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If you know anything at all about mixed martial arts and the UFC, then you know the name Matt Hughes. With devastating slams and ground-and-pound -- and nine championship belts to his credit -- Matt is the most dominant fighter in UFC history.
Matt was raised with his twin brother on a family farm in small-town Hillsboro, Illinois. Behind the postcard-perfect fields of corn, beans, and wheat stood a home consumed by bankruptcy, tension, and interpersonal struggles, but Matt reacted to hard times by playing hard and working even harder.
In high school and college Matt was an unstoppable wrestler, and he ended up a two-time Division I All-American. Whereas every year's top eight graduating college football players become instant millionaires, Matt got to stay on as assistant wrestling coach, doing electrical work on the side for fourteen dollars an hour. All of that changed the day he met legendary MMA manager Monte Cox, as well as Pat Miletich, a trainer who also happened to be the welterweight champion of the world.
Rising through the ranks of the independent fighting circuit and the UFC, Matt saw things that fans could only catch glimpses of -- until now. For the first time, a major UFC superstar has decided to answer all the questions the fans have about him, the organization, and the sport. You'll learn which fighter almost sent Matt packing from mixed martial arts; why he refused to speak to his role model, Randy Couture; and what his relationship with UFC president Dana White is like. He reveals in which match he found himself praying to God for help, why he originally refused a shot at the world title, and what it's like training at the Miletich Fighting Camp. Matt describes working on TV's The Ultimate Fighter, what really happened to Tito Ortiz during the legendary brawl on the streets of London, just how personal his rivalry with Frank Trigg became, and what it was like to go up against the mythical Royce Gracie -- and destroy him.
Matt discloses his most private thoughts and feelings during both his epic victories and his crushing losses. But when the gloves come off, there's Matt Hughes the man. He talks with unflinching honesty about his early hell-raising and his near-death experience, the moment he let God into his heart, falling in love with his wife, the birth of his daughter, and all the important events of his life -- and he shares personal photographs never before seen by the public.
A Christian, a family man, and a fighter, Matt Hughes could only have been made in America.
- Sales Rank: #1312676 in Books
- Published on: 2009-01-06
- Released on: 2009-01-06
- Original language: English
- Number of items: 1
- Dimensions: 9.00" h x .90" w x 6.00" l, .75 pounds
- Binding: Paperback
- 304 pages
From Publishers Weekly
Though his name may not ring any bells for most, Hughes is a star among the growing audience for ultimate fighting and mixed martial arts competitions; in this workmanlike memoir, the nine-time Ultimate Fighting Championship Welterweight Champion recounts his journey to the top. His endearing tales of growing up in the small town of Hillsboro, Ill. do much to humanize the fighter, featuring vivid accounts of teenage mischief. Unfortunately, the attention to detail given to his adolescent pranks doesn't carry throughout the book. Hughes's impressions of Austria, United Arab Emirates and Japan, where he traveled to compete, are mentioned only in passing, an odd omission in the story of a young man from small town America; that space appears to have been reserved for intimate accounts of fights, but even these resist dwelling on gore or violence. Devotees will undoubtedly delight in Hughes' behind-the-scenes accounts of UFC goings-on, as well as a blow-by-blow account of his victory over the legendary Royce Gracie, but the more bloody-minded may find his restraint disappointing.
Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.
About the Author
MATT HUGHES is the nine-time UFC welterweight world champion. He resides in Hillsboro, Illinois, with his wife, Audra, his son, Joey, and his daughter, Hanna. This is his first book.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Chapter 1
This Is Farm Life
You can go see your family now," the man told my dad. He had long white hair and cowboy boots, a flannel shirt, and some blue jeans on. My dad looked him up and down. Why is the janitor telling me that I can go see my wife? he wondered. It was 1973, and even in rural Hillsboro things were a little kooky. "Who was that?" he asked my mom when he entered her hospital room.
"He's the on-call doctor," she told him. "Dr. Draper is away at a football game."
Dad shrugged. He was more interested in seeing his newborn twin sons.
