The Maine-iac: A Sherdog Retrospective

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Jordan Breen: From an editorial perspective, this is the most interesting retrospective article we've ever put together for Sherdog.com, as far as I'm concerned. When we asked contributors for their stories and memories of Sylvia, I had to assuage a lot of fears. Many authors worried about being “too negative” or fretted about the fact that even if they tried to emphasize Sylvia's virtues and values, they felt they still might inadvertantly emphasize the lamentable parts of his career. Some abstained all together, perhaps thinking that if they had nothing nice to say, not to say it at all.

As you might imagine, no one had these sorts of reservations when eulogizing World Extreme Cagefighting or reflecting on B.J. Penn's career. Sylvia is one of the most complicated figures in the history of this sport; I won't say it makes me “love him,” but I've found the metadicussion of “The Maine-iac” endlessly fascinating over the years. While it is impossible to discuss the history of heavyweight MMA without Tim Sylvia, it is impossible to discuss the athlete without discussing the man himself.

The story of a poor kid from Ellsworth, Maine, who endured endless physical and emotionally abuse at the hands of an alcoholic mother to become the UFC heavyweight champion, not once but twice, sounds like a quaint Hollywood sports story, yet anyone with a cursory knowledge of the man would laugh at the notion of Sylvia, looking like a gruff, lumbering doorman from a midwestern dive bar, as a sympathetic underdog. Somehow, that's how it's always been for Sylvia. When he grew to be big enough that his mother could no longer beat him, she psychologically terrorized him, never letting him forget he was a “fat piece of s---” who would never amount to anything. When he escaped his unstable home life, he settled in at Pat Miletich's gym in Iowa, where in the process of turning him into a UFC champion, he was beaten up while being ruthlessly mocked by his teammates, champions like Matt Hughes and Jens Pulver, who questioned whether or not he belonged.

Winning the UFC title twice didn't change anything. He was supposed to be cannon fodder for Ricco Rodriguez and for Andrei Arlovski, and when he prevailed, the MMA collective groaned. He beat quality heavyweights, but as he did so, fans talked about how a guy like Jerome Le Banner could hop right out of the K-1 ring and kick Sylvia's ass for the UFC title. Sylvia is unquestionably MMA's Rodney Dangerfield, but unlike comedy's “Mr. No Respect,” more often than not, Sylvia had something to do with it himself.

It's not hard to understand why. Sylvia constantly came across as abrasive, perhaps entitled. “Entitlement” is usually a dirty word, use to refer to an arrogant inclination that someone deserves something they haven't earned. Rather, Tim Sylvia was constantly incredulous that no matter what he did, he never got his due. Sylvia's not my idea of a great dinner date, but he was always refreshingly honest, candid and self-aware. He spoke openly about his hardscrabble upbringing, knowing he was never a great athlete, that he was the product of hard work and great people around him. Hell, when he tested positive for Winstrol after his fight with McGee, he was one of the few MMA fighters in history to have the balls to admit it, and even going further by essentially admitting he was self-conscious about being a flabby champion.

Sylvia was never a duplictious liar the way many in the fight game are (other than about his age, apparently). Public figures mocked like Sylvia are normally targets because they lack that self-awareness; Sylvia always knew exactly who and what he was, but just couldn't understand why he wasn't like everybody else. Aren't people supposed to be appreciative of brutal knockouts? Shouldn't the UFC champion want to fight the best fighters and yell, “Bring on Fedor!”? Don't some women want to sleep with the champ?

Now that he's retired, Sylvia can have all the time he wants to hang out in bars and regale confused patrons with tales of his past glory. He'll be able to tell them all about his mom, how she said he was a big fat zero, but he proved everybody wrong and won the UFC heavyweight title twice. He'll be able to tell them all about how he nearly killed Tra Telligman in the cage, his rivalry with Andrei Arlovski, how he fought all the toughest guys all over the world.

