The Day I Met Kevin Randleman
By Chris
2/13/2016, 4:30 a.m.
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With the passing of Kevin “The Monster” Randleman (August 10, 1971 – February 11, 2016), I’ve decided to tell a story that I’ve waited a long time to tell. In the post-Ohio State University doldrums of the early 2000s, I worked at a bastardized print shop. Imagine if Kinkos, an underground casino, and your local neighborhood crack dealer had a baby. That closely describes the print shop I was working at. I know this has nothing to do with Kevin Randleman but it is important to the story. All told, it wasn’t a bad job and I enjoyed it. The owners’ fuckup of a son always left a lot of beer in the fridge. I worked the early morning shift and mostly got drunk everyday.
As we all know, Kevin Randleman was mentored by fellow Ohio State University alumni Mark Coleman. The print shop was not far from the Team Hammer House Gym in Upper Arlington, Ohio. While I was working one nondescript day unsupervised, in walked two gentlemen. It was none other then a blond haired Kevin Randleman and heavyweight champion Mark Coleman. They had come into the shop to print off visa documents. They were preparing to travel to Japan and fight in the next Pride competition. This had to have been around early 2005.
At this point in my life, I had never been has terrified of another human being as when I saw Mark Coleman. The only thing I could compare this to was when I went face to face with a shark on a diving trip. Or when I startled a brown bear on the backside of the Pacific Crest Trail while he was eating breakfast. There is a very animalistic instinct inherent in all of us. We know when we are facing another animal that could devour us. Our survival instinct tells us: 1. Do not mess with this individual, and 2. do not mess with this individual.
Now, this was well beyond human cockfighting days of the early UFC cage matches, there was no question that these two men were professional combatants. Scars of battle adorned these fighters. Their ears were mangled. Their jawlines looked like they could stop a sledgehammer. Broken noses. Extremely lean and enormous upper body strength. Perhaps what was the most frightening was the look in their eyes. Well, not threatening, there was a quiet confidence that came with being battle tested.
In short, I knew instantly that either of these men could kill me with their bare hands if they wanted to. I am not kidding. Since then I have relocated to San Diego, California, and it is not unusual to see a Navy SEAL around. For our female readers, there is a particular bar on Coronado Island that many women frequent trying to pick up Navy SEALs. I will leave it up to you to figure out which one that is. But back to the story.
Randleman and Coleman came up to the counter. Coleman did not speak. Randleman told me that my coworker, a cocaine addict who frequented strip clubs, was going to help them print the documents. I admit, I knew of Mark Coleman from his early UFC fights with Dan Severn, but I did not know who Kevin was at that time. The coworker he mentioned, of course, was not there at the time. I was very intimidated by these two fighters, and on this particular day I was quite busy in the print shop. So, I invited them behind the counter and gave them access to a computer. They were able to work on obtaining their documents on their own. Like I would tell them no.
The coworker is integral to this story. It was no secret he did a lot of cocaine. Also, the print shop handled all of the flyers for several of the local strip clubs. I know this coworker sold weed out the back door, and it is not difficult to think he likely sold cocaine on the side, too. He had surely used a lot of cocaine. While Randleman and Coleman set to the task of printing their documents, I went back to work. Remember, this was the early 2000s and high speed internet was not what it is today. It took time to download simple images and/or documents.
Soon, Captain Cokehead had arrived in a furious state. No doubt, he had just done a line or two. He immediately went to help Randleman and Coleman finish up their documents and then switched to some other tasks that was overdue. Randleman and Coleman finished up what they needed to do and went up to the register. They waited patiently to pay the bill, but I did not know what to charge them. I looked over my shoulder at Captain Cokehead and asked what was the amount due. He said not to worry about it and somehow I knew that this was going to be a freebie. However, this is where the story takes a more sinister turn.
If Captain Cokehead dealt drugs and had a cocaine problem, I wondered if maybe he owed someone money. Maybe he had gambling debts. I don’t remember the next exact phrase, but I remember it really stuck in my mind. Basically, Coleman said that the coworker owed someone money. Or something to that effect. Maybe it was as simple as you need to call such and such person. Or you need to make a payment. I honestly can’t remember but my vivid memory was that these two men were some type of enforcers. Not your friendly type of enforcer. I mean the guys who will tie you to a bumper and drag you out into the Las Vegas desert.
What would it be to him to break this lackey’s nose for not paying the strip club? Now that I have painted an American hero like a cheap thug, let me backtrack and say, I do not believe that either Coleman or Randleman would physically abuse someone like this. However, maybe they didn’t have to. Maybe their sheer intimidation was enough to get people to pay. Mark Coleman, please don’t kick my ass.
I soon left that job for another gig. I never saw Randleman or Coleman or Captain Cokehead again. With the tragic passing of a much too young Kevin Randleman, I was reminded of this day. He was a great fighter and his highlight reels are impeccable. He will be missed by his family, fans, and all those competitors who met his fury in the Octagon. Was he a moonlight mafia enforcer? Who knows, but on the day I met Kevin Randleman, I know he left a powerful impression on me.