The Gracie / Ruffalo Founding (1993–2001)

Lore & Background

The story begins in a Colorado bar, where Art Davie and Rorion Gracie were arguing over an age-old martial-arts question: if you put a wrestler against a karateka, a judoka against a boxer, who actually wins? The answer, they decided, was to stop arguing and start filming. They reached out to the Gracie family, whose black belts had been issuing open challenges to fighters of any style for decades, and the first 'No Holds Barred' tournament was born. What followed was a cultural earthquake. The early UFCs (1 through 11) were a rotating cast of champions—Royce Gracie, Ken Shamrock, Mark Coleman, Dan Severn—each proving that style, strategy, and grappling could trump raw power. The rules were minimal but existed: no biting, no eye gouging, no groin strikes, and no strikes to the back of the head. Weight classes were absent until UFC 12 in 1997, when the sport began to formalize. Fighters came from wrestling, judo, karate, taekwondo, and BJJ, and the audience was treated to a genuine scientific experiment in combat. The 'Gracie challenge'—Royce stepping in to face any challenger, any style, any size—became the era's signature narrative, a living proof that technique could beat brawn. By the late 1990s, the sport was maturing under pressure from regulators, broadcasters, and its own growing audience. Weight classes crept in. Rules accumulated: no eye gouging, no groin strikes, no biting, no strikes to the back of the head. The 'minimal rules' era was ending, but its legacy was permanent. It had proven that mixed martial arts was not a gimmick but a legitimate, competitive sport. When Zuffa acquired the organization in 2001, they were not creating something new; they were industrializing something that had already been discovered in a Denver warehouse and a Colorado bar.

In Their Own Story

The air in the Denver warehouse smelled like sweat, old carpet, and the faint metallic tang of blood on canvas. There were no seats, really—just folding chairs and a handful of people who'd driven four hours to watch eight guys fight. The cage was a simple square of chain-link, and the mat inside was a single layer of foam. Royce Gracie sat in the corner, barely big enough for the other guys, his gi already damp. The announcer's voice was flat, almost bored. 'Ladies and gentlemen, the main event.' No music. No pyro. Just a bell that sounded like a school hallway. Royce stood up, rolled his shoulders, and walked toward the center of the cage with the calm of a man who'd already seen the ending. The wrestler charged. Royce dropped level, slipped the takedown, and the noise in the room changed from a roar to a held breath. He was on the back. The wrestler thrashed, grunted, tried to stand. Royce just… waited. The tap came. The bell rang. And in a folding chair three rows back, a kid from Colorado dropped his beer and whispered, 'That's it. That's the whole game.'

Reader's Guide

1993–1995: The Pure Experiment The first four UFCs are the era's beating heart. Eight-man tournaments. No weight classes. A single champion per night. Ken Shamrock takes UFC 3 and becomes the first non-Gracie champion, and suddenly the 'Gracie challenge' is a real thing—anyone can step in, any style, any size. The rules are almost nothing: a short list of prohibitions, no time limits in some bouts, and a square cage that feels more like a dog fight than a sport. The audience is small, skeptical, and absolutely hooked. The sport changes nothing yet; it's still a curiosity. But the seed is planted: technique beats power, and the cage is the great equalizer. 1996–1998: The Slow Civilizing The Ruffalo brothers are still running the show, but the world outside the cage is pressing in. Regulators want rules. Broadcasters want structure. The square cage evolves into the octagon—a shape that kills the dead corners and gives cameras a full view. Weight classes begin to appear, not as a revolution but as a slow accretion. The 'no rules' era is quietly dying, replaced by something more watchable, more repeatable. Fighters like Mark Coleman and Dan Severn show that wrestling and catchweight dominance are their own art forms. The sport changes from a one-off spectacle to a recurring event with a recognizable format. The transition is: the cage is becoming a venue, and the fighters are becoming athletes. The Ruffalo brothers' grip loosens as the organization's commercial ambitions outgrow their capacity. Rules keep stacking up: no eye gouging, no groin strikes, no strikes to the back of the head. The 'no rules' era is officially over, but its spirit lives in every fighter who still drops level for a takedown or scrambles for the back. In 2001, Zuffa—Dana White and the Fertitta brothers—acquires UFC, and the era of the Gracie/Ruffalo founding closes. The sport changes from a scrappy experiment into a business, but the foundation is already poured. The transition is: the founders hand the keys to the next generation, and the cage that began in a Denver warehouse is about to become a global stage.