They say there's a lot you can do in five minutes. You can change a tire, eat a sandwich, or choke out Frank Trigg (again). But that October 13, I wasn't doing anything but a whole lot of crying in the five minutes between my birth and that of my twin brother, Mark. "The doctor says they're fraternal," Mom said, "but I think they're exactly alike." But just because we were alike didn't mean that we weren't going to be rivals. I say that everybody with any sense knows that being born is a race, which means that I won because I was first. But Mark tries to argue that it's a test of stamina to see who can hold out the longest, so he won.
The next day our parents took us back to our farm on the outskirts of Hillsboro. Hillsboro is a small farming town in central Illinois, an hour or so away from St. Louis and home to about five thousand people. The town square is just a spot where four streets intersect in front of an old courthouse, and the sign above the video store reads video store. There's an Orpheum movie theater, one bookstore, one hotel, and a Subway restaurant that has both Mr. Pibb and Mello Yello. The tallest structures are silos and water towers. More people chew tobacco than smoke in Hillsboro, and just about everybody wears blue jeans, white sneakers, and white socks. When the radio announcer mentions how the girl's high school basketball team is doing that year, we pay attention.
We own guns and hunt. We don't worry about someone breaking in through a window, because they can just open the front door. The people in Hillsboro who don't believe in evolution aren't jerks about it. Most everyone is friendly, both in the sense of being amiable and in the sense of knowing things about you. There's an idea city folk have that everyone in a small town has a secret. It's true that there are things that people don't talk about openly, but those things aren't hardly secret.
The Hughes farm was around fifteen hundred acres when Mark and I were born. Our older sister Beth was still living at home, but Dad's daughters from his first marriage, Annette and Evelyne, were older and had moved on. Our house sat on a hill, so if you stood next to it and looked around in a full circle, everything within eyesight was our property. We had fields of corn, beans, and wheat, and we raised chickens, turkeys, horses, and cows.
One day Dad asked Mom, "Why are we burning our money when there are two perfectly healthy milk cows up there?" Baby formula was expensive, and Mark and I went through two cases a week. "I'll just milk them, pasteurize it, and give the boys whole milk." From then on, the Hughes twins were raised like cattle in a lot of ways.
Quickly, my parents realized that bringing up Mark and me wasn't going to be like bringing up Beth. One day when we were two years old, Mom and Dad did the farm work, got done late, and came in tired. They had recently remodeled the house, which was a lot of work on top of their usual load. They sleepily ate their supper, fed us, and then put us to bed. At two in the morning, Mom heard a sound and went to the kitchen to investigate. She returned to the bedroom and woke up our dad. "You're not going to believe what they've done," she told him. The kitchen had a refrigerator with a freezer on the bottom. Mark and I had gotten into it, pulled out the butter, and smeared it everywhere. All the new paneling and drywall they'd put in now looked like the inside of a baked potato.
Dad decided to build us a cattle fence to keep us out of trouble. He spent all of one morning getting that fence halfway done. When he stepped back to admire his work, he saw Mark and me climbing over it, back and forth, just for fun.
As soon as we could walk we could run, and as soon as we could run we could climb. When you're a little boy, a farm is the best playground you could possibly imagine. There are mudslides, woods to run through, trees to climb, and old footpaths to explore. We could scream our heads off, and no one would ever be bothered by it. And when you're a twin, you constantly have your best friend around you. He likes the same things you like, and he has the same energy level as you do. Even after we got our own bedrooms, we didn't like to be separated, and we'd just get up and go to the other brother's room after Mom left.
When we were only about two or three years old, barely able to talk, Mom took us to another family's house. Mark and I were outside playing with their son, who was older than we were. Suddenly Mom heard a scream. She ran outside and saw that Mark was crying: That boy had bit him. She took Mark inside and was looking after him, trying to calm him down and make him feel better.
Then they heard an awful yell, much louder than Mark's. Mom ran outside again and that boy was shrieking as I pinned him, punching him with my little fists as hard as I could. "He bite Marky!" I yelled, as she tried to pry me off. "He bite Marky!" She separated me from him, and I never did get in trouble for it. Mom thought that was just fine.