Sylvia will be able to say, “One time, I even s--- myself during the fight, and I still won” and “I fought the World's Strongest Man, like, the strongest guy ever to live, and I beat him til he turned Crayola purple.”

As always, it will be the same, honest “Big Tim.” I just hope that when he tells those stories, people say, “Well, that's great, champ. How about a drink, then?”. Sylvia deserves it. Deserves it more than “How's taste my pee-pee?”, anyway.

Brian Knapp: How does one remember a guy like Tim Sylvia? I suppose I’ll remember him for getting the short end of the stick in the court of public opinion. He was easily one of the best heavyweights of his generation, his exploits often overlooked because of his enormous size, abrasive personality and gangly, awkward style. Sylvia won his first 16 fights, finishing 14 of them, en route to becoming the ninth heavyweight titleholder in the history of the Ultimate Fighting Championship. He remains one of only three men -- Randy Couture and Cain Velasquez are the others -- to capture the championship more than once.

Sylvia was often his own worst enemy. He tested positive for anabolic steroids in 2003, infamously defecated during a match with Assuerio Silva in 2006 and showed up overweight and unprepared against Ray Mercer in 2009. There, he was felled by the then 48-year-old former Olympic gold medalist in nine seconds. Sylvia also came up short under the brightest of lights, losing to the three greatest heavyweights of his era -- Couture, Antonio Rodrigo Nogueira and Fedor Emelianenko -- during a four-fight span between March 3, 2007 and July 19, 2008. Sylvia rebounded by winning seven of eight following the loss to Mercer but never again recaptured the magic that was once his. Such is the plight of many a fighter forever chasing the brass ring.

Jeff Sherwood: I felt Tim really struggled with the way some of the media and fans perceived him during his UFC career. He always tried to play it off and laugh at the “haters,” but I know it bothered him. Tim was Tim, and some people couldn't stand it, but I never had a bad conversation with Sylvia. He never came off ridiculous or too cocky to me; he was proud of what he'd accomplished and I always understood that.

Maybe one of the reasons I never took personal issue with Sylvia was that I spent a lot of time around professional athletes in my life, growing up, seeing them and watching how they work. During Sylvia's heyday and second UFC title reign, he was on top of the world. I remember one night walking through the hotel lobby at the Mandalay Bay in Las Vegas and there was Tim sitting on a big planter next to the bar, his belt draped over his shoulder and a big smile on his face. I went up to Sylvia, congratulated him and we shot the breeze for a minute. Then, it happened.

A few girls walked by and I heard Tim shout to them, “So, who wants to sleep with the champ?” I couldn't believe it. I wondered to myself, “Does that really work?” Years later, I brought it up to him on the Sherdog Radio Network, and he confirmed he has done just about everything a man would do in his day-to-day (or night-to-night) life with his belt on. Apparently, that line worked before. Being the champion still has its advantages.

Sylvia still gets grief from fans about his timing (he had to share an era with Fedor Emelianenko and Antonio Rodrigo Nogueira) and some of the opponents that he fought in the UFC, but you can only fight who gets put in front of you. You can't take Tim's two heavyweight belts from him, and I'd like to see you try.

Jesse Denis: It’s exceedingly easy to look back at the career of Tim Sylvia with derision, despite the fact that he was a very successful heavyweight. Historically, a fighter with multiple UFC title reigns who had a well-defined foil (especially one like Arlovski, who remains popular and relevant to this day) would be revered. Of course, that is not the case with “The Maine-iac”.

In the cage, the awkward heavyweight treated fans to many knockout victories on the way up, but that seemed to wane after he held the title. A cursory glance at forum posts about the man from his 2006-07-title reign will render a lot of “he fights not to lose,” and even more calls of “boring.” But, Sylvia took a grand total of four lackluster decisions in his UFC wins, standing against seven knockout victories, but is still almost unanimously met with scorn.

