens takes me to a place that a child should never have to experience, but there is something about his affable nature and his willingness to divulge that makes it palatable.

His film Driven reveals his history of child abuse and he hopes that it will allow him to travel the world, despite his phobia of planes, and spread his message to both the bullied and the bullies: Never fly solo.

“I tell kids all the time that they need learn how to be their own best friend. You can hear 249 negatives things but there is that one person you don’t know who says the same exact thing, but it becomes the thing that breaks the camels back.

When you go into this sport, no matter what, people are going to say negative shit just to do it. People are going to tweet you just to get you to fire back and say, “Fuck you.”

Before I can ask another question, he points to his thumb, where an unfinished tattoo of a P sits. He tells me it was inked with a safety pin when he was a teenager with a group of friends.

“Those were my best friends, I thought back then that was as good as it gets, there was nothing more to life. We were doing all sorts of shit. When I won the world title at 25, I looked down at this thing and I thought to myself… What an idiot. So now, I call the tattoo my ‘idiot stamp’ as a reminder.

I had a shotgun shoved my mouth as a kid, I watched my mum get beat on and my brothers and I got beat on. Life was hell. Then I won that world title. I met my wife, my kids, my family and now I’m here! I show people this idiot stamp and I tell people, when you reach that final question, think about where you could be in five years, and don’t close that door.”

Jens sips on a beer to calm his nerves, and I think about how intense he must feel as introvert in the movements before the debut of a movie about himself.I try to lighten to mood and ask him why he chose to start fighting.

“Fighting is the only thing I ever felt good about. The only reason I even graduated high school was because I [was required to keep a certain grade point average] to wrestle. Wrestling was everything to me.

It gave me my mentors, and no matter how much I was being beat on at home, it was that one time I could go out there and be myself. I could take everything I was learning from my coaches, from my mother, from my friends, and show them that I love them by giving 110%. I could show them through wrestling how much I listen to them, and want to give back to them.”

The Fighter

To understand Jens is to understand a different period in MMA history—a time far from the glitz and glamour of reality TV and filled-out arenas.

Although he was known as a pillar of famous MMA camp, Miletich Fighting Systems, few know that he actually got his start at the Lions Den under Ken Shamrock’s adopted father, Bob Shamrock. At one point he even asked if he could take the Shamrock name as his own, to which Bob responded, “'You go out there and make the Pulver name mean something."

After leaving the Lion’s Den, Jens moved halfway across America, making his home in Iowa at Team Miletich. His team mates; Matt Hughes, Jeremy Horn and Pat Miletich, to name a few, would fight all over the USA, often driving for hours just to compete.

It’s hard for a modern fan or fighter to understand the insanity of the time; rules changed state to state and fighters would jump from show to show, often on short notice. Jens quickly got a reputation for being a scrappy brawler, but in actuality he was one of the first prototypes for the modern MMA fighter, a wrestler with technical striking and well-developed submission defense. Most of all it was his fearless nature and his heavy hands that proceeded him.

He made his UFC debut in 1999 and by 2001 he was the UFC’s first lightweight champion, defeating Japan’s Caol Uno for the title. He defended it against BJ Penn and Dennis Hallman before a contract issue forced him out of the UFC and into smaller shows once again.

A small hitch in his career resulted in two knockout losses in a row, leaving fans wondering about his future, but that question was soon answered when he returned, invigorated. After a big knockout over Joe Jordan, he punched his way through Japan in both shoot boxing and MMA and then made his way to Hawaii. To this day, his fight with Stephen Palling still easily ranks as one of my favorite fights of all time and one of Jens’s best performances.

As the fans pondered the possibility of Jens returning to the UFC and contending for its title, he walked into Takanori Gomi, losing again by knockout. Although far from washed up, he would spend then next ten years in an uphill battle towards his former stardom, being stopped 12 times and only accruing 9 victories.

The Twilight Athlete

The belts and the lights of the UFC have faded to a mere memory, Jens is now happily married with a child, and the fans continue to wonder if we will finally see our tragic hero retire. He is currently on contract with Singapore’s MMA promotion One FC, so the end is not certain. Since it’s so disturbingly common in combat sports to see a former star fighting into their twilight years, barely a shell of their former self, I find myself asking Jens the question with as much padding as I can muster.

He smiles.

“The fear is what’s keeping me going right now. Athletics has always given me regularity and reliability. I know on Thursday that I need to be on a bike, on Friday I’ll be doing weights, and Saturday I’m sparring. I can plan and control everything.

I’m no fool. I watch the fights, I’m doing dumb shit, I see I’ve got no heart, I’ve got no courage, I’m shooting in and taking submissions. Mentally I wasn’t ready to quit, anxiety and depression are kicking my ass at the end.

When people are afraid, they stick to the only thing they know. Athletics is the only thing that always kept me moving forward, it kept me from closing the door on myself. I knew if I stuck to it, I would always get two years down the road.”

I think to myself, that civilian life, the uncertainty of every step, must be terrifying for somebody accustomed to complete control of every aspect of their life. As a fan we only see the fading light of the former champion, perhaps out of our own lack of empathy we might misread it as greed. Do we ever stop to ask what drew the champion to this sort lifestyle?

What becomes obvious is that the same source of power that drives somebody to become a champion is not extinguished in retirement. With no outlet for the power, it often becomes anxiety, as many former champions turn to drugs, gambling and worse. With Jens he has simply kept fighting.

So is there a way out that doesn’t end tragically?

“I love this sport more than life itself, but I think I’m finally getting ready to retire. I started coaching. I’m staying 155 pounds. I’ll retire once I can figure out how not to use athletics and I can work on this [his film and book projects] and become a better person. I now have my family, my kids. I have the support group that I needed before.

Maybe I don’t need to fight anymore?”

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