My brother and I didn't care about material possessions as long as we could have fun. We had a lot of toy trucks and tractors. We had our own little piece of ground where we played outside, making little roads and plowing imaginary fields. Mom once told us to pick our toys up and put them away, but Mark and I just dug a hole out there, put the toys in it, and covered it up. And that was the end of it.
Once, Dad and the crew put up an entire harvester in one day. They came into the house to have some iced tea. "Hey, where are the boys?" Dad asked the men. They shrugged, looking around. "Shoot, I forgot to take that stepladder down," Dad said. "They couldn't have..." It took an eight-foot stepladder to get to the ladder that climbed the harvester, and that's all that Mark and I needed. Dad looked up to the top of his new harvester and there we were, sixty feet in the air.
By the time the day came when Beth ran into the house, yelling, "Dad, you better get out there quick! One of the boys filled a wagon full of gas and the other one's got a lighter!" no one was even shocked -- it was already par for the course.
Our nearest neighbor was over a mile away. As kids, our only real friend was our cousin Mikey. Three years older, he was cool no matter what he did. He liked the outdoors, so we would go shooting with him. He was always messing with motors and automotive stuff. He was the big brother we never really had.
We always liked to be around when there was work to be done. It was fall and Mark and I watched them shelling corn. The corn went out the bottom of the wagon into a hopper, and then the auger shot it up into the bin. I climbed the ladder up the side of the wagon and jumped into the corn, with Mark right by my side. We could see the corn flowing out the door in the bottom of the wagon; it was like we were standing inside an hourglass.
Mark's legs got buried in the corn as it slid out from under us. I could see from his happy expression that it was as fun as it looked. It was like we were on some sort of slide. Then my legs got caught in the corn too. We couldn't get our legs out; we were in a kind of corn quicksand that was pulling us under. Then I saw the chains that went across the wagon and tightened up to keep it from busting. I grabbed a chain with my right hand and with my left arm kept Mark's head, now barely above the corn, from getting sucked under. Beth heard us and climbed up the ladder to see what was happening. "Oh my gosh!" she yelled. She ran down and shut off the wagon so we wouldn't get sucked down any farther. She came back and grabbed my hand and tugged as hard as she could. When we didn't budge, she said, "Hold on, let me go get Dad."
Dad came up and he started pulling on my arm. Nothing. He cleared away the corn from Mark a bit and tried to pull him out. Still nothing. "I'm going to rip them in half before I get them loose," he told Beth, shaking his head. "I guarantee it." Dad stood there for a moment, thinking about what to do. He pulled the wagon up away from the auger and opened the door wide. All the corn shot out the door, taking us with it like we were on rockets. "Look at them," Dad said to Beth. "They think that was some amusement park ride or something."
Mark and I were still grinning. "Can we go again?" I asked.
"You know what?" Dad told us the following summer. "If you like being around farm equipment so much and you've got so much energy, maybe you should actually be doing something instead of just messing around. I'm going to put you boys to work. Now, we have to bale twenty-five acres of hay off of Uncle Jack. It's going to take all day. I've got a crew coming, but they won't be here until the afternoon. Do you want to help me out tomorrow?"
To Mark and me, this felt like Christmas.
The next day, the hay had already been cut and raked and was waiting for us to bring our baler along. We got on the wagon with Dad. "We can put it on here so then the crew can unload it in the barn," he explained. "When the bale comes onto the wagon, you stack it as best you can."
As the bales kept coming, Mark and I made it into a competition. We waited for that hay, and then each of us grabbed for it. Instead of taking turns, we were knocking each other off the wagon to get to the bales. Finally, we were in a fight over every single bale. We felt a jerking motion; Dad had stopped the tractor. "We're going to be here until dark!" he yelled. And this was summertime, so that meant eight or nine o'clock. "Just absolutely stop it!" he shouted, ...
Most helpful customer reviews
62 of 70 people found the following review helpful.
Country simple. But not in a wholesome way.
By Andrea James
Wow. I thought I was stunned by level of drivel in this book but I'm even more stunned to find that 17 people gave this book 5 stars. I would love for them to tell me which parts made them laugh out loud.
