Diego Sanchez is living the dream of a contender

Diego Sanchez is living the dream of a
contender

By Phil Parker

LAS VEGAS, Nev. - Backstage at Red Rock Resort & Spa, Diego Sanchez turns to a TV.

There he is on replay: muscular and grimacing. There's his knee, moving in slow motion toward Karo Parisyan's
face. There's Parisyan's tooth, flying from a pained, bloody mouth.

"How's that for a highlight?" Sanchez says, beaming. "That's a first for me."

Sanchez's eye is black but he otherwise looks fine.

It's about 15 minutes after Ultimate Fight Night (live on Spike TV) and Parisyan has been ushered to the hospital so
doctors can examine the hole where his tooth should be and the two swollen slits he sports for eyes.

Sanchez is asked how he thinks he did. He didn't fight his best so at first he gives it a "C" performance.

"But I knocked out his tooth, so I'll take a B-plus."

An "A" would be more appropriate.

Rarely is Sanchez, 24, mentioned in newsprint without the word "Nightmare" between his first and last names.
The Albuquerque native's record entering the fight was 17-0, now one heavier on the win side.He's sponsored by
Xyience energy drink, Mickey's beer and Tap Out sports apparel.

Ultimate fighter Diego Sanchez of Albuquerque reacts to the rain after a recent training session where he worked on
strength exercises. His conditioning coach, Rob Garcia (right), uses various techniques to keep Sanchez fit,
including a 7-pound rubber ball attached to a short rope. Sanchez, a former Del Norte High School state wrestling
champion, is heralded as one of the best ultimate fighters in the country.

He has more than 8,000 registered friends on his MySpace page.

He's a rising star in a sport that is, itself, a rising star.

"I believe I'm the best in the world," he says.

It's hard to argue.

The training

Albuquerque trainer Greg Jackson stands outside the fence of an eight-sided ring in his Northeast Heights gym near
San Mateo Boulevard. He's moving around to keep a good view and lobbing quick words of advice at Sanchez.

"Move, D," he'll cry. "Don't let him up."

D doesn't. Minutes later, his training partner, Brian Schall, is sweaty and slumped against a wall, heaving.

"Usually we're going about 50 percent," says Schall. "But with D, it's 90 or 100."

It's one week and one day before Sanchez fights Parisyan at Red Rock. He's got to keep going.

Sanchez is sparring with Damasio Page. On his back in defensive position, Sanchez peers. Page circles.

Sanchez keeps his legs bent and taut and - BAM - faster than a camera's flash, he strikes the center of Page's tattooed
torso with a left heel.

Page clutches his chest, twists his face and falls in a heap. He actually smiles a bit between desperate gasps for air,
and pants out the words "Nice shot, D."

But Sanchez doesn't seem to hear. As Page heads slowly toward the octagon's door, Sanchez rolls over and within
seconds is taking on another member of the team, Chris Avila.

Page and Jackson are cooing - "Whoa. Great shot, D," Jackson yells - while Sanchez tussles with Avila.
Pop.

Avila's done, too.

"It just popped once," Sanchez calls to Jackson as Avila makes his way toward the octagon's exit, clutching a
smarting left elbow.

Page has most of his wind back, so he starts up again with Sanchez.

The four other fighters in the ring have stopped sparring. They're all sitting with their backs against the fence,
watching Sanchez dominate Page.

Don't these guys mind that they're taking the best shots of an undefeated UFC contender?

"I enjoy this," Schall says. "It's an honor to train with Diego. I feel happy to train with someone of his caliber."

Nightmare

Sanchez was an aspiring fighter looking to break into ultimate fighting when UFC president Dana White and Spike
TV came calling.

"The Ultimate Fighter" began its first season in January of 2005 with 16 pros looking to break into the blossoming,
big-money world of UFC.

Sanchez, who's taken karate lessons since he was 9 and won a state championship in wrestling at Del Norte High
School, plowed through the UFC foes and won the last battle on live TV. With that final victory came a six-figure
contract, a black Scion automobile and a focused ride to the top of the UFC's welterweight division.

But right now he's fresh off a training session and driving home after two shots of Wild Oats wheat grass.

He's angry.

"I couldn't hit the mitts today, man," he says, which isn't completely true.

When he first started fighting, Sanchez's forte was grappling because of his background in wrestling, but for several
months now he has trained with coach Rob Garcia and one of Garcia's other fighters, Francisco "Panchito" Bojado,
who boxed for Mexico in the 2000 Olympics. Garcia says Bojado will be a world champion. Soon.

