International Kickboxer Magazine, Sept/Oct 2012

‘John’ Wayne Parr has reached retirement. His last fight – his 114^th – was his last, and has him more excited than ever.

“I had to get it out of my blood before I finished,” Parr says, speaking from his home on the Gold Coast. “I sit and watch the UFC every weekend, and I love it. I really wanted to have a cage fight before I finished up, but I broke one of my fingers doing Jiu Jitsu. I thought to myself, ‘How am I going to do it? And then, Caged Muay Thai seemed to be the answer.” The event itself, Parr says, was “Amazing. All through the eight-week lead up, knowing you’ll be wearing those four-ounce gloves, you don’t know what to expect. It’s like having your first fight all over again.”

Caged Muay Thai, as far as anyone knows, was the first event of its kind, anywhere in the world. The promotion was every inch a success.  “I wasn’t sure what to expect,” says Wayne. “I got in [the cage], took a few [punches]; it hurt, but they felt like normal boxing gloves. During the fight, it was ok. Afterwards… holy s#%t. I couldn’t touch my forehead for days after.”

The event was a great success from a promoter’s point of view, also – it was a sell-out, with five hundred people being turned away. The fact that this was the farewell fight for one of the greats of Aussie Muay Thai would have been a significant draw, but the numbers can’t be ignored, nonetheless.

“At first, I wanted to change a few things; get rid of the traditional stuff, like music. Then I decided to keep the music, because I like it. Then, when we got closer to the fight, I realized I wasn’t going to not do the Ram Muay – it’s been a part of what I do for so long.

“On the night, it went like normal; it was the same as any other Muay Thai fight. I told the ref that as long as the fighters were working to allow the grapple to go for longer because sometimes, those UFC guys will go in for the take-down in order to avoid copping punches.”

In the final summation, Parr has effectively converted himself. “I love it… I’m never going back. I wish I was 25 again so I could make a career out of doing it.” The audience seems to feel the same. “I have received that many text messages… ‘Most exciting night I’ve ever been to’. [Caged Muay Thai] has a whole new intensity.” Without a ground game, questions have to be asked about how feasible a striking sport is going to be without ten-ounce gloves.

“It hurts, but I can’t see why you can’t go in with them. I’d feel like a cheat going in with 10 ounces while the UFC guys aren’t. Those guys look like superheroes.”

Parr believes Caged Muay Thai is the way of the future, and doesn’t see any impediments to hold him back. “[As far as promotion goes] Queensland is like the Wild West; we can get away with more than other states can. The show sells itself. It won’t be hard to get the same amount of people back. On the night, we turned away 500.”

The nature of fighting in a cage with four-ounce gloves did have an impact on the way Parr trained and subsequently fought. “With every punch, [you’re] trying to knock the other person out. Any punch could stop the fight at any second. I was planning on trying to avoid getting hit. I did lots of footwork in the gym; I didn’t want to take the risk of getting caught. Once you get in that pocket, you just want to keep punching. The stakes are definitely raised, because the risks are higher.”

Parr is one of the most significant fighters in the history of both Australian and International fight sports. It was something that started as a childhood obsession. “I grew up watching martial arts on t.v. You know, things like The Karate Kid and Van Damme. I used to practice on other kids and school; neighbors, anyone who would stand still. And the ones that didn’t stand still, I’d chase.

“I started Tae Kwon Do at eleven, and did that for two years. Then, I started doing kickboxing with Steve ‘Superkick’ Vick. I had my first fight at age 14, under kickboxing rules.” At that time, kickboxing was the sport du jour. “I won an Australian title by age seventeen and then a South Pacific title, by nineteen.” The turning point in both Parr’s life and career was close at hand. Blair Moore was running Australia versus Thailand promotions at Jupiter’s Casino. “I used to work as a gopher, driving the fighters around, that sort of thing. I talked to the boys and found out that Thailand was the place to be.”

The experience of fighting in Thailand was a radical departure from Australia, for one significant reason: “Elbows. At my first fight, one of the gamblers came up to the ring and said, ‘I’ll give you a 1,500 Baht bonus if you can win by elbow KO.’ I got him in the fourth.”

Parr had two fights in Pattaya before moving to Bangkok where he won nine fights on the trot. This run of successes saw him feature on the front of the nation’s most respected Muay Thai magazine and Thai T.V.

He was ranked fourth at Lumpini stadium when he met the great Orono. “My manager was Senchai. He came into the dressing room beforehand and said that if I won, I’d be in line for a Lumpini title. Unfortunately, I lost and got 21 stitches. After that, I started meeting all ‘A’ class Thais.” It was around this time that Wayne acquired the nick-name that has stuck as if it was attached to his birth certificate.

“The Thais started calling me John, in ‘96. They didn’t want to call me Wayne, because it’s a swear word [in Thai, ‘Wayne’ means ‘bastard’]. In taxis, the drivers always asked, ‘Why would your parents call you that?”

The difference between fighting in Australia and Thailand couldn’t have been greater. “It’s more intense and professional. You’re not training as a sport; you’re training to survive. When you win, your money goes up and when you lose, your money goes down. You have to win to eat. Also, your camp’s reputation is at stake. They don’t want to be represented by a losing fighter. As a result, there’s a lot more pressure on you to win. Thai’s don’t give up. And they’re not like Westerners; they have a poker face. You can’t see when you hurt them. I learned not to look for tell-tale signs; accumulation will catch up with them.”

Parr had an outstanding career in Thailand. He was the first Westerner to fight at Lumpini, and fought four times on the King’s Birthday Celebrations. “I was the only Westerner to win three years running.” Shortly after, Wayne was introduced to Japanese audiences.

“In 1998, I got my first invitation to Japan, to fight Kohi. I demolished him over five rounds. After that, I became a regular in Japan.”

In 1999, Parr developed a nasty leg infection which prevented him from kicking, so he decided to return home to Australia. “When I got back, Richard Vell and I decided to open a gym.” Boonchu was born. “Since then, I’ve pretty much been my own trainer. I’ve had students hold pads for me; I pretty much teach them what I need them to do. Mr Dip has been coming down and helping out, doing my corner, for about the last six years.”

“I had a few more Thai fights, and then, in 2001, I decided to go into pro boxing.” It was a successful venture; Parr had thirteen fights for ten wins. All ten were knockouts and saw him win an Australian title.

At the end of 2001, Parr received an invitation to compete as part of an eight-man tournament on the King’s Birthday weekend, in Thailand. “It revived my Muay Thai passion,” he says. “I qualified to represent Thailand in France at the final, which was another eight-man [tournament].”

In 2002, Parr went to the US and worked at Master Toddy’s gym in Las Vegas. It was here that he met his future wife, Angie. They moved to San Diego together and Parr briefly returned to Australia to fight Jenk Behic.

“He was a kickboxer,” Parr remembers, “I locked him up in the grapple and he didn’t know what to do.” When he returned to the US, trouble was waiting for him.

“I had overstayed my visa by two days. The Americans don’t check your passport when you leave; they check it when you go back. The held me at the airport for three hours and sent me back to Australia. Angie had to sell all our stuff to buy a plane ticket back.”

Wayne fought Mike Zambidis for the first time at the end of that year in the K1 Final – and lost. Then, in 2003, Parr was drafted to Super League and found himself fighting in Europe. And then, in 2004, Parr’s legendary persistence paid off with one of his most successful years to date. “I fought in the S1 tournament in Thailand and won. Two weeks later, I fought on Super League, in Italy, and won. While I was away, K1 called Angie and asked if I wanted to fight Duane Ludwig. I did, of course, and won again. All up, it was five fights in four weeks.

K1, being a different format and rule set, imposes a different style on fighters who come from other codes. “As far as changing my fighting style, K1 meant I had to start faster. If you lose the first [round], you’re behind. So you have to start strong.” As far as changing the way Parr fought and trained, the answer is in the negative.

“For the first few fights, they allowed multiple knees in the grapple. After Buakaw belted Masato [in 2004], they changed the rules.”

Since K1, the hits have kept on coming – strong. The Contender Asia saw Parr exposed to his largest audience ever. The series was watched by five hundred million people, world-wide.

“The first part of filming was eight weeks in Singapore, and then there was six months off until the final. I lost to Yodsanklai in the final, but re-matched him another two times and beat him the third time we met. That [win] probably meant the most, given that he was considered pound-for-pound the best fighter in the world at that time. Not to mention re-matching Zambidis and beating him twice.”

It’s been a distinguished career, and given how much success Parr had achieved over so many difficult ups and downs, it’s hard to understand why he would ever want to retire.

“It’s a few things. I’m sick of losing between ten and twelve kilos every time I have to fight, and I have this injury in my wrist and finger that’s very painful and it just won’t heal. I’ve had 114 fights in total now, and I think it’s time to hang up the gloves.” Post-fighting, Wayne is going to absorb himself in life connected to Muay Thai. “I’m now promoting Muay Thai in the cage, and I’ve still got to run the gym. Everything revolves around the sport.”

Interviewing Wayne for the last time before he retires, it’s difficult to know what to ask. What is the last question; what is the thing he knows, after all that time and experience?

“Never give up,” he says. “You’re only ever one punch away from winning.”

International Kickboxer Magazine, Nov/Dec 2012

Michael ‘Tomahawk Thompson has had 41 fights in the brief period he has been Thai boxing. This is all the more remarkable when you take in to account he is only 22 years old. He tells the story of a remarkable career-in-the-making to JARROD BOYLE.

Michael ‘Tomahawk’ Thompson has had 42 fights for 31 wins in a career that started only six years ago, when he began Thai boxing at the tender age of 15.

“I live in Rochedale, which is close to the Iron Fist Muay Thai Gym,” he says. As is so often the case, he started attending training with mates, who progressively dropped off. In the process of doing something as an activity with friends, he discovered something he was immensely good at, which became something major he wanted to do with his life.

“Actually, I saw one of my friends get a bit of a touch-up in the schoolyard from a guy who was doing Muay Thai,” he confesses. “The way he put it together; it wasn’t karate, it wasn’t boxing.” He adds, with a laugh: “I had good intentions, of course.”

Good intentions swiftly became great success under the watchful eye of Daniel Bell.

“Daniel, as a trainer, is really good. He’s a good mentor in general. He tells you what you need to hear, and he has a broad range of knowledge. He knows about the way the body works, which is good in relation to injuries. As far as skills go, he’s great with boxing. We do lots of footwork, and he understands how to integrate it with Thai boxing. I really enjoy it – I’m still learning.”

Bell understood his adolescent charge well, and worked to his strengths. “My strongest quality is probably my punching. I also love elbows; they’re a great tool to have. [Iron Fist] Gym promotes it. We spend a lot of time practising angles and punching.”

