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Carl Seumanutafa isn't a household name, but when you see him as a 255-pound man that's going to try and take your head off later that night, you tend to pay attention. Matt Mitrione is seeing Seumanutafa's movements unfold in front of him on the St. Louis sidewalks. He sees himself chopping Seumanutafa down, one big swing of the ax at a time. Mitrione refers to the big Samoan as Carl, though he knows how to pronounce his last name just fine, every syllable a little island he flits right across. Carl is just easier. And it's set-up, alright — everyone knows that. After fighting Derrick Lewis and Ben Rothwell and Travis Browne, some of the most lethal butchers in the UFC, Mitrione is expected to walk right through a relative no-name like Carl in his Bellator debut.
Which, of course, is a thankless task. Seumanutafa is a real life human being — a hydrant of a man, powerful, with technique and four-ounce gloves. He trains with legit fighters at the Skrap Pack in San Francisco. At one point, he even trained with Mitrione himself. "Meat," as friends call Mitrione, might be the only man in America who can't take him for granted. His first gig as a free agent coming over to Bellator feels like a trap fight.
Yet one of the things you notice right away about Matt Mitrione on fight day is that he's not an over-thinker. He's just a dude with an appointment later on, and right now, just hours before he and Carl will attempt to do one another harm, that appointment exists in the abstract. It's been a different fight camp, and not just because it's a different promotion. His five-year old daughter, Gia, had an accident a few days ago back in Indiana, where she walked through a plate of glass. A shard went into her armpit and cut through her ulnar nerve, which severely altered the range of motion and dexterity in her hand. The first part of fight week has been one of hospitals, specialists and worry for Mitrione, the father. How much nerve damage will his baby suffer?
The second part is the familiarization process of being in a new promotion. Gone are the days of UFC taskmasters scheduling out his every move during fight week. At Bellator, things are organized, but a little looser. It's the morning of the fight, for instance, and he's not wholly sure what time his bout takes place that night at the Scottrade Center. He knows he's on the main card. But he doesn't know when the shuttle will arrive to take him to the arena, nor when they'll wrap his hands, nor when he'll make the walk. There's no Burt Watson, the UFC's longtime (yet ultimately expendable) babysitter to the stars. There's just the sense that you should be ready to be ready.
"At the UFC, it was like there was a noose around your neck," Mitrione says, shuffling along in Jordan flip-flops without fear of reprimand after playing along (reluctantly) with the UFC's Reebok deal. "At Bellator, it's more of a loose leash."
He likes the hands-off approach. Mitrione is relaxed. He carries that same look of bemused indifference we've come to know from his days competing in the UFC. It's a benign face, a cocksure jock Muppet — sleepy light blue eyes, eyebrows always raised in perpetual wonder, and a half smirk/smile that he breaks out when he's about to talk a little shit (which is frequent). His voice is like wire static.
LINK to full article: Making the Walk