"No one else (in the UFC) trains with someone like Panchito," Sanchez says. "Panchito's punches get to your face
before you even know they're coming."

Jackson talks proudly about the team he grooms daily at his gym. The 11 world champions he's cornered - in various
fighting circuits all around the world - have played a massive role in Sanchez's unbeaten run through the UFC.

Count Bojado among their ranks. He'll be ringside, in Sanchez's corner with Garcia and Jackson, the night
"Nightmare" changes the shape of Parisyan's face.

The coaches

Greg Jackson can't recall how many times he's been on TV.

On fight night in Vegas, the cameras will beam the bout direct to more than 3 million TV sets, but Jackson says with
sleepy eyes, "This is just another day at the office for me. I have a weird office, maybe, but this is like every other
weekend."

Jackson doesn't work in this field for the thrills.

For him, this is art.

Jackson, thoughtful and friendly, says he was initially struck by the physics and geometry of mixed martial arts.
He'll happily explain to anyone interested why there's more to learn on fighting in Miyamoto Musashi's "Book of
Five Rings" (circa 1645) than Sun Tzu's more popular "The Art of War" (as long as you get the right translation).
The skinny, scruffy Jackson says he never felt big enough to be a successful fighter.

Sanchez, he says, "showed up when he was 17 or 18 and took to training like a fish to water. He came to every
practice. And I don't mean every day. I mean every practice, twice a day."

Sanchez dominated submission tournaments, which are like ultimate fighting without boxing.

"He didn't win," Jackson says. "He destroyed people."

Much later in his training, about a year ago, Sanchez was introduced to the coach for Oscar De La Hoya, the boxing
superstar Sanchez has idolized for years. Sanchez told Rob Garcia when they first met that he should sign on as his
trainer.

"And I told him," Garcia says, "that he can't afford me."

That changed three months later when Garcia was contacted by one of Sanchez's sponsors.

Garcia lives in San Diego and shuns invitations to shape up celebrities like Tom Cruise in favor of training fighters
full time. He was a fighter himself once, but hasn't been in a ring in any capacity but coach since 2000.

Garcia has learned the science of fighters' bodies. He prepares Sanchez's meals and can recite exactly what's to gain
from each.

He takes Sanchez's pulse several times a day and keeps the figures in a journal. He knows what time the fight
begins, and how to get his fighter's body most prepared to tussle at that point in the day.

Jackson handles the grappling and submission work. Garcia prepares Sanchez on conditioning, nutrition and boxing.
The Albuquerque trainer and California fight coach make an unlikely pair, but when the third round comes for
Sanchez, they'll prove to have formed a sensationally effective partnership.

The weigh-in

In Sanchez's suite at the Red Rock Resort, a 42-inch plasma TV hangs on the wall.

A smaller TV dangles above the bathtub and one of the walls by the toilet is made out of leather. This new, off-the-
strip casino is worth more than $1.1 billion.

And members of Sanchez's family have packed the place.

His parents, Kenny and Alonzo, are there. They've attended all of Sanchez's fights.

So are some uncles, aunts and cousins. There's at least 10 of them crowded into the suite's center room. Some of the
younger Sanchezes stare with Bojado out of the 11th story window, at the girls lounging by the swimming pool.

Some of the older ones do, too.

The fight is one day away.

Sanchez wears a white T-shirt and orange Tap Out shorts for the weigh-in. He's also wearing two touches of cool - a
stark-black pair of wraparound sunglasses and fuzzy, white slippers.

It's a long walk to the elevator. Lining a trail behind Sanchez are family members (there are more downstairs), his
trainers, his manager, his mental coach-slash-music producer, Bojado, a reporter, a photographer and two UFC
media workers filming for a behind-the-scenes DVD. One carries a camera mounted by an intensely bright light.
The mental coach was the one person allowed in Sanchez's room 10 minutes before heading down. His name is
Chase Bays, and he says in his spacey way that the pair were "working to intensify" Sanchez's eyes.

"He's fighting a battle with his eyes today."

It's an odd scene in the Summerlin Ballroom. Most of the women are striking. Most of the men have fashioned a
creative way to accentuate their disproportionate muscles.

About five feet from the entrance is hulking heavyweight champ Tim Sylvia, wearing a big gold belt over the top of
his cargo shorts. He's sporting shades, so who knows if Sylvia sees Sanchez between signing autographs for cute
blondes half his size and smiling for photos with 5-year-olds.