Michael put these tools to work early, taking his first fight at the age of 15 – and winning. “There’s no legal age requirement in Queensland. I had trained for five months and I decided I’d have a crack. The first three or four fights were padded, on shows like JWP’s Boonchu and Paul Demicoli’s Next Generation amateur show.

“My first pro show was when I was on Evolution. That was my seventh fight. I was terrified; so many people, such a big show. I fought a guy named Brodie Stalder. He was seventeen, but he’d had about 20 fights. I beat him on points as a sixteen-year-old. It was a really good high.” Michael’s eighth fight was for a strap no less prestigious than the WMC Queensland title at 57kg.

Success followed success until fight number twelve. “When I was seventeen, I had my first loss. I lost by decision to Ghot Seur Noi for the Australian WMC title.” Other than Ghot being a fighter of outstanding pedigree, other pressures were coming to bear, the closer Michael got to finishing school. “I got a girlfriend, got my license, went to a few school parties… my mind wasn’t as focused as it should have been.

“I wanted to have fun, but didn’t want to let it go. I kept training and took a few more fights, but really, I should have had a break. There were a lot of fights I should have won over that two-year period. My heart was in training, but my head wasn’t. I won one fight out of seven; I lost five in a row.”

There is one sure-fire cure for any fighter at a perilous cross-roads in his career, even when he’s seventeen.

“I went to Thailand and got my head straight. I had to ask myself, ‘Did I want to be a fighter, or an average eighteen year old?’ I made the decision, and stuck at it.”

Evidently, it worked. So did whatever training Michael did over there, because when he returned to Australia, he picked up two national titles in quick succession.

“I won the ISKA amateur title under full Thai rules, and then turned pro in 2009. My eighteenth fight was on Evolution. I knocked out Chris Petrie in the first round with an elbow. My twenty-third fight was for the pro WMC title at 61kg. I was nineteen.”

From there, the hits just kept on coming. “I fought on Paul Demicoli’s eight-man tournament and was matched against Flip Street. That was the biggest fight of my career to that time, and I beat him unanimously. It was a big year – I had twelve fights in twelve months and only lost two. After that, I needed a break.” That had been the plan, but after an uneventful Christmas, he was straight back into training – and fighting.

“In 2010, I had six fights. I fought Sing Siri on Evolution and got the KO in the second. At the end of the year, I fought another Thai, Yudrawaii. I lost on split points, but I didn’t feel too bad about it: he’d had about two hundred and fifty fights to my thirty.” That said, Michael was unhappy with his performance, specifically in the grapple. “I went to the WMC camp for three weeks and spent the time doing personals with a trainer named Tum; he’s probably one of the best grapplers in the world. It really improved my technique, and it made me stronger.”

That strength was quickly put to the test when matched against Flip Street’s for the second time – with the Oceania WMC title at stake. Street had done his homework this time around and wasn’t going to settle for the decision going against him.

“It was a really tough fight,” Michael remembers. “I dropped him in the second, and then he dropped me in the third. I ended up losing on split points.”

“Then, I was just over it [Thai boxing], so I took another break for 3 months. Then I had the itch again. I fought a Thai who was coming off three straight wins at Lumpini, on a show called Rumble at the Metro. I wanted my old-self back; I came out hard and angry, and it worked. I dominated him with punches and leg kicks and won by decision.”

Shortly after, Michael had the opportunity to avenge and old loss and bring to bear the single commodity that makes an older fighter and holds a younger one back – experience. “I fought Yudrawaii again. This time, I beat him on points to take the decision for the pro WMC Intercontinental title at 63.5kg.”

This set the scene for 2012, Michael’s biggest year yet, which hasn’t been without its disappointments. “I had Christmas off again and prepared for my next fight against Kampan. I had a really strong four months of diet and training to prepare. I was all set for Evolution – and then the show was cancelled.” It’s no surprise that his preparation going to waste had a strong negative effect.

“I was depressed! Slowly, over the last six years, I had worked my way up to becoming the main event, and then I got shit on.” Michael consoled himself the way he often does – with training and travel.

“Immediately after, I jumped on a plane and went to Amsterdam for a couple of months, to train in the Dutch Style. I chose Mejiro, which is Andy Souwer’s old gym. Andre Manaart is the head-trainer there. I have to say, I wasn’t overly pleased with the experience. It didn’t suit my style as well as I’d thought it would. The best part was sparring twice a week with some of the big boys; the 80kg guys.”

When asked what was missing, Michael provides a complex answer. “I think you had to be one of the gym’s fighters to really get help. In the general classes, the intensity wasn’t there, either. I trained twice a day; I’d go into the gym in the morning and do my own thing on the bag, and then go back to train for only an hour at night. I was staying in a hostel as well, which is a disruptive atmosphere. I couldn’t get the sleep I needed. In a hostel, people are coming back at all hours, drunk and, in Amsterdam, quite stoned as well. I had to go and find share accommodation in the end.”

The experience didn’t live up to expectations, so in mid-June, Michael decided to take drastic action. “I felt I was losing my edge, so I cut my stay short and went to Thailand. I stayed in Bangkok and trained at the Elite Boxing Gym. Nugget was there and he started training me. Then, one of the Thai trainers, Gae, took over. He was a really good trainer; I found I got a lot stronger in kicking, and my grappling improved so much because I had to do it every day. I was asked to fight and I fought on the Prince’s Cup, which was a WMC show. I won via second round KO with a spinning elbow. That was about one month ago.”

In the short time since, fate bought him back to Kampan.

“I got home start of August and fought on Total Carnage II. After the disappointment of Evolution, I finally got the opportunity [to fight Kampan]. I beat him on points; it was a tough fight.”

It seems that from Michael’s performances, he is, so to speak, very Thai. Suprisingly, when asked if he would live and fight in Thailand, the answer is a definitive ‘no’.

“The Thai style is completely opposite to my style,” he explains. “I go at a different pace; my style is an up-front, kickboxing-style of Muay Thai. It’s different to the Thais in that they try to fight more on points, like they’re playing a game. When I fight, I’m trying to knock your block off. I go out there like I’m trying to hurt you. In a nice way, of course.”

It’s hard to ask a twenty-two year old fighter to be philosophical about a career that had only been going for six. So far, however, the main things seem to be in place. “My body is holding up really well,” says Michael. “No injuries, and I’m still loving it.”

As far as the remainder of the year is concerned, Michael is scheduled to fight against the Thai fighter, Pornsanth, on Wayne Parr’s Caged Muay Thai show.

“I think I’m going to be doing a lot of boxing training,” says Michael. “At the end of day, I’ve worn kicks and elbows, but I’ve never been hit with a four-ounce glove. I’m going to try and make the most of my punches and finish it early.”

Beyond that it seems, the sky is the limit.

“Up until recently, I didn’t think there was much chance of fighting for a world title. Now, I believe that if I push, I can get there. I want to make my name into a legacy; something for young fighters to look up to, like Carnage or JWP.” He remains modest, however, and is emphatic that he has the opportunity to thank his sponsors.

“I really appreciate the support of Punish Fight Gear, Innate Vitality, Eco Electrics and my boss, Dece McDonald; Templar’s Code Clothing, A.P.C. Packaging and Craters, P.S.T. Performance Automotive, Eight-Ball Media, and Allan’s Industrial Products.”

Michael has all the hallmarks of a champion; heart, skill and courage. Like theirs, his career is already marked by the vicissitudes of success and disappointment. If he can keep pushing, he may earn his world title and cast a legacy to stand beside Australia’s best. His record and outstanding performances to date have given us the outline.

International Kickboxer Magazine, Nov/Dec 2012

Buakaw, known to his parents as Sombat Banchamek, is arguably one of the greatest fighters of the modern era. Over a career which spans a staggering 238 fights, he has established his career with a style and a slew of performances which have thrilled millions. Now, in the ultimate triumph of business over sport, it appears his career has been stolen from him – and us – in a legal quagmire. On the back of sixteen straight wins, he has been forced into retirement. JARROD BOYLE looks back over the reign of a great champion and wonders where to from here.    

Buakaw began his fighting career like so many other Thais – at eight years of age. His record is held to be in the vicinity of two-hundred-and-thirty fights, but many believe the number to be as high as 400. He began fighting in his home province of Buriram, in north-eastern Thailand. When he turned fifteen, he moved to Chachengsao and began his contract with the Por. Pramuk gym. He took on the name of the gym as his own and has found it as difficult to shake as the contract itself.

His career in Thailand, while shrouded in mystery compounded by inaccuracy, is not without sterling achievements. He started his professional career at featherweight and won the Omnoi Stadium title belt. From there, he went on to win the All-Thailand Featherweight title. As he grew older – and heavier – he rose through the weight classes. As a lightweight, he once again won the Omnoi Stadium belt. The most prestigious event of his career arrived in December 2002 at the age of 20, when he won the Toyota Marathon 140lb title at Lumpini Stadium. He met the Japanese fighter, Kobayashi, in the finals and defeated him. Ironically, amongst all his achievements, he has failed to capture a Lumpini title.

In 2004, a Japanese ex-pat, Hideki Suzuki, head-trainer at Ingram Gym in Bangkok, contacted K1 and succeeded in getting Buakaw slated for the K1 Max. A virtual unknown outside of his native country, he shocked the world by capturing the belt by defeating three of the world’s best fighters in one night; Wayne Parr, the Japanese, Kohi, and finally, Masato. He defined himself in the course of that tournament as being a cagey, highly-skilled kicker in the Thai style.

“The first time I met Buakaw was at the [K1 Max 2004] qualifier, I fought Duane Ludwig and he fought Jordan Thai,” remembers Parr. “I saw the highlights from the back room while I was getting ready. Very impressive; very strong. Jordan couldn’t touch him.

“That was the first time Buakaw had been overseas. He had heard of me in the [Thai] newspapers and wanted to hang out with me, not least of all because I could speak Thai. Once we were matched to fight on the main show though, he gave me the cold-shoulder, because I was now the opponent. He was one of the fastest people I’ve fought, but not much power. Nothing like Yodslanklai – that hurt! Buakaw was just fast.

“From then on, after he won the tournament, you could see the clothes getting better and better; he got a bit of a strut. He became like the Thai Masato. Don’t get me wrong; I’m a big fan. I watched all his fights. He’s entertaining and exciting. That’s made him one of the greatest fighters in the world.

“After 2005, he concentrated a lot more on his hands, because he had a lot of dubious decisions go against him. Buakaw dominated Souwer in the final of the 2005 K1 Max. It should never have been a draw; that decision was disgusting. I was actually sitting beside Andre Manaart watching (which was before Manaart started training Souwer). I bet him 100 Yen that Buakaw would win. Manaart tried to hand me the money after the third round and I told him, ‘Not yet, let’s just wait or the decision.’ Then, Manaart tried to give me the money after the extension round, as well. I said, ‘Let’s just wait until the ref lifts his hand.’ Then Souwer got the decision and I lost the money. That’s how certain we were.”

