Tom Erikson: Where Is He Now?

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While assisting in athletics at Purdue’s wrestling room, Erikson had some 30 wrestlers he was in charge of from early morning training sessions and on. It seemed to be an around-the-clock endeavor. He admits he is a little obsessive compulsive when it comes to business and organization. He likes it -- admittedly, maybe too much. Structuring an organization around proper paper trails, establishing interoffice relationships, booking buses and flights, searching for hotel deals, were the thrills. Erikson was beginning to enjoy them nearly as much as wrestling itself.

“It’s a way to compete in the business world that kind of keeps my juices flowing,” he said. “Bottom line: There’s a finite number for how long the body can go on coaching and things like that. There’s a finite number of years I can do it. Then you have to do a real job other than the fun stuff. When it comes to do the real stuff, I want to make sure I’m educated and ready for it.”

Erikson wishes he had a dime for every time someone asked why he has not started his own MMA gym. It was only at the end of his career when he really felt he was learning the fight game. He recalls battling future UFC title challenger Antonio Silva in his second-to-last career appearance in May 2008. He rocked the Brazilian with a jab -- a new technique he had picked up -- but quickly reverted to loading up the right hand. It left him susceptible to takedowns and resulted in his being “Donkey Konged” by “Bigfoot.” He had seen the end of his fighting career coming long before.

“The fights that I needed to make the money weren’t there,” he said. “Nobody wanted to risk losing a fight to me. I was a bad matchup. Was I the best guy? No, I won’t go there, but I was the most difficult guy to fight. I was a huge guy that could move. I hit hard. I’m hard to submit. I’m hard to knock out. I’m an elite-level wrestler. I was really difficult to fight.”

Those traits qualified Erikson in his assessment as an “upper mid-level guy.” Opponents did not want to tangle with him because there was a solid chance they would either lose or have to win ugly. That prompted him to fall off in terms of activity and provided the reason behind his three-year break and his retirement shortly after.

“The phone wouldn’t ring,” he said. “I’d get last-minute fights. I was resigned to the fact that I wasn’t going to get a legitimate shot at this. I felt, right or wrong, I felt I wasn’t going to get a legitimate shot to fight for titles [or] make big money. I’ll go on what I call the freak-show circuit. I’ll take a last-minute fight. I’ll fight K-1. I’ll fight any style you want. I don’t care. I’m not afraid of it. Call me up [and] I’ll be on a plane. If you give [me] six to eight weeks, which is proper, I’d love it. Give me three weeks, I’m on a plane.”

Part of that process was hoarding his money. Fighters were well taken care of on the Japanese circuit, though they tended to live that high-end lifestyle. It was something Erikson avoided, bringing all his international earnings safely to his family back in Indiana. Living the good life seems infinite when fighting every month, flying first-class complete with per diems, surrounded by yes men and admired by the fans. However, Erikson never had rock-star delusions, even though Pride’s production team had him walk through his own highlight reel in front of 50,000-plus fans at the Tokyo Dome. Those days seem far removed now that he is tasked with keeping his daughter’s dance and baton practice schedules.

“The ironic thing about me is I know there is an end,” he said. “I saw my end with wrestling. I started getting into heavy MMA when my wrestling career ended. I know what it feels like when it ends. I know what being an elite-level wrestler, world class and traveling all over the Olympics and all that. I know what that’s like when it ends. I think that better suited me for MMA.

“Hey, a penny, I’ll save that sucker if I can,” Erikson added. “I’m not going to waste it. I’m going to pick it up and put it in my pocket. I don’t care if I’m making $20,000 [or] $30,000 for this show, whatever it was, I’m picking up that penny. Some people bought into the rock-star life thinking it’s not going to end, but it does. It does.”

Erikson’s foresight set him up for the situation in which he finds himself today, with options to explore. He does not feel painted into a corner like retired fighters often can once they enter the job market. Plus, his wife has been a merchandising representative for entertainment components in Wal-Mart on a steady basis. When he traveled all around the globe for wrestling and fighting, he would always stop to get a book or album for the long plane rides. That is how he met Randi nearly 20 years ago. Now she can merchandise discs of Erikson’s glory days, keeping his legacy alive on the shelves. Knowing those highlights are out there is a comforting finish for Erikson, who has seen endings he could never imagine for himself or his family.

“I have a couple of good friends that I’ve worked with and rolled around with a bunch that I refused to go and want to help them because they were chasing fights,” he said. “They burned through all their money and they needed a quick $5,000 [or] $10,000 -- chump change -- to hold them over for a while, and they got to chase a fight and they go get knocked out. I’m not there to see a guy sacrifice his life or his brain.”

His gut might tell him he can still beat some decent heavyweights, but Erikson has no delusions. He is content in his vigor for ruling from behind the desk, instead of on the mat, as his wisdom grows and his hair greys. Look out for “The Big Cat,” quite literally the biggest and the baddest pencil pusher around.