A pair of ring girls standing to the side look bored in their bikinis as they browse on BlackBerrys.

As Sanchez fills out a pre-fight medical questionnaire Georges "Rush" St. Pierre is 10 feet away, posing for a picture
with a tiny fight fan.

St. Pierre is getting set for his late-September, pay-per-view fight for Matt Hughes' welterweight championship.
He'll later drop out with an injury and be replaced by another contender, B.J. Penn, but there's still a big, shiny belt
on the line. The victor of Sanchez's fight with Parisyan is practically guaranteed a shot at the winner.

And the championship.

"It'll be a title fight, no question," says no less an authority than Randy "The Natural" Couture, a hulking, lumpy
legend in the UFC, and the only man to win a title in two different weight classes.

Like most members of the weigh-in crowd, Couture has followed Sanchez's career since "The Ultimate Fighter."

"He's really impressed me," he says of Sanchez.

Couture coached against Sanchez on the show. Now they'll be on opposing sides again: Couture has trained for two
years with Parisyan and will be working his corner.

"He brings an intensity from his wrestling background and he's very special," Couture says about Sanchez, who not
far away weighs in at 169 pounds.

The stare down Bays was so eager to witness should be ruled a draw since Sanchez and Parisyan (who's 1 inch
shorter and 2 pounds heavier than the 5-foot-11 Sanchez) step off the scales and pose for a fists-up photograph.
Parisyan is shockingly unfazed by the glare from Sanchez's pupils. Parisyan smiles like he has just pulled a prank.

Sanchez keeps staring.

When the weigh-in ends, Garcia is waiting with an avocado. Sanchez devours it between breaks to sign autographs
and pose for pictures. When a little girl asks for a photo, Sanchez scoops her to his waist and they both scrunch their
faces and put up their fists.

Fight night

Sanchez emerges from his room ready for work. He clutches a glass bottle of water as he heads to the suite's sink,
pours a bit in a wine glass and says a prayer before gulping it down.

Flanked by the same annoying camera crew, he yells "505 baby! Albuquerque!" Then he inserts a pair of green
earplugs. It's the last words he'll speak above a whisper until color man (and "Fear Factor" host) Joe Rogan is
interviewing him after the fight.

Sanchez stretches, spreading his legs as he touches the ground while waiting for the elevator.

Sanchez's pre-fight demeanor is boring. He's in the prep room by 3 p.m. He spends hours stretching, pacing,
punching, grappling, stretching, stretching and stretching. So much Vaseline is rubbed into his face that his body
composition is probably altered slightly.

Jackson tells Sanchez at one point to "soak in the atmosphere." The fighter nods. That's it.

While Sanchez is the picture of stoic intensity, Parisyan is watching the live fights in the adjacent room, chatting up
the other fighters. (Every single one to that point victorious. The room must be lucky.)

It could be composure. He might be more "loose" than Sanchez. Whatever the reason, it's clear Parisyan has come to
Vegas with a completely different mind-set than his opponent.

They're starkly contrasting in various ways. Sanchez is baby-faced with a stylish haircut. When he speaks, he often
sounds younger than his 24 years. His body is chiseled from tireless training and a meticulously monitored diet.
Parisyan is scruffy and his face wears the 25 fights in his young career like an old car. He's got a unibrow and a
matted head of wiry black hair. He doesn't look as fit as Sanchez. He's softer.

Sanchez had hoped for such an advantage. Always obsessive about his diet, he became more determined the weeks
before the big night. He told his parents, "I want to look good in the fight. I want to look better than he does."
Mission accomplished, but this isn't a beauty pageant.

When the last bout ends before his fight begins, Sanchez calls a football-style huddle with the coaches and a few
friends backstage. They pray, as Sanchez does before all his fights.

On to the octagon.

The crowd greets Sanchez with chants and cheers. Family members comprise a large chunk of audience.

He once walked out to the ring with a live mariachi band in tow. Today, Sanchez approaches the ring to a
"Nightmare" song filled with bursts of thunder. Bays put together the song for Sanchez.

The mariachis weren't nearly so forgettable.

In the pre-fight intro on Spike TV, Parisyan, filmed in dramatic black and white, says "I'll cut him with an elbow
above his eyebrow. It looks pretty good on TV."

Thirty seconds into the first round of their clash, it is Parisyan who suffers a cut from a vicious uppercut by Sanchez
on Parisyan's left eye that will bleed and impede for the rest of the fight.