That said, Max was a sensational career move which garnered an international audience for Buakaw’s formidable skills. While his fight purses increased dramatically, his career as a Muay Thai fighter in his home country came to a halt. Many of the competition’s best fighters owe their reputation, at least in part, to fights against him, most notably Andy Souwer. It was clear after the 2005 loss to Souwer, Buakaw would have to develop his boxing skills if he was to capture more decisions.

The following year, he met Souwer in the finals with a flurry of punches that ended the fight by K.O. He was crowned K1 Max Champion for the second time. He remains, aside from Giorgio Petrosyan, the only Max fighter to have achieved this.

The second time Parr met Buakaw was in 2009 at Champion Versus Champion 2, in Jamaica.

“That time, it was under full Thai rules; [I felt] that fight was a lot closer than the first. He fought me the same way. He didn’t want to trade punches; he wanted to sit back and use his legs. I landed more strikes with my hands in that fight than the last one.

“Interestingly, he almost didn’t fight me. On the contract, the agreed weight was 71 kilos. When I weighed in at 71, his manager said ‘no’, they wouldn’t fight at more than 70. He wouldn’t get on the scales for about 45 minutes, until the contract was produced and the whole thing was sorted out.”

Since fighting Parr for the second time, he has developed both his audience and his reputation with a slew of fights against the best international opponents all over the world. He has become a regular fixture in Europe and features as a kind of rite-of-passage for rising European stars that sit around the 70kg mark. He has defeated all of them, except for a handful of losses to regular adversaries like Kraus, Souwer, and the Japanese Sato and Masato. He also claims one of the three Thai-shaped blots on Giorgio Petrosyan’s otherwise-spotless record.

The other Australian to have fought Buakaw more recently is Frank Giorgi. Frank met Buakaw on Thai Fight, a Thai promotion of a K1-style format conducted under full Thai rules.

“When I was waiting to go out, it was put to me that Buakaw was a national hero,” says Frank. “He was sponsored by the king and I was going to have to K.O. him to get the decision. When we weighed in, he came in two kilos under. He walks around at about 73, while I was getting around at 77. [During the fight] I felt that he was playing it safe and only doing what he had to do to win; he didn’t want to exchange with someone that was bigger than he was.

“He didn’t want to take too many risks. That said, he was too good, too smart, and super-quick. His eyes and timing were impeccable, and that’s the fruit of experience. Powerful, but not extremely. The knees and punches he hit me with were very powerful, but his legs, not so much. The right one was hard, sure, but the left kick, it was just ‘there’, if you know what I mean.”

Since fighting Frank, Buakaw has had another three contests. After fighting Djabar Askerov in Milan, Italy earlier this year, he disappeared suddenly. When he re-emerged some weeks later on Thai television, it was to apologise to his fans for the sudden absence and to explain the reason for it; his contract with Por. Pramuk gym was suffocating him. Stories of financial and personal mistreatment set the scene for a legal battle which climaxed with his retirement.

He has not recorded a loss since 2009 (to old foe Andy Souwer) and has put together a winning streak of sixteen fights since. One can only speculate on what will happen from this point. Perhaps the King of Thailand, Buakaw’s most auspicious sponsor, will come forward and deliver him from his oppressive contract; surely nothing carries as much weight in Thailand as a royal decree. That said, Yodsanklai is also circling as the number-one contender. The two top-welterweight Thais, not only in ranking but reputation, must surely be one of the most attractive promotions of the decade.

Only time will tell.

International Kickboxer Magazine, May/June 2013

Ramon Dekkers was the most significant Western fighter to wear the Mongkon. In fact, he and Rob Kaman can be credited with re-inventing Muay Thai in Thailand, its country of origin. He racked up a string of wins against the best Thais in the business and carved out an indisputable reputation in the process. The decision was unanimous; Dekkers was the first non-Thai to be recognized by the Thai press as ‘Fighter of the Year’ in 1992.

That achievement was topped earlier this year when the Thai Royal Family recognized him with an award for services to the sport, as well as appointing him the ambassador for all foreign fighters in Thailand. Again, on February 27 this year the world took notice. 43-year old Ramon died as a result of heart failure while riding his bike.

He is credited with 221 fights throughout the duration of a stellar career, winning 186 of them. In fairness, it must be remembered that his retirement was an on-again, off-again affair, and many of his losses occurred during that period. Toward the end of his career Ramon was so injured he couldn’t train, his left ankle having been surgically fused because of repeated breakages. He would hit the pads a couple of times to get his eye in and then fight.

Ramon had a date with destiny the day he walked into Cor Hemmer’s ‘Meang Ho’ gym in Breda, Holland. Dekkers was thirteen and had some experience with Martial Arts, having trained in judo and boxing. The instructor, Cor Hemmers, was teaching Muay Thai.

Hemmers himself had been a successful martial artist. He had trained and fought in both boxing and Kyokushin karate, eventually progressing to Muay Thai. In Thai Boxing, he had found an opportunity to bring both of those skills together. Hemmers had had 29 fights for 25 wins and, as a result of his experience, had developed a somewhat unique method of training and fighting. Ramon was perfectly suited to it.

Dekkers on left, Hemmers on right

According to Hemmers, boxing was the cornerstone of an effective Muay Thai or kickboxing style. The hands set the optimal distance to work at; from that distance, all other weapons will work effectively – that and the fact it becomes easier to land powerful kicks once your opponent is busy coping with your punches. This approach was the direct opposite of the traditional Thai style. Thai orthodoxy was built around kicking because the kick is a long-range, high-scoring weapon that allows you to inflict maximum damage from a safer distance.

Ramon made his debut at sixteen years of age, winning in trademark knockout style against a much older, more experienced boxer. He continued to build his reputation on the back of a spotless record. He won his first title at age 18; the MTBN Dutch Championship on 15 November 1987.

From there, made his way onto the world stage, meeting – and defeating – the best the sport had to offer. In Amsterdam, he defeated Namphon, the reigning Lumpinee champion, by points decision. From there, he found himself rematching Namphon at Lumpini stadium in Thailand. He couldn’t repeat the feat, however, and lost on points.

As many will know, the scoring system for Muay Thai is difficult for a Western audience to understand. The highest-scoring technique is dumping the other fighter on the canvas. Kicks and knees also score highly, while punches, unless they visibly injure the opponent, won’t score at all. Ramon struggled with the rules, but made up for it with his trademark combination of technique, power and aggression.

Thai fighters of that era had rudimentary hand skills at best. They were far more inclined to punch rather than box and generally didn’t waste much time at punching range. They were more interested in using punches to transition from long distance (kicking) to short (grappling, knees and elbows). This was all very well; Ramon proved the idea that if a man was powerful and skilled enough, he could knock you out in that dangerous middle ground. It is, after all, hard to argue with the judges’ decision when you’re lying on your back.

Watching highlight reels of Ramon makes the reasons for his dominance immediately apparent. His hyper-aggressive style and extraordinary power meant that his best opponents, such as Saengtiennoi ‘The Deadly Kisser’, were forced to match his awesome power and technique against their own durability. “He was a machine,” Ramon said of Noi. “He just kept on coming.”

Ramon met Coban ‘The Cruncher’ Lookchaomaesaitong on April 21, 1991. Ramon was knocked out by way of left hook, but was soon to avenge the loss when the two fought again. Between 1991 and 1993 Ramon fought Coban a total of four times, producing four fights which aficionados rate as the very best engagements in the history of the sport.

On the eighteenth of March 2001, Ramon fought Marino Deflorin in Amsterdam. It was an even contest until Ramon caught Deflorin and knocked him out with a left hook. Afterwards, he announced his retirement. As with most fighters it didn’t stick, however, and Ramon returned to the ring in 2005.

He took an MMA fight on a few days’ notice and lost by heel hook. From there, he participated in a number of K1 fights, notably tearing his right shoulder and being unable to punch before he fought Duane Ludwig. That aside, he still managed to floor Ludwig every round and walk out with a decision win, carrying his trophy with the only hand he could use.

Ramon busied himself after retirement by putting his formidable knowledge and experience to work as a trainer for both Team Dekkers and Golden Glory. He made his mark on fighters from around the world.

Paul Briggs, world Muay Thai champion and eventual world light-heavyweight contender was coached by his father, who went to great trouble to mail-order videotapes of both Dekkers and Kaman. Watching those tapes became both the basis of Briggs’ style and his approach to training. “Ramon had incredible technique and was strong, both mentally and physically. He didn’t flinch; he just absorbed all the punishment. Dekkers bought his own version of Muay Thai, rather than trying to be Thai himself. In doing that, he changed the sport.”

Ramon once fought in Australia, at Festival Hall in 1995. On the undercard was an up-and-coming champion, Anthony Vella. “He was the greatest ever,” says Anthony. “He took the sport to the next level, and inspired a lot of people. As far as Westerners fighting Thais, the Dutch did it first. They led the way. [Ramon] forced the Thais to change their game plan. Before that, they pretty much just kicked.”

Anthony counts meeting Ramon as one of the highlights of his career. “He came and congratulated me after my win. It was really inspiring.”

Ramon also had great impact on other trainers. Marcel Dragan first met Ramon at the Golden Glory gym in Breda in 2008 when he bought with him his talented heavyweight prospect, the shy but intimidating Raul Catinas.

“The morning training was over and Cor Hemmers introduced us to [Gokhan] Saki, [Alistair] Overeem, [Nicky] Holzken and [Errol] Zimmerman, who were drinking a cold juice at the bar. We talked for a while; Cor told us about the training schedule and then he left.

“I stepped into the gym with the feeling that I was in a temple where the Gods of War were worshipped. There was only one man, wearing a cotton anorak with hood, collecting the pads and shields left on the floor by the fighters. ‘Where can Ramon be?’ I asked myself, impatient to meet the European who defeated the best Muay Thai fighters in their own territory. While I was thinking about this, I collided with the shoulder of the man who was gathering the gear and whom I considered to be just an employee. The man apologized and turned around: it was Ramon Dekkers.”

Dekkers was the ideal coach. Not only did have knowledge and experience, his character meant that he was capable of being both tough when necessary and tender, also. One of his amateur fighters, Frank Van Der Korput, remembers him thus:

“My most fond memory of Ramon is when he tried to glue up my cut eyebrow. From quiet tough guy he instantly went into sort of a father-mode when he saw my bloodied face and guided me to a chair.

“I remember walking into his gym in the Pelmolenstreet for the first time, impressed by all the tough guys hanging around; the smell of stale sweat and Thai oil, and by how short Ramon actually was. He was always a bit quiet; he almost seemed too shy to talk about anything else than technique or training methods.