There’s a lot to ridicule on Tim’s side, be it his horribly awkward appearance on “Blind Date,” the fact that soiled himself against Assuerio Silva, being knocked out by a nearly-50-year-old Ray Mercer in an MMA fight in nine seconds, when he spoke openly about wearing the UFC title while having sex, that time he flat out asked everyone to like him on YouTube, or showing up to what would have been his final fight at nearly 400 pounds.

Strangely if unfortunately, Sylvia’s real legacy might be highlighting the importance of public perception in sports, reminding athletes that it really does matter how you do it, not just that you do it. It’s one thing to be polarizing, yet another to be reviled in spite of your greatness. A dominant champion like Jon Jones could learn a thing or two from a guy like Tim Sylvia.

Mike Fridley: I’ll save all of the warm and fuzzy memories for other contributors to this fine retrospective. The real take: Tim Sylvia is a cheater and needs to be remembered as such.

After capturing the UFC heavyweight title for the first time in his career with a vicious knockout of Ricco Rodriguez, Sylvia blew the doors off of Gan McGee at UFC 44 in less than two minutes. The problem? The Nevada Athletic Commission busted Sylvia for performance-enhancing drugs.

That’s right. Following his first title defense, Sylvia admitted injecting himself with a syringe that contained banned substances. In my opinion, as a champion holding the title when caught gaining an unfair advantage in competition, his legacy is forever tainted by the transgression. Each in-cage accomplishment will be forever marked by the scarlet letter of shame.

Who’s to say that McGee wouldn’t have run game on a clean Sylvia and took his title? As a result of the champ’s actions, we’ll never know.

Just like there’s no place in Cooperstown, N.Y., for hacks like Rafael Palmeiro, Sammy Sosa, Mark McGwire and Barry Bonds, I feel strongly that there is no place in the promotion’s Hall of Fame for victimizers like “The Maine-iac.”

TJ De Santis: There are not many people in this world that stand 6-foot-8. When you come across an individual of this stature, you can’t help but notice their presence. Tim Sylvia commanded this attention not only due to his size, but also because of other unique traits he had.

The first time I came across Tim Sylvia in the flesh, I was at International Caged Combat 2 back in April 2003 at Target Center in Minneapolis. I walked up to the then-newly-crowned UFC heavyweight champion after noticing the hulking figure out of the corner of my eye. I’ll never forget the giant towering over a crowd of people lining up to shake his hand. The crowd inside Target Center at that time was small and I am sure comprised of mostly hardcore MMA fans, given that this was two years before “The Ultimate Fighter” helped the sport's popularity explode. Sylvia's size made his anonymity impossible, but that's exactly what he wanted as he paraded around the floor with the UFC heavyweight belt clasped around his waist.

Sylvia was a proud champion, maybe the proudest of champions. It was a rarity you saw him in public without his title belt. My brother-in-law was a chiropractic student in the Quad Cities area, and when I started dating my wife, he asked me if I knew who Sylvia was. Apparently, Sylvia was no stranger to the locals, even driving around in his Hummer with “The Maine-iac” spelled out in decals on the window.

This behavior may have soured some on “Big Tim,” but I never had a problem with it. MMA makes me proud, too, and getting to work inside of it is my passion; I still tell everyone who will listen why I think MMA is the greatest sport in the world. If I earned the UFC heavyweight title, twice no less, I'd probably tell everybody about it too.

Greg Savage: Tim Sylvia was a two-time UFC champion and one of the best heavyweight fighters of his era. A lot of people, myself included, have had a lot of fun over the years making light of his proclivity for toting his title belt with him everywhere he went, even going as far as sleeping with it while champion, but it went to show just how proud the man was of his accomplishments.

He was a young man when I met him, and he grew up a lot over the years since we first crossed paths. He evolved from the insecure overgrown child who trekked from Maine to Iowa to chase his MMA dream into a hard-working, core piece of the famed Miletich stable. It wasn’t an easy road for Sylvia to ascend to the summit of his sport and the journey was fraught with numerous self-inflicted wounds. There was the positive steroid test, the surliness with fans and media and his ongoing feud with the UFC after he left for what he thought would be greener pastures.