Did You Know?

• Royce Gracie won three of the first four UFC tournaments, defeating opponents who outweighed him by 60+ pounds, and did so primarily with submissions rather than strikes.
• The original UFC cage was a simple octagon of chain-link fencing; the octagon shape was introduced at UFC 1.

The Weight of Uniforms: Military Endorsement

The Harris 2024 campaign drew endorsements from retired officers spanning every branch of the U.S. military, including multiple four-star generals and admirals. In the Air Force alone, figures such as Lloyd W. Newton, a retired four-star general, and Neil McCasland, who had led the Air Force Research Laboratory, lent their names. The Army list included Stanley A. McChrystal, Larry R. Ellis, and Charles F. Wald, all retired four-star generals, alongside numerous major and lieutenant generals. The Marine Corps contributed Richard D. Hearney and Michael J. Williams, both of whom had served as Assistant Commandant. The Navy roster featured Charles S. Abbot and Samuel J. Locklear, both retired four-star admirals. Even the Coast Guard and the Public Health Service Commissioned Corps were represented by retired rear and vice admirals. The sheer number of general and flag officers—dozens across all services—signals a campaign that courted the institutional credibility of the national defense establishment in a way that distinguished its support base from typical partisan coalitions.

Cross-Partisan Bridges and Personal Ties

Several endorsements carried particular political weight because of the endorsers' personal or partisan associations. Wesley Clark, a retired four-star general who had served as Supreme Allied Commander Europe and later run for the Democratic presidential nomination in 2004, added a familiar face from national politics. Perhaps most striking was James McCain, a first lieutenant in the Arizona National Guard, whose father was Republican senator John McCain—making the endorsement a direct bridge across party lines. In the Marine Corps, Amy McGrath, a retired lieutenant colonel, was also the Democratic nominee for Kentucky's Senate seat in 2020, linking military service to active electoral politics. Alexander Vindman, a retired lieutenant colonel, brought recognition from his role in national security debates. These individual endorsements were not merely about rank; they represented personal reputations and, in McCain's case, a family name that historically anchored the Republican establishment, suggesting a campaign that reached beyond conventional partisan boundaries.

Cultural and Commercial Voices

Beyond the military and labor worlds, the Harris campaign attracted endorsements from a constellation of private enterprises and cultural organizations that reflected a distinctly progressive and creative sector of the economy. Ben & Jerry's, the well-known ice cream company, lent its brand recognition, while Cards Against Humanity brought its irreverent, internet-savvy audience. The list also included Gemini G.E.L., a contemporary art gallery, and Gibney Dance, a performing arts company, signaling support from the arts world. Little Gay Pub, a New York City establishment, and Team Love Records, a music label, pointed to endorsements from LGBTQ+ and independent music communities. Obey, the street-art collective, and Replacements, Ltd. PAC added further cultural and political dimensions. Vicente LLP, a law firm, and the Seattle Storm, a professional basketball team, rounded out a diverse commercial roster. Together, these endorsements painted a picture of a campaign embraced by the creative, entrepreneurial, and socially conscious segments of the private sector rather than traditional corporate powerhouses.

The Labor Infrastructure: Geography and Sector

The labor union endorsements formed a vast, geographically dispersed network that touched nearly every region of the country. State-level AFL-CIO affiliates spanned from Arizona and Nevada in the West through Texas, Florida, and the Carolinas in the South, up through the Northeast including New York, Massachusetts, Connecticut, and Maine, and into the Midwest with Pennsylvania, Wisconsin, and Kentucky. Specific local councils, such as the Napa-Solano Central Labor Council in California and the King County Labor Council in Washington, added granular community-level support. Sectorally, the endorsements covered teachers' unions in states like Ohio, Michigan, New Jersey, and Wisconsin; firefighters' associations in California and Minnesota; electrical workers' locals; postal workers; nurses through the Washington State Nurses Association; and healthcare workers via SEIU locals in New York and beyond. The Amalgamated Transit Union, Teamsters, and operating engineers' locals represented blue-collar transportation and construction workers. This breadth indicated a campaign that had cultivated relationships across the full spectrum of organized labor, from white-collar academics at Rutgers to factory and service workers in multiple states.