“Just being in his presence was a huge motivation to train harder though, to take more punishment and to dish out even more. I became a reasonably skilled amateur fighter and developed a passion for the sport. I got the confidence and felt I had the right to walk into dirty backstreet gyms all over the world.”

Frank attended Ramon’s funeral in his hometown of Breda, on March 7.

“I took the afternoon off work to attend. So did about 2000 other people. Quite a crowd at the funeral place; people from all walks of life came to pay their respect, people in shell suits next to people wearing Saville Row’s finest. A lot of prominent figures; Peter Aerts, Marloes Coenen, and other fighters. There was an airplane dragging a banner with a diamond on it circling the city that read ‘The Diamond 4Ever, Rest in Peace.’

“The ceremony itself was a sober event. The undertaker talked about Ramon’s life, achievements and death. In between some relatives spoke, also. When Ramon’s youngest daughter, Quinty, stood up and read out a last message for her father, the distinct sound of hearths breaking was clearly audible. Ramon’s brothers, Nicky and Carlo, also gave a brief talk about what their brother meant to them.

“Cor Hemmers, looking older and fragile, told the story about how he met Ramon’s mother, what it was like training young Ramon, what they achieved over the years, first in Thailand, later in the Netherlands and all over the world. Despite his fragile appearance, Cor made a strong impression. He was stoic in restraining his emotion.”

I had the honour of being trained by Ramon in 2008. I had great trouble concentrating and often frustrated him because I was suffering from a bad case of being star-struck. I had similar problems with Stefan Leko and Chalid ‘Die Faust’ Arrab, but with Dekkers, it was different. He was the sport; both his mode of training and because of the way his performances in the ring had changed it. It was as if he had re-created Muay Thai around him and the world had taken notice.

The first, most striking feature was his power. When I trained with him, he had been enjoying the good life and had probably weighed about eighty kilos. He punched and kicked as hard as some of the Golden Glory heavyweights and every time he hit me, I couldn’t even cover or check properly, let alone remember the combination. All I could think was, “Wow! I’ve just been hit by Ramon Dekkers!”

One night, we had to essentially cross Holland to attend a ‘Kickbox Gala’ to see Gokhan Saki and Errol Zimmerman fight. Ramon drove; I sat in the passenger seat and his step-brother, Nicky Hemmers, sat in the back. The Volkswagen GTI has a reputation for being a fast car; that night, Ramon proved it.

We overtook most of the traffic as if it was parked as Ramon wove his little white lightning bolt in and out of traffic. I sat very still and watched the speedometer. Nicky probably took note of how stiff and still I was, and, laughing, he explained that Dutch speeding tickets were a lot cheaper than Australian ones, and this was the way Ramon normally drove.

It seemed to me that you saw the essence of Ramon the man both when he was fighting, and when he driving. He was in control, and it wasn’t in his nature to worry. When we got to the fights, I got out of the car and had to prevent myself from kissing the bitumen.

“See? Safe and sound,” he said. “No problem.” That was Ramon. Faster and faster and faster.

Thanks to Mark Van Hogeloon, long-time Dekkers Sportschool member, for fact-checking and advice.

International Kickboxer Magazine, Sept/Oct 2014

Erik Miskle was in danger of entering a safe, conservative lifestyle when he was saved from it by a brush with Muay Thai fever.

“After working hard and saving up money to build a house,” he says, “I put an offer in on a block of land. I got mucked about and missed out. At twenty-three, I quickly realized that I was about to tie myself down to an average Joe lifestyle of working to pay off a house.”

The security of home ownership, once it became a reality, also showed Erik that other aspirations would have to be sacrificed. He responded by immersing himself in the Muay Thai lifestyle.

“I had recently won a couple of interclub competitions and was feeling the Muay Thai fever, so I scrapped the building plans and booked flights to Thailand.” The Patong Boxing Gym was his first port of call.

“I showed up on the doorstep of the Patong Boxing Gym with nothing to lose.” He may have felt he had ‘nothing to lose’, but the first thing to go were his illusions.

“Training twice a day was a massive shock,” says Erik. “All I did was train, eat, and sleep. If it wasn’t for that spontaneous decision to travel to Thailand and immerse myself in the sport, I doubt I would have achieved as much as I have so far.”

Thailand has been good to Erik, rewarding his dedication and persistence with opportunities that should encourage any aspiring fighter.

“Training and fighting in Thailand made me love the sport even more!” he says. “The atmosphere of the streaming-hot stadiums, packed full of people yelling and gambling on the fights is a rite-of-passage for everyone serious about Muay Thai.”

Erik can also claim the unusual experience of having his first fight in Thailand.

“My first proper unpadded fight was in Thailand,” he says. “I had trained hard and my trainers had confidence in me, which meant I had confidence in myself. [When] I went into the ring [I was] nervous but composed; I gave it all I had and got the win. I think that most of all, I wanted to impress my trainers with good technique!”

After a series of strong performances, Erik found himself a fixture on one of the most distinguished events on Thailand’s Muay Thai roster: The King’s Birthday Celebrations.

“I got home after a hard day working construction and checked my messages. One of them was from my friend at the Patong Boxing Gym. He asked if I’d be interested in competing at the King of Thailand’s birthday celebrations.” Erik was swift to seize the opportunity.

“As if that’s even a question!”

Shortly after, he was back on a plane.

“I headed over and stayed for about four months this time. I trained very hard and had a couple of warm up fights [first]. I fought a more experienced Brazilian fighter named Manoel Dias Moeira Jnr. He was on a six-fight winning streak in Bangkok’s stadiums.”

After a hard contest, Erik succeeded in coming away with the win.

“I managed to beat him on points and establish myself as a serious contender [in the process]. It was an incredible experience and still the highlight of my career!”

Erik also faced his toughest opponent in Thailand.

“Kampaan Santaweesook. It was a MASSIVE step up for me!” he says. “I’d only had about twenty fights from memory and he’d knocked out about eighty-odd opponents in the first round alone!” Not to be deterred, Erik had faith in his trainers and his preparation and took on the challenge.

“We went the distance and he took the win on points, but what I took away from the fight was invaluable. I gained a new-found confidence in my ability.”

Travel has remained high on Erik’s agenda, the added bonus of seizing his Muay Thai dreams.

“The year before I fought at the King’s Birthday, I travelled around South East Asia for a few months with my partner, Nicole. I visited a few gyms and got in some really good training at places such as the K1 Fitness and Fight Factory in Vietnam and at the Cambodian Olympic Stadium Gym (which doubles as some sort of military base), with legendary brothers Eh and Ot Phuthong.”

In addition, Erik immersed himself in the Burmese version of Muay Thai, Lethwei. While very similar in style, Lethwei also allows the use of head-butts.

“I started training at the Yangon YMCA [in Burma]. I also trained at the Myanmar Ministry of Sport alongside some of the nation’s champions.” It sounds a little different to the set-up at the Australian Institute of Sport.

“They were some of the harshest training conditions I had ever seen,” says Erik. “The floors were rough concrete; paint tins were filled with cement and used as weights and there were goats and chickens running around.”

As is so often the case, the tougher the training, the tougher the fighters. “In what most people would view as rough training conditions, some of the toughest fighters I have ever met [were produced]!”

The political situation deteriorated before Erik had the opportunity to test his skills in the ring, however.

“We were there in 2010, right when the uprising in Egypt was taking place and things were getting tense. As the situation deteriorated [in Egypt], revolutionary fever started to take hold in other parts of the world.”

Evidence of this was visible by a heightened military presence around town.

“We started to notice an increase in military in the streets, sporting some pretty serious weaponry. There was an uneasy feeling in the air and we decided it was best to leave.”

Erik’s sights are now set on climbing the international ladder, a goal that is becoming increasingly attainable since he began working at Geelong’s Elite Training Centre.

“I was working in construction as a mobile plant operator and labourer. It was very physically demanding and sometimes impacted on my ability to train. [Now], working at the Elite Training Centre in Geelong is my day job. I take Muay Thai classes and personal training sessions there with a range of clients. It’s a very rewarding job that provides me with the opportunity to train twice a day.”

The offer was so good, Erik was willing to make the daily commute to Geelong from metropolitan Melbourne.

“I love living in Melbourne and can’t see myself moving from here for a very long time yet.”

Erik’s experience in Muay Thai has given him a solid basis for his career as a personal trainer.

“A lot of my clients are looking to lose weight and build lean muscle,” he says. “After years of research into various training and nutrition methods – which I have usually tested on myself – along with the ability to cut large amounts of weight for fights, I’ve developed methods of training that yield outstanding results.”

As with the best trainers, Erik considers experience to be the most important qualification of all.

“Rather than just telling them to do something, I explain why it’s necessary so that it makes sense and they remember.”

These values are consistent, whether he is training someone whose goal is to drop five kilograms, or someone who wants to step into the ring and fight.

“For my fighters, I place a large emphasis on both technique and fitness. You can have the best technique in the world, but if you aren’t fit enough to carry it to the last bell, then it’s useless.”

3: Fifty-One Jokers and an Ace

Dear Eurydice,

I tried to call you last Sunday, to no avail. I am sorry if I made you uncomfortable.

One of my favorite writers is Margaret Atwood. She wrote a book called Cat’s Eye which I read – and loved – as a teen-ager. It opens with a line that comes back to me, year after year.

“…I began then to think of time as having a shape, something you could see, like a series of liquid transparencies, one laid on top of another. You don’t look back along time but down through it, like water. Sometimes this comes to the surface, sometimes that, sometimes nothing. Nothing goes away.”

I remember lots of things about our six days, but the main one that comes to the surface was when you asked, “Who is going to love me, Jarrod? Who is going to want to marry me?” The injustice of you needing to ask such a question cut me to the quick. I said, ‘I will love you!’

I didn’t know what the hell else to say.

For the next six weeks, I did not read either your letter that followed or my reply. Things like letters turn into labyrinths if you keep poring over them and they tell you less and less about their author and become more about the topography of your own head.

What I do believe is that I first had to convince you my feelings were not about possession and control. I hope that, if nothing else, six weeks of silence has acquitted me of being a man you should be either frightened or wary of.

I have also been consistent, which is another hallmark of sanity. I find that drugs don’t change me much; they just make things more intense. After your final letter, I pretty much stopped masturbating because I didn’t feel like it.

I have probably jerked off once a week and every time I have an orgasm, I find your name is in my mouth. I can’t watch porn, either; I keep hearing the girls say, “Who’s going to love me, Jarrod?”

For the first two weeks, I woke up at 3am every day with a head full of you, as vivid as neon. I spend a hell of a lot of time walking around my house, talking to you about all kinds of things. I want to talk to you about all the books I own and all the films I’ve seen.