Over and over in the reviews, the book is praised for its brutal honesty. Sure, it would be great if Jeffery Dahmer were candid about the tickles and delights of dismembering people and shagging them after he had killed them, but I'm not sure it makes his actions any more palatable. In fact, if 'ol Jeffrey, who also became a born again christian, were to tell us how he had learned and changed as result of his new found christian ways (or just with a little introspection), we may even be able to find *him* acceptable.
Matt, on the hand, tells us about how he's nasty to people and then leaves it at that. Throughout the book, his little anecdotes have no connection to each other and almost never lead up a realisation or a bigger point. It's almost like sitting next to someone on the bus who incessantly gives you a commentary like "That shop is open. That tree is green. That man looks angry."
And often he almost brags about some of the occasions when he was less than kind to others and feels fully justified and content with his actions.
Saying that, I don't have to like the protagonist of a book to enjoy reading it. But I think if I were to tap Matt, and I don't mean with an armbar or choke but rather like you'd tap a tree for sap, I'd probably discover the essence of boring. Though sadly, boring is not in great demand and so my discovery wouldn't help me recover the cost of this book.
Anyway, I don't doubt this guy's work ethic (and it's paid off too as he is a pretty damn good fighter) but it's possible that he did little besides train and fight because nothing much else seems to have happened in his life. Though he's happy to include loads of conversations of the "could you pass the salt?" ilk so that he could at least rob us of whatever more exciting time we could have had if we weren't reading the book.
Ah, the simple life.
It's sweet that everyone sees him as a simple country boy and family man. I mean just when the guy is about to get jiggy with a hot girl, this is what he writes:
I sat down on the bed, and she sat on top of me.
"So what's your favourite colour?" I asked her.
"Green," She said.
"Mine too."
Uhm. What is he...five? I haven't heard that kind of chat since I was in kindergarten. Well, at least he's being nice and lovely there. Imagine most of the book with that level of excitement but smeared with a good dollop of nastiness and arrogance.
If you are a fan of Matt Hughes, you'd be better off spending a couple of hours re-watching all his fights than you would the few hours you'd never get back if you read this book.
19 of 21 people found the following review helpful.
Interesting Fighter, Horrible Book
By Tyler M. Hennessey
Matt Hughes is an asset to the UFC, whether you're rooting for him or against him....but his book is just terrible. I wish it was more interesting, because he is very interesting to watch fight, in my opinion. The book has no heart though. It's flat all the way though, and the way events are described are uninspired. Besides his fights, Matt's life is pretty boring. There's nothing wrong with that, but it doesn't make for a good book. Usually when somebody writes a book about themself, it is best if that person has come to some sort of knowledge, or realization about something. Some wisdom that they have lived their life to discover. An understanding. There is none of that in this book. There is one chapter about finding God and becoming a Christian, but the whole book is rittled with back handed compliments and insults to fighters he's faced, or that have said things about him. Seems like a lot of the book is a tool to settle scores publicly with people he dislikes (which is a lot of people). He is unfriendly and really rude to a lot of people. It's quite at odds with his devotion to religion. Unsettling even. I don't need him to be a good guy to watch his fights or even root for him. He is an interesting fighter. This book however was a waste of time. If youre not a complete fanboy, and if you read books often, this is one to pick up at the library. I wish it had been more.
18 of 20 people found the following review helpful.
Ego, hypocrisy and fake Christianity run amok
By Fred
I wish the worst thing I could say about this book is that it reads like it was written by a high school student. Not that I expect Hughes to be John Irving (another wrestler turned writer), but it's almost a stream of consciousness with little background or timeline for the situations involved.
Hughes spends most of the book badmouthing other MMA fighters, some of whom are now his friends and training partners. He also badmouths the mother of his son and other family members. Then he gleefully goes into detail on some bad things he's done in the past, like bullying people, getting in bar fights and killing animals. Then the revelation.....he becomes a Christian on a trip to Mexico and is therefore forgiven for all of his sins, so now he can continue badmouthing others because his belief in God is evidently stronger than theirs and he knows more bible verses than they do.
Hughes really comes off as a big phony here. I can admire his fighting style while realizing he has a long way to go towards being a man outside the ring.
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