Chris Leben recalls first fight at light heavyweight in smoke-filled Roseland Theater

The following is the fifth in a series of excerpts released exclusively to MMAjunkie from Chris Leben’s soon-to-be-released autobiography, “The Crippler: Cage Fighting and My Life on the Edge.” Penned by Leben and co-author Daniel J. Patinkin, the book chronicles the often rocky career of the legendary cast member of the original season of “The Ultimate Fighter,” who retired in 2013 after an 11-year professional career that included 22 UFC appearances.

Previous excerpts include Chapter 1, “Vs. Cote,” Chapter 2, “AWOL,” Chapter 2, “First Fight,” and Chapter 3, “Downs and Ups.”

“The Crippler: Cage Fighting and My Life on the Edge” will be released on Jan. 5 and is currently available for pre-order at Amazon, Barnes and Noble and IndieBound.

Chapter 3, “First Fight”

My first fight was at 205 pounds. I was a bit of a chubber back then. After I left the army, I spent so much time drinking, snorting, and taking pills that my physique and fitness level bottomed out. When I first walked into Team Quest, I was a 230-pound doughboy. [Coach Robert] Follis says to this day that, upon first meeting me, he never would have thought that I had a real future in fighting. But, what I lacked in physical prowess and natural athleticism, I made up for with extreme tenacity and heart. The fight was at the Roseland Theater in Portland. And, when I arrived before my fight, there was a line down the fucking street. I’m pretty sure they sold the place out. A lot of my friends were there, excited to see me either kick ass or get shellacked.

The Roseland Theater was set up so that the cage was surrounded by rows and rows of chairs. Higher up, a balcony overlooked the cage. And the venue had a very dark vibe. Most of the lights were off except for a bright spotlight that illuminated the cage. It seriously reminded me of the Kumite tournament at the end of the movie Bloodsport. But instead of a slick, muscle-bound Belgian karate expert fighting to honor his dead Japanese master, there was me – a pudgy dumbass with bleach-blond hair and oversized white surf shorts fighting out of the desperate need for just a small sense of pride.

When I walked out from backstage for my fight, the place was jam-packed. People were rowdy as f-ck, drinking and puffing cigarettes. A heavy nicotine fog hung over the cage. Can you imagine trying to compete at a high level in any sport when you’re breathing air like that? It was kind of nuts. My opponent was a local guy named Justin. And, as I recall, back in high school he was one of the better Greco-Roman wrestlers in the whole state. So, yeah, this guy had some cred, and I was more than a little scared.

I was so amped up I hardly remember the blow-by-blow of the fight. But I do remember that it was very scrappy and unrefined. I barely knew what the f-ck I was doing out there with my haymaker pankration slaps and wild attacks. I finally got Justin on his back and moved into mount. I didn’t know what to do, so I kept slapping and slapping. When none of it did much damage I even bopped him on the forehead with the butt of my hand. I think the audience laughed at that move. But finally, I got hold of his arm and twisted it into a keylock and cranked. Justin tapped! I jumped up like I had just won the Olympics and started bellowing into the crowd. The place went wild! After all, everyone was drunk as sh-t … so why not.

I felt like the big man on campus. The local paper interviewed me on camera after the fight.

“Great fight!” said the reporter, holding a microphone in front of my face. “From the sounds of it, this could be the start of great career. Randy Couture says you’re the next big prospect for the UFC.”

Chris Leben

I was dumbfounded and so full of emotions that I looked and sounded like a buffoon.

“Really?!” I replied. “Cool!”

I still have a video of that first fight. And, let me tell you, despite everything, I have intense pride when I watch it. My technique in the cage was garbage. I was flailing around like a goofball. But, on the other hand, I took a chance – a big chance. I put myself out in front of a bunch of people. And, if I had lost, it could have been a personal disaster for me. But I won.

To this day, I show the video of that fight to a lot of the athletes I coach. They get a kick out of seeing the Crippler back when he was a young buck with little more than a single-leg takedown and a dream.

“See where everybody starts?” I ask my young fighters. “Everyone sucks when they start. What matters is that you refuse to give up. Less than four years later I faced Anderson Silva in a title eliminator fight in the UFC. Can you f-cking believe that? Where you start, as it turns out, doesn’t always matter. It’s not the cards you are dealt, but how you play them.”

Justin Terherst fought one more time a year later, losing via TKO. In 2007, while I was traveling the world, performing in front of millions of fans and rubbing elbows with the rich and famous, Justin died of cancer. Life is f-cked up like that, isn’t it?

Rest in peace, Justin. And thank you for being part of my journey.