Most of all though, I want you to talk to me. The week we spent was like reading the first chapter of the best book I ever started and then losing it in a fire.

I want to take you places in my big yellow car; the Yarra Valley, the Dandenong Ranges, and all kinds of other places besides. Had we continued as we began, I would have asked you to go to Bali or Thailand for a week so we could do nothing but be together, lie on the beach and make love.

And you could sleep in my arms every night.

All my friends have heard the story (I like to relive it), except for the parts I keep a secret. I like to keep those secrets; I feel as if they are the final things that keep us close. I spend the day with all these things hanging round my neck, this chain of beautiful, glorious pain, and lie down with it at night.

1.

Melbourne, as a city, is a lot like London.

Pat believed this like a superstition as he sauntered down the corridor that connected the aeroplane to the terminal. Temperature and light-controlled, the airport was as bland and sterile as a hospital. He passed the tinsel and glittering lights of the duty-free stores, the last-ditch opportunity for passengers to blow their cash under the guise of a holiday.

“Johnnie Walker – two for one with a free carry case, sir!” shouted an Indian salesman from a doorway.

“No, thanks,” he replied, with a laugh that was half-ironic and half-smug.

The disorderly flow of passengers began to trickle into the dozen or so races that formed the last formal line of immigration. He joined a queue and absently opened his passport, marking the identity page with his boarding pass from force of habit.

“Passport, please?” asked the woman seated in the booth when he reached the front of the queue. He pushed it across the desk, under the Perspex barrier that officially separated them. She deftly removed the boarding pass and laid it to one side. Pat took off his Kangol hat and scratched his head.

A heavy-set man with his hands behind his back craned his neck to read over her shoulder. She flicked a few pages, stamped one and handed it back with the boarding pass folded into it.

“Thank you,” she said, “Welcome home.”

He took the passport, gave a polite smile and made to walk through the barrier when the man who had been reading over her shoulder stepped forward to block his way. Pat let his shoulders hang as if the weight of his gladstone bag and passport drew them down.

“Good holiday?” the man asked in a friendly tone, extending a hand for the passport. Pat handed it over.

“Yes, thanks,” he answered.

“What did you do in the UK?” asked the officer as he opened the passport and began thumbing through it.

“Not much. Worked and travelled around on a holiday visa.”

“What did you do for a living?”

It’s funny how the broad strokes are the ones we cling to, even though they are the most superficial. He hadn’t wanted to write ‘bouncer’, but he had to write something, and as yet, he didn’t know what else described him. Better bouncer than cleaner. Or yardie. Or patient.

“Security,” he confirmed, trying to take the macho edge off the exchange. Experience had taught Pat that polite submission was the fastest way to resolve this kind of interface. The officer flipped a few pages, looking at the other stamps.

“What did you do in Thailand?”

“Relaxing. Lying on the beach in the sun.”

“You’d need it after London.”

“You’re not kidding.” Pat had spent a few days lying on the beach on Phi Phi Island, trying to lift the taint of sickness from his skin.

The boarding pass slid out of the passport and drifted towards the floor. Both Pat and the security officer bent down to pick it up, reaching for the rectangle of paper that lay on hard white tiles slick with florescent light. Pat was careful to move to the right so they wouldn’t clash heads.

“Thanks, mate,” said the officer, smiling as he handed back the passport.

“Thank you,” Pat said, acknowledging the officer’s courtesy with a smile.

Pat walked briskly from immigration, down the escalator and past the cluster of passengers beginning to dodge and jostle at the baggage carousel. He followed one of the red lines painted on the floor straight to the X-ray queue.

“No baggage?” asked the friendly old man in the immigration uniform that staffed it.

“That’s it,” he said, plonking the weathered brown gladstone bag onto the conveyor belt, secretly hoping the X-ray wouldn’t give away the python-skin wallet he’d hidden in a pair of socks. The old man hit the button and the conveyor whined to life, drawing his bag past the vinyl straps that hung down like seaweed at the mouth of an underwater cave. Pat tried not to watch the face of the woman seated behind the screen.

A man sauntered over from behind the x-ray machine, reaching and taking Pat’s passport out of his hand. Immediately, Pat’s hackles went up under his duffel coat.

“Where ya been?”

“London. Stop-over in Thailand.”

“What did ya do?”

“London? Or Thailand?”

“Both.”

“I was on a working holiday in the UK, and then I decided to come home.” He thought to say, ‘I got sick,’ but decided this was too close to an admission of weakness, so he kept it to himself.

“And Thailand?”

“Relaxing.”

“What’s in the bag?” he asked, gesturing over his shoulder with the passport.

“Clothes, books, that kind of thing. I’m sure you can see it on the screen.” Pat flashed him a smile, only a little self-consciously. He was still worried about the stains on his teeth.

The gladstone bag had been passed without comment by the female security officer and now sat on the coasters at the other side. The officer held Pat’s passport up, like a man might hold up a stick for a dog, to make it jump. Pat lifted his hand and took the passport, this time showing his teeth, just slightly, for a different reason.

“You know what?” said the officer. “I want to look in that bag.”

International Kickboxer Magazine, Nov/Dec 2014

Andre Meunier is a ‘can do’ sort of fighter.

“I had been training with Keith Ellis at the time [in boxing], but was having a layoff. I ran into James Roesler, head-trainer of Ultimate Kickboxing in Hopper’s Crossing down the local shops.

“He’d just opened his own school, and invited me down to hit the bags and do some sparring. After a few weeks, he asked me if I wanted a kickboxing fight.

‘What do I have to do?’ I asked.

‘Kick and punch; you’ll be right,” he said.

I said, ‘Sweet.’

Since then, Meunier has had thirty kickboxing fights, six pro boxing, a slew of amateur boxing fights and a foray into MMA. He is Victoria’s number one heavyweight and has developed a reputation as an entertaining fighter based on his willingness to take on anyone, anywhere, any time.

This attitude has snagged him a spot on a big promotion in Japan alongside some of the biggest names in the sport, including Sakmongkol and Peter Aerts.

“I’ve been training at the WKO in Pattaya, In Thailand; Sifu McInnes’ school. McInnes is putting this show on. He knew I wanted a fight in Japan; it’s a bit of a dream for all fighters, I suppose.

“I’d said to him I wanted to do it; I didn’t care who. Just tell me where to be and what time. Next minute, I was offered to fight. Representing Australia is a big thing.”

Meunier’s opponent is a fighter well-known to Japanese kickboxing fans – K1 stalwart, German Chalid ‘Die Faust’ Arrab. Andre is not intimidated, however.

“He’s good; he’s fought everyone. I’ve watched him twice, and that’s enough. I tend to fight my game, not focus on them. I look at their strengths a bit, but they might have changed their style since then. I’ll go in my way, suss out the first round, and if it doesn’t work, then I’ll try and bash him.”

“Nick Kara will corner me, and some of the other boys from WKO. I’ve got friends from Melbourne coming to watch. As long as the crowd are happy, I’ll be happy. Hopefully, I’ll come away with the win.”

Thailand is a popular destination for many fighters working up to big fights, always for similar reasons.

“There’s no distractions. The heat, humidity; the intensity of it is good. You jump out of bed in the morning and by the time you jump off the scooter at the hill to go for your run, you’re already sweaty. After training, you go get a massage after. I get a massage on my legs every day.”

Nick Kara has been training Andre for a long time now, and there’s a strong mutual respect connecting the two. Kara is a former world Thai boxing champion who won his title from the highly respected American, Manson Gibson, in Las Vegas.

Nick is especially well-known to fight fans in recent times as one of the pad holders on The Ultimate Fighter, endearing himself to audiences through his love of practical jokes.

“Every day at 7am, Nick is there timing me doing my runs, and breaking my balls. I’ve got so much respect for him making the effort, it makes me want to break my balls for him.”

Lumpini legend Sakmongkol is Andre’s pad holder.

“He fights at seventy-odd kilos. He’s had four hundred-plus fights. I really appreciate him taking the time to teach me – I’m not the easiest bloke to teach.”

Andre has fought at international level before, being slated on a K1 Turkey show in 2007.

“That was my seventh fight – my opponent was forty-odd fights into his career. It was a wonderful experience; Turkey is somewhere I never thought I’d go. The promoters didn’t make it easy for me, though – I was flown in two days before the show and still had jet-lag by the time I fought.

“That and the fact I had to sit on the bus for two or three hours between the hotel and the venue and having to wait for six hours until I fought. That said, Turkey was a wonderful place and I was very glad I’d done it.”

Many of the best kickboxers understand there is a crossover between fighter and entertainer, and Andre effectively works off that basis. His willingness to talk about his past creates the impression of a man whose character matches his appearance.

“I got started in boxing after I got out of gaol,” he says. “I was gaoled for a month for assault. It was alright; I took it on the chin. When you do something like I did – and get caught – you have to do it. I didn’t want to go back into nightclubs; that was just trouble.

“Chris Noble was a really good boxer from Sunshine, and he got me training. I went on to train with Keith [Ellis], brother of Lester. I had some amateur fights. I used to go down on the night, weigh in and my opponents would disappear. I turned pro in order to get opponents.”

Being committed to both disciplines begs the question as to whether he ever gets confused during his fights.

“When I’ve got my boxing boots on, I know I’m not throwing kicks,” he says.

Andre has had six fights for six wins as a professional boxer, although the most high-profile of his opponents backed out in the end, also.

“I was the first fighter pegged to fight Barry Hall. I was in the Herald Sun and interviewed on SEN [radio].”

While many were critical of Hall’s sudden withdrawal, Andre is more philosophical.

“There was a heap of pressure on him; he was the bad-boy of AFL. There were just as many people that wanted to see him belted as there were people that wanted to see him win. He probably had another think about it and considered what it was going to do for him.

“He’d gotten over the training; gotten over it all. Anyone who’s been in the ring will know, it’s hard to do. I had nothing to lose, and more to gain. He had a lot to lose.”

Andre is generous in his assessment, given that his own attitude is considerably different.

“If I say I’ll fight, I’ll fight. There’s been occasions where I’ve turned up on the night with a couple of broken ribs.”

This attitude goes down well with promoters and fans alike, and that dependability, coupled with a willingness to take on anyone at any time, has seen him fight many of the biggest names in Australia.

“The offer came in to fight Peter Graham on a week’s notice, and we took it. I wasn’t as fit as I could have been, and I was lazy on checking the leg kicks. I gave him a run in the first; I don’t think he knew what he’d come across. I hit him with everything, including the kitchen sink.”

Over the duration of the contest, Peter’s conditioning was too much and the fight ended in Graham’s favour via leg kicks in the third.