Sanchez climbs onto Parisyan's back, the best position in this sport for ending a fight in submission. He gets a few
moments of ground and pound, punching away at Parisyan's head while their legs are tangled on the mat.

But Parisyan, who was once at the cusp of making the 2004 Olympics in judo, won't be conquered so easily. He
withstands the tidal wave and uses his expertise in the Japanese fight form to twice throw Sanchez down hard.
On the second throw, Sanchez's head clearly slams the mat, but they're up in a flash. Swinging away.

It looks like an alley fight when they meet for the start of the second round.

Sanchez takes hard, quick jabs to the face. A kick hits the side of his head. When Parisyan has him pressed against
the fence, he wraps up Sanchez, picks his entire body off the ground and slams him back down while the crowd
roars and rises to its feet.

As the round nears the bell, Parisyan has exhausted himself (remember that body). He's landed more shots than
Sanchez, but "Nightmare" has inflicted noticeable damage to Parisyan's face. It's swollen on both sides. It's swollen
above and below the left eye.

The bell dings.

As the final round is set to begin, neither fighter has held an advantage long enough to distinguish a winner. Sanchez
has wrapped Parisyan up more and attempted more submissions (where any part on a fighter's body is bent to the
point he's forced to tap his hands so the ref will end the bout).

But Parisyan has been the better striker. It's obvious: Win the third, win the fight.

Parisyan sits in his corner as Tito Ortiz - an icon in the sport - tells him that his jabs need to "snap a little more,
dude."

Parisyan has fighters in his corner - legends - but Sanchez has coaches. Jackson tells Sanchez to go for takedowns
and Garcia says, simply, "Use all that energy."

All the weights, the track, the sparring, the dieting - the sheer discipline - have come down to these 5 minutes for
Sanchez. Win these 5 minutes and the Hughes-Penn fight next month will mean everything. Win these 5 minutes
and a championship will be at stake next time he drives his Scion to a training session.

Sanchez unleashes his entire arsenal. When their heads get close, he throws massive uppercuts from below. Parisyan
gets another slam, but Sanchez wraps him up on the ground and mounts Parisyan's torso, teeing off on his head with
both fists. He grunts with each meeting between his hands and his opponent's body.

The crowd is chanting, over and over, "Diego!"

Sanchez rolls Parisyan, takes his back, flattens his body, and chokes. Parisyan gets out but not up. Sanchez plows
into his head with more punches.

Parisyan wiggles out and stands up, but he's gassed.

His face looks nothing like it did half an hour ago.

With 1:10 left in the fight, the knee connects and the tooth flies. They both fall down and Sanchez punches and
throws fast, hard elbows that could shatter furniture.

The three plastic pops come from the side of the ring signaling 10 seconds left. Sanchez stands up and makes the
moments count, swinging away and connecting on a helpless Parisyan skull until the final bell rings.

"Nightmare" is 18-0. Next up - a title shot.

The celebration

His gloves and two blood-stained, fist-shaped balls of tape are perched on Sanchez's gym bag as he stands in the
corner of the green room and provides a Nevada Athletic Commission official what's needed for another drug test.

Sanchez puts the cup on the table and the stragglers laugh. It looks more like fruit punch than lemonade. Jackson
says bloody urine is typical after a fight.

Sanchez gets a massage on the spot and then returns to the room.

Garcia looks at Jackson as they pack their bags.

"How we doing, No. 1 coach in the universe?" he asks.

"Well," Jackson replies, throwing Garcia an exaggerated point with his index finger, "I share that distinction with
my fellow coach."

Garcia drops the cheese act and tells Jackson: "It was an honor to be in there with you, buddy."

As they head back to the room, Sanchez isn't being held up much for the first time all week.

Not until he steps off the elevator on the 11th floor.

The slow clap starts when he turns the corner to the hallway.

Clap.

There are family members in the hall, stopping him for a quick hug and congratulations.

Clap.

Uncles smile and grab at him.

Clap.

Cousins give high fives.

Clap.

Then comes the eruption.

The doors to room 1112 are already open. Forty family members are waiting and their cheers are the loudest
Sanchez has received all night.

Sanchez makes a slow lap in the room, squeezing his relatives and soaking in their adulation.

"I want to thank you all for coming," he yells loud enough for the entire room to hear. "I love you!"

One of his uncles takes the center of the room and calls out "Diego!"

"Diego!" he yells again, then once more until he has everyone's attention.

"Thank you for kicking his ass!"