Despite all of the warts, Tim Sylvia’s career accomplishments should firmly place him among the second wave of pioneers who took this sport from its infancy into at least adolescence, and he did it without many of the athletic tools his contemporaries brought with them to the cage. It was sheer will, determination and hard work that allowed Sylvia to stake his claim as UFC champion and for that we should remember his as one of the best of his era.

Todd Martin: Rightly or wrongly, it would be disingenuous to pretend fans’ most vivid memories of Tim Sylvia don’t generally revolve around him getting knocked out, submitted or otherwise humbled. That’s just the reality. The man was a very successful fighter overall but his quest for the fans’ adulation came up short time and again. It feels mean in a retrospective to spotlight one of his biggest setbacks and unfitting to frame his career in terms of triumph. So let me look back on a night when he took that feeling of cruel disappointment and put it on someone else.

UFC 41 in Atlantic City was the Ricco Rodriguez show. Everywhere you walked around the Boardwalk Hall before the event, there were prominent posters and advertisements for the Ricco Rodriguez Afterparty. Rodriguez, the cocky 25-year-old UFC champion, was going to be one of the biggest stars of the sport for years to come. Already 14-1, Rodriguez was the heavy favorite against Sylvia and vowed to beat the challenger at his own game via knockout. It felt like just an early chapter in the Ricco Rodriguez story.

Tim Sylvia changed all that. When he knocked Rodriguez on his ass, Rodriguez had a look of shock. This wasn’t supposed to happen on Ricco Rodriguez’s night! The punches kept coming and Rodriguez’s title reign was over without a single title defense. The afterparty atmosphere would be far from festive and Ricco Rodriguez’s career would never be the same. Sylvia had crushed the man’s dreams and handed him a humbling defeat.

Unfortunately for Sylvia, that feeling would all too often be on the other foot. But that night in Atlantic City, the kid who grew up bullied and just wanted to be loved had risen up to become UFC heavyweight champion. The story felt more about the guy who lost than the guy who won. But at least the guy who lost wasn’t named Tim Sylvia. Mike Sloan: So "The Maine-iac" has finally decided to hang up his fingerless gloves, huh? Good for him. Looking back on Tim Sylvia's career, one adjective that immediately springs to mind is “colorful.” Sylvia had plenty of highs and lows, but win, lose or draw, Sylvia was usually involved in entertaining battles and spectacles.

His waltz with Jeff Monson notwithstanding, I'll always remember his fights that ended in various forms of a blitzkrieg. Whether it was Sylvia putting a foe to sleep with his murderous striking power or “Big Tim” himself being removed from consciousness, his fights were seemingly always on the verge of ending in the blink of an eye. More than any other, I think of one frightening moment inside the MGM Grand. I was sitting cageside for a live report for Sherdog (and possibly the original FightSport Magazine) when Sylvia dueled veteran Tra Telligman at UFC 54. After a few minutes of cat-and-mouse caution, Sylvia unloaded one of the most brutal, horrifying knockouts I've ever seen.

Sylvia blasted "Trauma" with a perfect head kick with just a few seconds remaining in the first round and once it landed, Telligman was out. He crumbled onto his back as soon as the shin connected; it looked like Simo Hayha nailed him from 200 yards out. Telligman lay motionless for a few minutes, barely breathing and it seemed like an eternity before he finally came to and taken out of the Octagon.

While Sylvia wasn't the greatest heavyweight of all time, he did capture the UFC title twice and he scored a bushel of highlight-reel knockouts. His bombing of Telligman at UFC 54 remains one of the greatest one-shot snipings I've ever witnessed in any of the combat sports. Best of luck to you, Tim.