The most high-profile of Andre’s kickboxing fights was against Graham’s long-standing nemesis, fellow Australian Paul Slowinski.

“That was an awesome experience,” says Andre. “The crowd was capacity and the line was around the building to get inside. I’ve got a following in Adelaide and of course, Paul’s the man. I trained hard for it; I tried to protect myself from that high left kick.”

Unfortunately, Andre didn’t get the opportunity to display the extent of his training and Paul’s famous high-kick found its target early in the first.

“I lost fifteen minutes of my life,” he says. “The first thing I remember was standing up in the changing rooms, fully-clothed. Apparently, I’d been talking to people and signing autographs, taking photos, the lot, for some time.”

An alarming story, and one you wouldn’t want to tell your mum. That said, Andre knows he got off lightly.

“I ended up with seven stitches inside my mouth. Paul’s last opponent was also knocked out with that same technique. He ended up with a fractured eye-socket and a broken cheekbone. It could have been worse.”

“I think Kickboxing is harder [than boxing],” he says. “There’s more to worry about; more getting thrown. If you’re not checking, your legs get battered and it’s more draining.

“Boxing is still enjoyable, though. I want to have a few more boxing fights, too; I love the challenge. There’s a difference between the footwork and the stance.”

When asked to nominate his toughest opponent, Andre is slow to answer.

“When I fought Paul he knocked me straight out and Peter [Graham] was tough, but as far as a good war… I’d have to say Rob Fogarty. I fought him for the WMC Australian Heavyweight title in 2008 under full Thai rules – it was my first fight [under full Thai].

“We bashed each other. He broke both feet and ended up in a wheelchair. He won, but that night, I went out dancing and walked out of the hotel the next day. We still give each other a hard time about that,” says Andre.

Surprisingly, Andre’s sporting background is in basketball, a sport both his teenaged sons excel in.

“I’ve got two sons; Malik, who’s fifteen and Tyrese, who’s twelve. Both of them are really good basketballers; they’re playing at the top schoolboy level. The older one, if he gets bored of basketball, he might try fighting. The younger one, Tyrese, definitely will. He lives and breathes it. They’re coming over to Thailand to train with me in a couple of weeks.”

Watching your own children fight is a notoriously difficult undertaking for any parent, possibly more difficult for a parent that has spent time in the ring themselves.

“When it comes time, I’ll back ‘em,” says Andre. “I don’t know how I’ll feel about it, but I’ll make sure they have everything they need so they don’t get hurt and can enjoy it as much as they can.”

Fighting is high on the agenda of many young men and brings with it the shadow of responsibility. As the father of two teenaged boys, this isn’t lost on Andre.

“A kid at my [older] son’s school was hit recently and went into a coma. It affected him and as a result, it affected me. I want to try and help out with that ‘One Punch’ campaign. I want to try and make a difference.”

Andre hasn’t forgotten anyone that has helped him on his path. Before finishing the interview, he’s sure to mention his sponsors.

“I have to thank Virus Performance Sportswear. Their gear really helps me out with training and recovery. Hart and Huntington, which is tattoo lifestyle wear. Rockwell Watches; also, Platinum Gym out of Hopper’s Crossing where I do all my strength and conditioning. Jetport parking are awesome. And,” he says with a wry grin, “I’m always looking for anyone else!”

International Kickboxer Magazine, Jan/Feb 2015

The first point of contact for the elusive Ghot Seurnoi is his trainer, Soren Mongkontong. When we spoke, I explained that I had made an appointment to interview Ghot at ten thirty the following morning.

“Don’t be silly, mate. There’s no way he’ll be awake. He’ll have been up all night on his PlayStation.”

After some ringing around, I managed to catch up with him. Even though it was late afternoon, he still sounded half-awake.

“I’ve owned every PlayStation so far,” said Ghot. “I can sit down, relax and escape reality. I usually stay up pretty late, and get up late. It’s always been that way. It doesn’t matter if I have anything on or not.

“Usually, the PS gets a good thrash. I’ve owned every one of them so far. I like everything that’s violent… violence is just more entertaining and no one gets hurt. There’s no consequence with video games.”

The Australian Thai boxer defining himself in Thailand against the best of the best is a common-enough story. The Thai boxer from Thailand making an impact on the Australian scene is a somewhat rarer variation.

“My father met my mother when he was working in Thailand,” said Ghot, one of the leading lights of Nugget McNaught’s NTG stable in Queensland. “My mother was from a remote village, about two hours drive from Bangkok. Anyway. They got married and came to Australia in about 1995.”

Ghot was not a stranger to Thai boxing however, having trained and had his first fight at home.

“I fought when I was about six. It was intense, because of the energy and all the people. It’s a whole new experience the first time; you don’t really know what you’re doing [because you’re] full of adrenalin.”

It was a long time in between drinks, which is hard to believe for a fighter who has come to dominate his weight class over the course of thirty-seven fights, earning himself a WMC Oceania Title and a WKN World Thai Boxing title in the process.

“I started training again here in Australia in 1997. I was training with one gym for two weeks. They offered me a fight and I took it, and lost. I stopped [training] because I felt bad.”

For a while, Got amused himself with basketball and Jiu Jitsu, until a chance meeting with Nugget McNaught.

“My mum has a good friends of hers who is Thai and used to own a restaurant where Nugget and his team would go for dinner every Friday night. She offered to introduce me. I wanted to find a good gym, but couldn’t find one hard enough. ‘I’ll introduce you,’ said my mother’s friend, ‘But I’ll warn you, he’s pretty rough.’ I went down and trained. Nugget liked my determination and I’ve been there ever since.”

It was six months of hard preparation until Nugget felt that Ghot was ready to fight.

“I had my first fight for NTG in 2001. I won by KO. I felt a lot better; I was ready. And I’ve been pretty successful since then.”

Nugget has gathered a strong team around him in terms of ‘Little Boss’ Soren Mongkontong and an array of strong, talented fighters to provide plenty of sparring.

“Soren’s style is different to Nugget’s,” Ghot said. “He’s calmer, and cooler. But we get on really well.”

Dane ‘Daddy Kool’ Beauchamp has been a long-term fixture of Ghot’s career. They have been working together since Ghot’s early days in the gym.

“We’re usually throwing down every week-end,” said Ghot. “[Dane is] very sharp; very smart. Because we’ve been training together since day one, we know each other so well, we need to think a lot when we spar. Most times, we spar at – or close to – one hundred per cent. We’ve dropped each other a number of times. When we spar, it’s as close to a real fight as possible.”

“When we started, he had no idea,” said Beauchamp. “I’d had about ten fights… he was just a punching bag. He had a jiu jitsu background, and he was doing all these wacky kicks. He had no idea about getting punched and how to defend himself. His head’s like a granite bench [though], so he was alright.”

Dane was quick to summarize Ghot’s strengths as an athlete.

“He was always quick learning. Natural with the clinch and kicking. He really came into his own when we bought our Thai trainer over. They could speak their own lingo; [the trainer could] explain [things] to Ghot a lot better. That mixture of the Thai trainer and Nugget was just perfect for him.”

“After Ghot retired,” said Soren, “He’d come down and spar Daddy every Saturday, and that’s all he’d do.” In this way, Ghot was never too far away from the sport which had become his anchor.

“I retired from 2008, or 9, until 2011,” Ghot said, citing a list of reasons. “I’d been training so long; my girlfriend, little bit of problems, the usual stuff; life. That, and [the fact that] I couldn’t be bothered training.”

Soren said that was only part of the story.

“He was so good he couldn’t get fights any longer,” said Soren. “There was no one left for him to fight, or no one that was willing.”

“He stopped for three years and literally did not do a single thing,” Dane said. “I’d go around to his house and say, ‘At least go for a run or something’. ‘There’s no need,’ he’d say. He wouldn’t even run to get the phone.”

With little other than the PlayStation to make claims on his time, Ghot soon felt aimless. It was that directionless feeling which bought him back to Thai boxing.

“I’d done it for so long, I felt empty; I didn’t feel grounded. The only thing that kept me going was the gym. It was a chore, living day-to-day without it, so… here I am again. After that break, I appreciate it more than ever now. I’ve been here every day since then.”

Ghot’s routine is well-established.

“I train pretty hard, but mainly to keep fit. Four or five weeks before a fight is when I turn it on. Before a fight, I triple the intensity. Regardless, I’m here Monday to Saturday, six days a week.”

Daddy Kool told a somewhat different story.

“We worked together, training twice a day together, drove back and forth in the one car, staying at my house. Nugget didn’t trust us on our own. If we were together, we’d both suffer the consequences [for not showing up]. The only time we didn’t see each other was when we’d have a shower or go to the toilet. For a couple of months. It was torture.”

The real indicator of a fighter’s quality is in their opponents. According to Soren Mongkontong, the calibre of Ghot’s opponents is crucial to his performance.

“The problem with Ghot is that he’s a nice guy,” he says. “He’ll fight to his opponent’s level; that’s why he has a low KO ratio. He won’t necessarily go for the KO, just because he can. It’s always good when he fights someone like Joe Concha or Thomahawk, because they’re so good and they’re always trying to kill him… he has to fight at that level. They bring the best out in him. It takes a lot of confidence to fight that way.”

Confidence, and a whole lot of ability. Joe Concha, who bought Ghot to a split draw on April six of this year, testified to it.

“He’s very skilful,” said Joe. “I stood taller, so I felt I could manage myself in the clinch. [Ghot] moves well and counters well… [he’s] very unpredictable. Very tricky.

“He does a lot of feints; changes up his combos. I knew he was very much a counter-fighter, so going forward would have played to his game plan. When he’d trade, I would move, so as not to fall into his plan. My approach was to fight skill with skill.”

Joe was analytical in his summation of their first and only engagement.

“[Next time] I’d go heavier on the legs and in the clinching. The first few rounds, I was too cautious of his style and didn’t stick to my game plan. As the fight went on, my kicks were finding their range. I’d love to do the rematch if we could agree on the weight.”

Michael ‘Thomahawk’ Thompson, the rising star of Australian Muay Thai, has met Ghot twice, and was unable to prevail against him.

“The first fight was in 2005,” Ghot said. “He was very young, like seventeen. [He was] probably the toughest opponent yet. Not just strong; pretty smart, too. Got a lot of courage [and] won’t stop coming. Unless you’re prepared, [you’ll] be up for a hard fight.”

The second time Ghot met Thomahawk was to contest the WKN World Title. Ghot repeated the performance. He remains characteristically tight-lipped about his success, attributing his win to the fact that he was “well-prepped for that fight.”

Ghot’s last few fights have provided a few more scratches in the ‘win’ column.

