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“They couldn’t physically stop me, and they couldn’t throw me in jail. They could only fine me. After seven-eight fights, you’re in bed $80 grand. Are you gonna pay it back? Probably not. So it was all or nothing,” Taylor said. “What I’m doing was not illegal, and on top of that, I was changing the surface, I instituted rounds, I instituted brakes, I brought doctors, I brought referees, I brought everything that the Commission is doing now.”

Despite questionable legality, the show grew consistently. Starting from small warehouses, the event eventually would make its way to larger venues like the Deschutes County Fair and Expo Center.

“It was pretty cool to see that start so little. I was on the bottom of the card when I first started out in the Desert Brawls and I just worked my way up and I just kept fighting and fighting, and lots of people were there to watch me win and lots of people were there to watch me lose,” Gunderson said.

The sport’s popularity grew, and momentum from larger promotions like the UFC and Japan’s Pride Fighting Championship transferred to smaller regional organizations. In 2004 the state athletic commission reassessed its ban on MMA promotions, just after Randy Couture, who trained out of Oregon, won the UFC Light Heavyweight Championship. With the rules changed, Taylor was left with $80,000 in fines and a bad taste in his mouth from OSAC’s repeated attempts to shut his promotion down.

“The boxing commission brings me in in 2004, and they’re like, ‘We know we harassed you. We know we’re in the wrong, too, but you were also in the wrong. And you have this bill with us. And in order to move on we have to get rid of it,” Taylor said.

He walked out of their office with $2,000 fewer dollars, but a long-awaited promoters license. Taylor fought after getting his license, but in 2006 he decided to put down the gloves, at least for a bit.

“I fought Shonie Carter for the [World Extreme Cagefighting] world title. I made 500 bucks. He was the number 12 guy in the world at that time, and I just had my first son,” Taylor said. “I had friends that were retiring at 30, so I was like, I’m going to retire and do some personal business events and promote fights.”

Desert Brawl put on 26 shows between 2005 and 2011, when the promotion ended. Gunderson stuck around for a couple years, but eventually moved to Las Vegas to train under early UFC legend Frank Shamrock. Eventually Gunderson achieved his dream of fighting in the UFC after a tireless fight schedule and proving himself in promotions across the country.

“It’s just the pinnacle of the sport, especially, I feel like when I made it there wasn’t shows every weekend, the roster was small so they only took the best of the best, you had to be proven,” Gunderson said. “Everything, from the production, to the way they treat you, to the paychecks. Everything is so much different.”

At 34 Taylor took another shot at MMA, driven by both passion and a recession. When he stepped back in the ring the pay had gotten a little better, but the competition had gotten tougher. He had to ramp up his conditioning, but knew he wanted to fight before he aged out of the sport.

“I will remember what I didn’t do, and that’s what matters to me,” he said. “That’s really what it boiled down to, I wanted to fight the best people in the world.”

Taylor fought his last fight in 2011, and finished his professional career with a 7-7-1 professional record. Since then Taylor started a hemp oil business that has stores in both Bend and Redmond. Another promotion, Budofights, has put on fights in Central Oregon, and last hosted an event in Central Oregon in 2018, but co-promoter Darrick Bruyn said they will be back with COVID regulations loosening.

Mac Danzig looking to Land an uppercut against Takanori Gomi during their battle in China.

The Future of MMA

Desert Brawl, of course, wasn’t alone in promoting fights in Oregon. When MMA became legalized, UFC fighters such as Randy Couture, Chael Sonnen and Matt Lindland busted through the door with their own promotions. Dozens of promotions are still active, though coronavirus stalled them momentarily.

“It seemed like more and more of these small promotions were starting to pop up, and then the whole COVID regulation thing happened and that just completely shut everything down on the West Coast,” said Mac Danzig, a Bend-based MMA trainer with a 13-fight career in the UFC as well as other elite and regional promotions.

Danzig opened his gym in 2018, just before the drought of MMA events. He said he caters more toward enthusiasts than people seeking to become elite-level fighters, because rising stars rarely have money for gym fees and need a lot of one-on-one training. When it comes to regional promotions in Oregon, he said it’s good experience but getting to more elite promotions is a long and thankless process.

The ladder to the top requires beating someone with an impressive record, which can often come down to luck and access, before reaching mid-level events like the Dana White Contender Series. In the meantime, low-level pro fighters are lucky if they don’t lose money with the costs of training, medical expenses and travel.

Others are more optimistic, though. John Gunderson, now a trainer for Las Vegas-based Syndicate MMA, sees the regional scene as thriving, at least where he is in Las Vegas. As statewide athletic commissions became more involved in the sport, it’s made it more difficult, but there’s still plenty of opportunity out there.

“There’s not as many shows regional in certain areas, but I feel like there’s bigger regional shows now that are covered on TV that were never covered before on TV, they’re just bigger opportunities,” Gunderson said.

Still, even in the UFC fighters are paid one of the lowest revenue shares of professional sports. The average UFC fighter made just under $150,000 in 2020 with a base salary and bonuses.

“The fighter pay issue is a big problem, but what’s the bigger problem and is the root of that problem is that fighters who market themselves by creating fake conflict with other fighters, who just talk trash, are the ones who are making money,” Danzig said.

Danzig, a technical master in MMA, prefers the sport over the spectacle. It’s at odds with the average MMA fan, or at least whoever the UFC is marketed for. JT Taylor, on the other hand, is nostalgic for the more rough and tumble origins of mixed martial arts.

“We always had this circus, there was always jujitsu guys against karate guys, and that’s really what made it fun,” he said. “Honestly, this the sport is a spectacle and in some ways, needs to stay a spectacle because it’s gotten to where there’s no more of those matches anymore.”

Blending Nature with Medicine

Insurance Accepted

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