Jack Encarnacao: I covered Tim Sylvia as the headliner against Mariusz Pudzianowski at the ill-fated Moosin “God of War” pay-per-view in 2010. It was held outside of Boston just a few months after MMA had been sanctioned in the state. It was an interesting entree to the sport, financed as it was by a shadowy Korean only identified as "Mr. Oh" and headlined by a Polish strongman of cartoonish proportions who wasn't drug tested because the commission didn't yet have its policies and procedures in order.

I met Sylvia in the basement lounge of a sports bar next to Fenway Park for a press conference a few weeks before the show. He had a Red Sox baseball cap pulled low and was a bit sheepish. He certainly didn't carry himself as someone of note, which is quite the feat for a man of his size. "Pudz" was getting all the attention. I came to learn there was a huge Polish population in Connecticut that were plugged into his celebrity. That seemed in many ways to be Tim Sylvia in a nutshell: in the main event, but never quite the star of the match.

After a somewhat spirited first, Sylvia won via tap to strikes in the second round after an exhausted Pudzianowski hit the deck. It's important to remember the fight's outcome was somewhat in doubt at the time: Sylvia was coming off his stunning nine-second KO loss to 48-year-old boxer Ray Mercer, and it was an open question if “Pudzian” could put the power on the Manie-iac with some madcap blow.

Following the fight, a self-satisfied Sylvia limped into a press conference with his knee iced and a burden off his shoulders. He rested his leg on the dais and talked about how Pudzianowski was cheered more than he was. He was joking about it, but also a bit incredulous. His career-long thirst for respect was still there, even as the spotlight was clearly fading.

"I consider myself somewhat of a legend in MMA," Sylvia told the assembled media. "I hear Mariusz go out there and the crowd's going crazy ... I kind of thought me being from the East Coast, it would be a little bit more in my favor."

Danny Acosta: Sacramento, Calif., UFC 65, Nov. 18, 2006. I was 19 and felt boozy anger filling the stands once challenger Jeff Monson’s walkout song, John Lennon’s “Imagine,” stopped. People hated then-UFC heavyweight champ Tim Sylvia and let him know immediately. Sylvia-Monson was a surplus of boos for Sylvia, 25 minutes no one wanted to endure. Never were they short of ways to demean him. Reality set in Sylvia would remain champ and the audience began to imagine they were anywhere except a Tim Sylvia title defense.

Bottom line: “The Maine-iac,” with his ridiculous nickname, lumbering height, awkward build, pale skin, regrettable tribal ink, and sideburn-to-goatee facial hair, in no way, shape or form should ever have been UFC champion. The fact that he knocked out posterboy champ Andrei Arlovski to earn a second UFC heavyweight title pissed off fans, and his plodding decision win in the rubber match was even more irksome, so following that up with the forgettable Monson bout built Sylvia hate to a fever pitch.

The reality is because he was so despised in that moment in Sacramento, it’s actually unforgettable.

Typically, when someone who is never supposed to be anybody becomes somebody -- a champion no less -- they are typically celebrated and rewarded for beating the odds. Not true for Tim Sylvia. From the moment he arrived at the famed Miletich gym in Bettendorf, Iowa, future UFC Hall of Famer Matt Hughes let his disdain be known: this guy doesn’t belong. Sylvia has never been able to shake that sentiment, even after bringing gold back to the gym.

Chris Weidman, Cain Velasquez, Lyoto Machida, Rashad Evans, Ronda Rousey, Tim Sylvia -- they all seized the UFC belt with an unblemished MMA record. Sylvia belongs to that elite group, yet will be known as the UFC champion that took steroids not necessarily to perform and win, but to look more like a UFC fighter. Sylvia, to this day, is tied with Randy Couture, Brock Lesnar, and Cain Velasquez for most UFC heavyweight title defenses (two). He comes from an abusive household, was picked on for being a fat kid, and that didn’t stop him from reaching UFC championship status and leaving a legacy for himself. Unfortunately, that legacy will reflect Sylvia was treated like an accident rather than achiever. Perception isn’t necessarily reality, although it will always feel that way for Sylvia.

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