“I just fought Sone Vannathy from New Zealand on Destiny 3. It went pretty well; I had a win. My opponent was a puncher. He didn’t catch me. Before that, I fought in Malaysia for Evolution. I won [against] Ali Yaakub [who is] one of the best Malay fighters around. He fought Daddy Kool in 2008. I dropped him in the first; I didn’t want to go five rounds with him if I could help it. It ended up going the full five. It was a war.”

When asked who was next on the hit list, Ghot was characteristically detached:

“Whoever.”

Ghot Seur Noi is either supremely confident or terminally laid-back; it’s hard to say which. Perhaps the last word is best given to Dane ‘Daddy Kool’.

“He is the most underrated fighter in Oz; his natural ability is right up there. Skill, agility; it’s phenomenal. He’s a good athlete; he can do anything he puts his mind to. He could have been anything. It wouldn’t matter what he did. But if he’s not interested, he is not interested. PlayStation should be his job. If he put as much energy into training as he did into playing games, he’d be Superman.”

It’s a long way from world champion to Superman, but it should make for interesting viewing. Stay tuned.

International Kickboxer Magazine, May/June 2015

Hi Gabriel, how old are you?

I’m twenty-nine.

What weight do you fight at?

One hundred and forty-three pounds, or sixty-five kilograms.

What does your fight record stand at?

Twenty-six wins and two losses, with eight of those wins by KO.

What titles do you currently hold?

I am the current GLORY Featherweight Champion, WKN Pro World Champion, and the WKF Pro World Champion. In the past I have held a number of amateur titles, including two ISKA World Championships, an ISKA North American belt, an ISKA Canadian Championship, and a WKA BC belt.

How did you become involved in martial arts?

My father started teaching my brother and I martial arts at a young age. When I was around eight years old, he signed us up at our first Karate dojo. One of his rules was [that] we had to get our black belts. I’m very glad that was something he required.

Did you play other sports growing up?

I did a few other sports here and there; soccer and rock climbing, but my favourite was martial arts. I trained in karate, jiu-jitsu, and aikido before I transitioned to kickboxing at around sixteen years old.

Do you still practice Shotokan at all? Is it a good basis for a kickboxer?

I haven’t done any Shotokan training in almost ten years. Ever since I started my amateur career in 2006, I’ve been entirely focused on kickboxing. But I do believe my karate background was helpful. It helped with balance and the ability to have an assortment of flashy kicks. Plus, I guess I get to practice a little when I teach.

Did you alter your technique once you began training in kickboxing and Muay Thai?

Very much. I spent four to five years trying to alter my point-fighting habits and learning to box and strike with power. It took a lot of training to learn to keep my chin tucked.

How did you find training in Thailand? Did you ever fight there? If so, what was the experience like?

I’ve never fought in Thailand. I was training for an ISKA North American title fight back home and didn’t want to risk getting cut and missing out on the chance to win the title. I really enjoyed the training, though. My clinch game improved dramatically and I felt very confident in my skills after training there.

I sparred with a lot of guys in Thailand and they were always trying to hurt me. I’ve been told by so many people that guys in Thailand don’t spar hard; I’d have to disagree with that. Every gym I went to we’d put on headgear, 18oz gloves, and go really hard.

And the trainers loved it when I’d out-work their students. They’d come over give me water while smiling and make their students do more rounds with me. I was really surprised by the intensity in sparring.

Before going to Thailand I’d only trained with Canadians but over there, I realized I could hold my own with Thais and all the foreigners I worked with.

You fought – and defeated – Joe Concha for the ISKA super-lightweight amateur world title. How did you approach Joe? Did you know much about him beforehand? How did the fight progress?

I knew a bit about Joe before we fought; I always like to do as much research as possible about opponents and back then, he had a few videos on youtube. I can’t remember what my game plan was, but we had a good fight. I think I won four or five rounds and I put him down in the fifth with a body shot.
He was a very good opponent for me. He had a clean style and was quite good. We were both undefeated and ISKA told me Canadians hadn’t beaten an Australian for a world title in 18 years. That made the win very exciting.

Joe was awesome. Such a nice guy, and a good athlete. He ended up going out with my friends after the fight and taught them the Melbourne shuffle! I wasn’t there because I did my normal post-fight routine of just relaxing, but my training buddies still talk about how cool he was.

Your fights were conducted according to Oriental rules until 2009, when you began to fight under full Thai rules. How did you find the transition?

I have always fought Oriental rules, actually. I’ve trained for two or three Muay Thai fights, but they all fell through. I enjoyed training with elbows and especially clinching, but now I like to focus on GLORY rules because they gave me a great opportunity to be a part of their organization.

You took 2012 off. Was there any specific reason, or did you simply feel you needed the rest?

I actually fought once in 2012. It was in September, against Lerdsila Chumpairtour at the K-1 event in L.A. It’s been very difficult for me to be a very active fighter; not many people wanted to fly me in to fight their local champions and it took a while to be noticed by GLORY. But that one fight in 2012 was enough, because it helped get me recognized outside of Canada.

K-1 signed you for a time. How did you find them as an organization?

I was so excited about signing with K-1 but after my one fight, things started to unravel with the new owners. After two different six-week training camps that both resulted in fights being cancelled, I decided to move on.

How do you find fighting for Glory? What are they like to deal with?

GLORY are fantastic. They are extremely professional, their events run smoothly and most importantly, they have a roster of elite fighters. I plan to keep fighting with them and help the featherweight division grow.

You are now the Glory featherweight world champ. Where to from here?

I’m planning on a couple of title defenses each year. But only one for this year. I also want to start boxing. I’ve always worked with the boxers in town when I had a fight coming up and I’d like to try using those skills without kicks.

What does your partner think? Does she come to watch you fight?

I don’t have my girlfriend come to watch events. She is extremely supportive and would like to come, but at the end of the day it’s all about making sure I’m completely focused on the fight and I don’t think I would be if she was there. I have a way of doing things before fights and I only need my few corner men there to feel focused.

What’s the kickboxing scene like in Canada?

It’s actually quite vibrant. Every city has many kickboxing gyms and there are quite a few fight cards. The one problem it’s facing is a number of provinces haven’t legalized professional kickboxing. As a result, building a professional record is very difficult.

But we have five or six kickboxers who are very good. Just within GLORY, there are two champions; myself and Joeseph Valtellini at Welterweight. One of my sparring partners from Vancouver, Josh Jauncey, is ranked ninth at 154lbs and Simon Marcus is ranked number one behind Artem Levin at Middleweight. We’ve all been building interest in kickboxing within Canada and it’s fantastic to see.

Your brother Aaron is your trainer. What’s it like training with family? Does it ever get tense when you’re fighting?

Aaron used to train but now only helps me when I have a fight approaching. We used to have some pretty good battles during sparring but he doesn’t bother with that and I don’t want to ask him to spar when he’s not training much.

But my other brother, Jacob, who’s twenty-two, is an amateur boxer. He has more fights than me now and is really good. I think he will have a great career and he is one of the most challenging guys I spar with. We definitely try to keep things fast and light when we spar but quite often that doesn’t last long. Fortunately, we try to take care of each other when we spar and we haven’t had too many mishaps.

You seem to have moved around quite a bit during the course of your life, even spending time in Australia. Why did your family move around so much?

My Father liked to buy real estate in weak markets and sometimes we would relocate as a result. We also moved a few times for his job as a helicopter pilot. Our move to Australia and New Zealand was a six-month vacation.

My parents liked both countries so much we almost moved there, but extended family kept us in Canada. I’m really looking forward to travelling back to Australia in the future. Perhaps I can do a couple seminars while I’m there and make a work/vacation out of it.

What are your recollections of Australia?

I was only twelve during our visit but I have great memories of surfing! We were home- schooling at the time and that gave us the opportunity to be at the beach two or three hours a day. And I remember really enjoying the scenery. We were at Noosa Heads most of the time and it was beautiful there.

Who was your toughest opponent?

Hmmm. Kubo was difficult because of his unorthodox style and the fact it was my first time fighting twice in one night. Also, I was a bit nervous to be fighting the number one fighter at sixty-five kilos. I wasn’t sure how good he would be. After the second round I realized he wasn’t as good as I thought, but I wasn’t willing to fight one hundred per cent because I’d already accomplished my one goal for the evening, which was winning my quarter-final fight.

When I fought Amrani I knew I’d have a difficult fight and even though it was hard, I had imagined something even more challenging.

On my fifth fight, I fought a strong, muscular opponent that chopped my leg hard and utilized the clinch well while throwing hard knees. I had to dig down very deep to fight back for five rounds and ignore the thigh pain.

In the end I gave him two eight counts and won three of the five rounds, but I couldn’t walk properly for a few days after. That was the most difficult fight I had.

Do you have any interest in MMA?

I’m a little torn between MMA and boxing. I’d like to pursue one of them while I continue kickboxing. I really like training boxing, but I don’t really enjoy ground-work. I think that will lead me to try boxing before opting to sign a contract with Bellator.

Are you a full-time pro fighter? Do you have to work? If so, what do you do?

I do train full time but I also teach children’s martial arts. I’ve been running a couple of programs in Victoria [Canada] for over a decade now and I really enjoy it. Once I’m done with my professional fight career I’ll most likely have a martial arts gym that I teach at full time.

You’re a classically trained pianist. How did you get into that? Do you play much now?

Like I mentioned before, my Dad told us we had to get our black belts. We also had to play an instrument; we had a piano at home, so that’s what I decided to learn. I still have the piano at my place but I only play about once a week for 20 minutes.

Do you have musical ambitions, also?

I would like to learn to play another instrument at some point, but just for fun. I’m thinking either the saxophone or the harmonica. I thought that would probably be something for after my fight career, but if I can start getting paid well in GLORY and build a boxing record and get some good money there, I’ll start taking lessons soon.

International Kickboxer Magazine, May/June 2015

Sam Ballantyne was born in Slough, England in 1989 and made the move to Australia two years later. He, his mother and brother settled in Bunbury in Western Australia and it wasn’t long before he found his calling.

“My earliest memory of any fight or confrontation [was when] I was seven. I hit a kid at school ‘cause he hid my bag in the lost property box.”

Sam’s mother wisely sought some kind of constructive outlet for his energies.

“My mum enrolled me into a karate class,” he says. “I lost interest after a few lessons because of the [greater] emphasis on patterns and less on sparring… what I referred to as fighting.”

Sam’s inability to concentrate led to him being diagnosed with ADHD.

“Basically, ADHD is a chemical imbalance in the brain. It means you lack the chemicals to help you concentrate. That, and the fact I was hyper-active.”

School presented a number of significant hurdles.

“I didn’t agree with school; the way it was taught and what was expected. I remember reading something once, ‘If every animal was judged on its ability to climb a tree, then how’s a fish supposed to make it?”

