Ultimate Fighting League Struggles

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On the surface, there was a lot to like about the I.F.L. The league was paying its athletes a respectable wage and, unlike the U.F.C., providing them with health insurance and a monthly stipend to train. "Unfortunately," says Larkin, "the profit projections were naive and unrealistic." But not nearly as naive and unrealistic as the cost projections. "The rich guys behind the I.F.L. looked at the U.F.C. and said, ‘Holy shit! That league is all the rage! Maybe we should start our own,'" says White. "I'm flattered that we make it look that easy. The truth is, this sport is a cash-burner."

The I.F.L. quickly learned just how flammable M.M.A. can be. March 12, 2007, was the night of its maiden MyNetworks telecast. Of the 11 fights jammed onto the card, many were so dull that the network whittled them down to highlight reels. As the I.F.L.'s prime-time time slot shrank, so did its audience. By the end of October 2007, the viewers had dwindled to 362,000—a number that barely registered on Nielsen's scale—and their average age (49) was almost twice that of the typical U.F.C. fan.

Major advertising and distribution deals never materialized, and the I.F.L. reported revenue of $1.6 million in the first quarter. Alas, staging its four live events during those three months had cost $5.6 million.

In June, the league got another $12.6 million in new funding, but that money quickly evaporated. By last fall, I.F.L. stock was tracking as a pink sheet at less than 10 cents a share.

With the league reeling like a punched-up pug, it is left to Larkin to engineer one of the biggest comebacks in ring history. He retooled the organization by dramatically cutting staff, travel, and the event schedule. Production costs, once more than $1 million per show, have been trimmed to about $125,000.

Reluctantly, Larkin discontinued the monthly stipends, and restricted medical coverage to only the most elite fighters. "Those perks were a great idea, but they didn't square with the hard facts of the real world," he says. "The I.F.L. had been fair and generous to the point of putting itself out of business."

His boldest move was to euthanize the team format and replaced it with camp affiliations: Each squad is now identified by the coach with whom it trains. "The original idea of having the Happy Woodchucks fight the Angry Beavers flew in the face of everything combat sports is about," Larkin says. "Nobody had any idea who was on what team, and which team represented what city."

To survive a few more rounds of ultimate infighting, the league needs a national contract on a premium channel. It won't be with HBO, the home of World Championship Boxing. The I.F.L. was close to striking a deal with the network last spring, but talks fell apart over which company would produce the telecasts and whose announcers would call them.

"HBO wants Hertz," says Larkin. "They're not interested in Avis." Evidently, neither is ESPN, which runs U.F.C. highlights on SportsCenter. Though ESPN seems like a natural fit, the Disney-owned network is in no hurry to dip a toe into the M.M.A. pool.

The fatal blow may have been administered by another contender, Elite Xtreme Combat, which just signed a multiyear pact with its part-owner, CBS. The agreement calls for four two-hour prime-time specials in 2008. The first telecast, a May 31 card that featured YouTube sensation Kimbo Slice, was a dreary show but a huge draw, increasing the network's average ratings among men 18 to 34 by 271 percent.

"I had hoped that the first big network deal would spark others," Larkin says. In fact, he has received offers, though none he can't refuse. "The networks want our product for free," he grouses. "For years, M.M.A. companies have been willing to give it away for the sake of exposure. I'm not going to. You give away, give away, give away, and before you know it, you're out of business."

Larkin would rather consolidate than donate. He is open to a merger, if not an outright partnership. On the other hand, a would-be umbrella organization calling itself the World Organization of Mixed Martial Artists has lobbied to rank every M.M.A. fighter and sanction title matches between competing companies.

But the U.F.C. wants no part of such an alliance, and Larkin says the plan is pointless without its participation. "How can you hold a Super Bowl without the N.F.L.?" he asks. "If the U.F.C. didn't take part, the entire enterprise would be a sham."

The I.F.L. has about $2 million cash on hand. Its share price hovers around 2 cents. "If the league can keep getting new money, it can stay alive," White says. "But how much more pain is the I.F.L.'s investors willing to shoulder?" Larkin says that unless a heavy TV hitter steps up to the plate, he won't seek a third capital raise. He hasn't stanched the hemorrhaging of his fight club, but at least it's not yet on life support.

The league is on the block. The asking price is $1 million, but Larkin says any creative offer will be considered. "We're debt-free," Larkin says. Then again, bankruptcy is in the eye of the beholder. "The I.F.L. is making money," insists Matt Lindland, the coach of Team Quest. "It's just spending more money than it's making."

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