“School made me into a fighter. If I didn’t want to fight, the other kids would beat me up. Some people have it born into them, but I had it kinda made in me. School was rough. When I went.”

Regardless of the tempestuous events of Sam’s youth, sport was always a constant.

“I played several sports growing up; AFL for two years, which I didn’t like much. Then, I found hockey. It was fast and intense, so it served me well. I played for four or five years until I was thirteen.”

Hockey and Muay Thai do not seem natural relatives.

“Hockey is fast,” says Sam. “You get hit a lot; it’s surprisingly high contact. That gets your attention. I felt like I belonged there.”

During Sam’s teenaged years, things begin to go sideways.

“I started using drugs and lost interest in sport from thirteen to seventeen. I spiralled downhill into a lot of drugs and dealings with the police; at one point, I was facing time in juvenile detention, but I was let out on a suspended sentence.”

Whether it was anger, frustration, desperation of a combination of the three, Sam’s direction was soon to change.

“When I was eighteen, I went to the PCYC in Bunbury to try a boxing class, but I only went for a month or so because of the lack of intensity. I was soon back on the streets.

“I started to drink a lot and I gained about forty-five kilos; I was sitting on the scales at one hundred and fourteen, my biggest.”

For a man who holds two WMC titles at seventy-six and seventy-nine kilos, that’s a considerable way overweight.

Shortly after, Sam found his way back into a fight gym and, as is so often the case with fate, it came in the form of a fortuitous mistake.

“I went to a gym offering Western boxing, Muay Thai and BJJ. I went for the boxing, but turned up on the wrong night. The Muay Thai trainer was a short English guy, who I related to well because I’d grown up around English accents.”

Finally, Sam had found a gym that could satisfy his appetite for intensity.

“I sparred the first night I was there. I was terrible; all over the show, but I [knew I] was going back. I think the second week, I got knocked out.”

As Tarik Solak once said, ‘That’s how you build heroes. They either stop before they start, or go all the way.’

“Nothing deterred me,” says Sam. “I knew I wanted to fight, and I was in my element. I used to go to the fight shows alone and sit up in the grandstands and wish it was me. The crowd and the look of winning pulled me closer.”

Constant training gave Sam focus and outlet for his profound reserves of energy and consequently, his life began to change.

“I had gotten down to ninety kilograms. Every night [at training], I was the first to arrive and the last to leave. I’d do everything the fighters did, even if it took me half an hour more.

“Eventually, I got down to around eighty-three kilograms and they asked if I would be interested in fighting. I said, ‘Absolutely!’ So, I was booked for my first. I won by KO, thirteen weeks later.”

Sam’s other constant, change, was fast at his heels.

“My trainer and the gym owner fell out, so we moved to a place called ‘Eight Weapons’, with Paul Foreman. I had five more fights out of their gym, winning four, two of those by KO.”

Again, Sam’s luck was about to change – for the worse.

“Due to the council not approving ‘backyard gyms,’ we were forced to close the doors, which saw me back out on the street. I started hanging around my old mates and using methamphetamine.”

Things started to go bad very quickly after that.

“My friends were either going to jail or psych wards. Things were changing and I knew I had to change, [so I] packed my stuff and moved to Perth. I had a bag of clothes, nothing else.”

In addition to his bag of clothes, Sam had a firm idea of who to go and see; Blair Smith.

“After six months of training, I had my first fight, which I won by KO in the third.”

Sam then fought for a AMF state title against Andy Regan.

“It was a war; one of the hardest things in my life. I won on points.”

They eventually rematched for the WMC title and Sam made the outcome conclusive, stopping Regan by way of knockout.

“Then I fought Michael Wikertoa at seventy-nine kilos and beat him on points.”

Sam’s success meant he had to step up to a higher standard of competition and consequently, he began to lose a few.

“Blair moved out of his house and opened a commercial gym. The move didn’t suit me, so I moved on to a gym called Kao Sok, run by Blair’s promotional partner, Darren Curovic.”

Sam was rolling; he met Jason Altman in the squared circle to contest the WKA Australian title.

“I absolutely dominated. I had Altman on the ropes and dropped him. The ref argued it was a foul. [Jason’s] ear was bleeding, [so the ref] let him recover and we exchanged elbows. I got caught and lost by KO.”

Disappointing as that outcome was, Ballantyne persisted.

“I kept fighting, making it to twenty-seven fights, losing my last eight or ten. I considered retiring.”

While all fighters appear on paper as the sum of their wins, losses and draws, their true quality is read in terms of their opponents.

Ballantyne’s losses were close together, but appear on the gradient of vastly stiffer competition. Many of these figured as honourable losses.

“I fought Disellek Topking in Thailand. He’s a four-time world champion and former Rajamadern Stadium champion. I was rated the heavy underdog in that fight, but I took it to him every round.

“I think I may have won the fourth or the fifth, but I was dropped with a head kick and lost a very clear points decision.”

Also on the roll is Victorian, Chris Bradford.

“I knew nothing about Chris, except for the fact that the fight was scheduled at eighty kilograms for a Commonwealth title. When I rocked up to the weigh-in, I was astounded by the size of him; he was a foot taller and a foot wider [than me]. I lost by KO by leg kicks, but I definitely held my own and took it to him. It’s one of my proudest fights.”

A good trainer is as much a psychologist as anything else, and Ballantyne’s trainer, Darren Curovic, had read his charge correctly.

“Darren insisted I take a hard fight with Kim Olsen – my dream fight – instead of an easy one. I travelled to the Sitmonchai gym, in Bangkok, Thailand.”

At that time, Olsen held a WMC intercontinental title at seventy-six kilograms, the jewel in the crown of a fearsome reputation. Consequently, Sam’s training included a significant amount of mental preparation.

“I worked a lot on mental stuff; confidence boosting, affirmations, and visualizing the fight.”

It must have worked; the results speak for themselves.

“I went to Sitmonchai to help me sharpen my hands and low kicks. I ended up clinching most of the fight, anyway – the thing I was most scared of against Kim. I won a dominant four or five rounds on points. A lot of people counted me out of that fight.”

The outcome has changed everyone’s opinion of Sam Ballantyne – including his own.

“I beat the number one [fighter] in Australia on a convincing points decision. It’s given me a new life in Muay Thai. I have my dream back in focus; fighting around the world and winning a world title.

“I’ve now had twenty-eight fights – two of them pro boxing – for seventeen wins, ten losses and a draw.”

Sam sees a universality in his story that stretches beyond his own achievements in Muay Thai.

“Two of my friends that I did drugs with growing up killed themselves, and one was murdered. I still catch up with some of them and while some are doing well, some aren’t doing well at all.

“I’m not sure if you want to put this in because it’s personal and kinda disturbing, but if I can deter anyone from drugs and getting into to combat sports, it’s a win.”

Mark Mullan has had more than thirty fights spread over a fifteen-year career. In that time, he has trained in the Netherlands at the toughest gym in the world and fought in Europe, Asia and Australia. The time has come to hang up the gloves and he intended to go out with a bang when he took on old rival Simon Coutsouvelis this Friday night.

How many fights have you had now, Mark?
I have had a total of thirty-five fights now in K1, Kickboxing and Muay Thai.

Which titles have you held?

State Amateur Victorian Boxing Title, Professional State Title in Kickboxing, South Pacific Title in Kickboxing and an Australian K1 Title. This upcoming fight will be for the Commonwealth K1 title.

How long have you been fighting?

I had my first Muay Thai fight when I was 16 years old in Sidyodtong stadium, Pattaya in Thailand. That opened up my career and my love for Kickboxing and Muay Thai. I have now been fighting for 17 years.

What was it like to fight in Thailand?

It was a brand new stadium; I was the first farang to fight there. I was with Daniel ‘The Rock’ Dawson – he did my corner. I was not very keen on school back then and saved some money up and wanted to go to Thailand.

He was a Thai opponent; I was just there for training at the ISS camp. The opportunity came up and [Daniel] said, ‘You can do this!’ So I decided to take it.

It went two rounds. I dropped him in the first round, but it wasn’t enough to finish him.

In the second he caught me with a knee to the ribs which winded me and I didn’t make the eight count.

I was very nervous, but [afterwards], I had the bug. I was boxing training at Fitzroy Stars at the time with Bobby Scrivano and then decided to move to Muay Thai and kickboxing. I got a job at the Underworld Gym [in the Banana Alley Vaults] and was introduced to Paul Fyfield, my current trainer.

You trained in Holland at Golden Glory for a while. How did it change your approach to fighting?

The Dutch emphasized a lot of partner work and sparring [with] less bag work, which meant that we would focus on a lot of reaction times and reflexes – a heavy bag doesn’t hit you back.

Most of my training was done under the legendary Fred Royers who was affiliated with Golden Glory and owned Kickboxing Armhem. Fred trained under Jan Plus who was trainer of Peter Aerts and Ernesto Hoost and many other amazing fighters.

While training there, I learned that the [standard of] competition in Holland is a lot higher than in Australia so I had to push myself to ensure that I was up to the Dutch standards and styles of fighting.

Did you fight overseas? How was the experience?

I have fought in Hong Kong, Thailand and the Netherlands. The best part of being able to travel overseas to fight was meeting great friends and learning different training techniques all over the world.

One of the best experiences was to meet and spend time with Ramon Dekkers before he passed away. It was like meeting the Mike Tyson of the Muay Thai world.

With Ramon Dekkers.

Why Simon Coutsouvelis for your retirement fight? Is it true you guys have a bit of history? How did the last fight end?

I’ve now fought Simon on three occasions; he beat me [by] split decision both times. Both were very close fights. Simon has a style of fighting which is awkward for me and challenges me to have a much higher work rate.

When I retired last year in April, I met up with James [Roesler] to chase up some old fight material. He then mentioned to me that Simon was having his retirement fight and he asked if I would be interested. I then spoke to my trainer Paul Fyfield to see if we could take the fight. Paul gave me the green light and here we are.

How did it go?

He beat me fair and square – again!

What are you going to do with yourself after you retire?

I have some goals ahead of me which I will be focusing on to help the community to become healthier and fitter. With my experience of fighting and learning from a variety of trainers, I will be looking towards expanding my business, ‘STRIKEFIT’ and using the knowledge I have gained to teach others. Health, Fitness and Self Defense are my main priorities.

Just because you are a good fighter that doesn’t mean that you are a good trainer. I am fortunate that I have been able to learn from the very best and the most humble, Paul Fyfield.

His support, along with Christian Ennor and Brendan Pardy has given me the support to [get me] where I am today.

Retirement is going to be a win/win situation for me. I’m looking forward to the next chapter in my life. I’m also considering having an MMA fight.

(Left to Right) Paul Fyfield, Mark Mullan, Christian Ennor.